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It isn't until he’s without it that Grace realises how reliant he’s become on Eridian customs.
He never had any trouble falling asleep alone back on Earth. Sure, his apartment was… empty, and left him feeling occasionally a little lonely-
Muffled sobs into hands that served only to hide them from God’s ears, if that, wondering why, why he couldn’t just be normal, why he couldn’t feel what everyone else did-
..Ok, sure, maybe having a cat or a dog sleeping with him would’ve done him a bit better mentally. But the idea of having someone else watching him sleep? Old Grace would’ve scoffed at that and asked which of the kids had found his address and decided to (unwisely) stalk their teacher.
It’s why he was so offput at first when Rocky insisted upon watching him. Look, it’s probably a cultural faux paux to refuse the customs of first contact aliens but surely he’s not the only one who’d have an issue with it! For the first few nights, he’d sit there with his eyes closed, peeking them open occasionally to look cautiously up at his new roommate. He’d then have to quickly pretend to be asleep again at Rocky’s inevitable ‘Why Grace awake, question?’. Of course even that didn’t work, because as Grace quickly picked up, Rocky could hear his heartbeat. Meaning he’d have to lie there, calming his breaths trying to artificially slow his heartrate, despite the more-than-slightly-offputting nature of the situation.
Tonight, as with the last few nights, he does the same as he did those first nights, so long ago now. Except this time, when he opens his eyes, there’s no Rocky.
The ceiling is white. Slightly ridged in places, where everything connects together. Otherwise plain. Sometimes it dances above him, like a performer at a circus. He thinks that might be the lack of sleep. Slightly scratched, accumulated from various objects hitting it overtime in zero g. The largest scrape is right at the corner of his vision, from when he was helping to set up Rocky’s ‘large ball’, and, after dropping his glasses, spun around to try and grab them- forgetting he was holding the xenonite panel- and ended up slamming the panel against the roof. And the adjacent wall. And still cracked his glasses. Rocky had made fun of him for days, before showing up randomly one morning with his glasses completely good as new, singing happily as ever-
Grace closes his eyes again. They’re not stinging, because there’s no reason for them to be, because there’s nothing to be upset about. An angry, red pulse aches through his head.
He’s fine, he’s slept alone before, he can sleep alone again. He doesn’t need someone watching him, he’s not a baby, crying in the dark for a… what’s the word…. nightlight! Adults don’t babble for their parents after a nightmare. His skin doesn’t crawl, there’s no sense of impending doom, there’s no danger crawling up from the shadows, and there’s certainly nothing wrong with Rocky- he’s in the next room over, the same place he’s been for the last few days, working on his project alone, just like he wanted-
A sob rips itself from his throat and he lurches up in his bed, slapping his hands over his mouth with such speed that his lips tingle at the impact. The room swells, the shadows loom, spinning and encircling him like advancing predators. There’s no hiding it now. Tears bloom from his eyes and drip down his cheeks. His stomach twists, nausea rising in his throat- dear god please don’t throw up-
Grace is tired. He’s so, so tired. 3 days. 3 days without sleep. 3 days staring up at the ceiling, memorising every mark, counting sheep, doing anything to avoid thinking about that conversation. 3 days stepping on eggshells, carefully planning routes between rooms, biting his cheeks and grinding his teeth when he comes too close to breaking down because unlike his apartment back on Earth there is someone else here- the only other someone, the only someone who matters, who can hear everything.
His hands tremble now more often then they don’t, and at this point, he’s not sure whether it's the stress, the lack of sleep, or the nightmares-
He starts awake with a muffled scream, panting into his trembling hands. Like clockwork. Every night now. The same dream. The same face, carefully masked and eyes calculated, sentencing him to death. The same hunters that pursue him endlessly across lava bubbling over his feet. The same cries and pleas slipping off his tongue as he begs while the magma swallows him whole-
Breathe, Grace. His chest rattles with a deep, choking breath, hands clutching together in an echo of stillness. Another, trembling. He didn’t notice his ears were ringing, but now that it’s clearing, he can hear another sound- frantic, borderline shrieking notes, echoing from behind xenonite. It only takes another second before his brain catches up with translating.
“-ace! Grace! Grace is ok, question? Another nightmare, question?”
His eyes flit up from the screwed up sheets. Rocky, sitting in his xenonite ball, foot tapping anxiously against the ground. Grace’s stomach twists with guilt. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, swallowing to wet his dry throat. It barely helps.
“Mmm.” He mumbles, in lieu of an answer. Grace coughs, then quickly wipes his eyes. “I’m OK, Rocky. Sorry for waking you.”
“Grace did not wake me. Was awake. Watching you sleep. Grace knows this.” Rocky shifts in his ball, and Grace’s eyes narrow. He’s still favouring his left side, avoiding putting weight on his back right leg. But Grace knows the questioning is coming- so instead, he grabs the water bottle beside his bed. “...Grace is not OK. Grace has many nightmares. Many nights.”
Cool water touches his lips as he takes a drink from the bottle, swirling the water around his parched mouth. Avoiding the question? Noooo, he would never do such a thing! What do you take him for, a coward-
You didn’t choose to go on the Mary, you had to be forced, you had to be chained like cattle to put the whole world above yourself-
“Yeah. I told you, buddy, sometimes human brains are weird. They like to make up stuff to be scared about. I guess I’ve just been stressing about the taumeoba-food too much, yeah, and it’s probably causing me to-”
“Grace said words during nightmare,” Rocky interrupts. Grace stills. “Grace was pleading. Begging. Grace say… ‘No. I can’t do it. Don’t do it. You’re killing me.’
Shit.
Grace shakes his head, and his vision stings with static for about 20 seconds before it clears again. Great. Bonus of being flashbanged with memories after forced amnesia, is that sometimes his brain will just decide to feed him memories, despite the fact that he already remembers these, thank you very much, in fact he’d quite like to forget this one-
…He’s not going to get any sleep tonight again, is he.
The next morning is… rough. He drifts in and out during the night, sweating and tossing and turning as he floats an inch outside his own body, but never truly falls asleep. He does dream though, feverish and disjointed, because of course, his brain loves to torture him. Now joining the cast line up is Rocky, carapace flared in anger, voice sharp and ear-piercing as he-
“Why Grace no trust Rocky? Grace says Grace is fine, Grace is not fine! Grace thinks Rocky is stupid, question? Grace thinks Rocky not notice when Grace tries to muffle crying, question? Grace-”
“Maybe Grace doesn’t want to talk about it!” He throws his arms up, pacing around the room. His skin crawls. He needs out, he needs out of here, out of this room, out of this ship, out anywhere where Rocky’s piercing eyes or gaze or- whatever you’d call it- can’t dissect his emotions from the inside out. “Maybe Grace wants to deal with it alone!”
Rocky goes still. No tapping, no shifting carapace, no swaying. That’sss not good.
“Grace promise Rocky we trust each other.” Rocky’s notes have dropped a whole key- two, even, low and curt. “Grace say we ‘in this together’. Grace lie.”
Grace narrows his eyes. “Hey, buddy, you haven’t been perfect either. I know you’ve been avoiding stepping on one of your legs! But every time I bring it up, you- you dance around the issue! You ignore it, or pretend you didn’t hear- I know you can hear-”
“Leg is… not important.”
Grace throws his hands up in exasperation. “Not important? Rocky- it’s very important! If you’re hurt, if you’re in pain-”
“Grace in pain! Grace in pain every night! Grace not slept right for a whole week!”
“It’s fine-”
“IS NOT FINE!” Rocky snaps suddenly. Grace stumbles, steps back, nearly tripping over his own feet. Steam hisses from Rocky’s carapace- he didn’t even know that could happen. “GRACE IS HURT. Grace need fixing. Grace not let Rocky fix.”
Grace blanches. “I’m not- I’m not broken.” He hisses. He’s getting angry. Really angry. This is bad. He should stop, he should leave the room, he should cool down- “I don’t need fixing. I don’t need babying.”
He takes a step forward.
Rocky rolls back.
“Rocky, I can’t tell you. You don’t understand. You could never understand. You’re not- you’re not- you’re not like me.”
His mouth burns when he says it. Oh, god- he didn’t- he didn’t mean that- he didn’t mean it like that-
Rocky is still. Rocky is very still.
“Understood.” The computer tone reads it dry and cold. Grace stands there, in the middle of the room. He thinks he’s breaking. Collapsing. A deck of cards falling inwards on itself. He needs to open his mouth, he needs to say something- “Rocky leave Grace alone.”
Grace, always the coward, watches him leave.
His lip burns, the taste of iron flooding his mouth. He opens his mouth, his teeth leaving his lip where they’d been digging in. Ah. How wonderful. Another flashbang of a memory. Couldn’t have enough of those for one night.
Well. Enough stewing in his own misery. He’s not going to be able to sleep, so he may as well not even try. His brain may be extremely foggy, eyes burning with a dry, gritty weight pressing at the back of his retina’s, but there’s work to do. He needs to… keep experimenting with the astrophage, to figure out what it’s made out of? Stratt’s going to call him soon, he needs results. No, he’s- the taumeoba. That’s what he’s working on. Loading it in to the… bug pods so he can send them home.
The room spins as he stands, wobbling and bending around him. Woah. His brain is… not liking the delayed processing. He waits for it to pass, but it just… doesn’t. The furniture swims, in and out, like waves on a beach.
“Get it together, Ryland.” He mumbles under his breath. The room finally somewhat settles. The shadows shift, stretching out long, thin fingers towards him, and the walls are breathing, swelling and contracting, but. He’s standing.
Why is he standing?
There’s a shrill beeping in the room over, ringing in his ears. His heartbeat is loud, too, thudding in his chest- wait. Shrill beeping? Is his alarm- no, the ship- there must be something wrong with the ship! Oh crabcakes- Rocky! Rocky could be hurt!
There’s a horrible ache behind his eyes now, but it doesn’t matter, nothing matters, Rocky needs his help, Rocky needs-
Grace bursts into the lab, panting heavily. Through the distorting shapes, he can just about make out Rocky, contained within his xenonite case, tools clattering to the floor as he looks up in surprise.
“Rocky,” He gasps out. “The- the beeping, something is wrong with the ship, you- are you ok-”
“Ship… is not beeping.” Rocky says slowly. His form is guarded, legs tucked against his side, and Grace’s heart breaks. He’s done that. He did that. Oh, he’s a horrible person. “Rocky is OK.”
“But…” His eyes dart around the room. Floor. Walls. Creeping shadows. Creeping shadows? No. “Where’s the uh- where’s. The chain. We need to work on the chain?”
“Chain?” Rocky echoes, confusion colouring his notes. The brown sludge across the room moves towards him. Hello, brown sludge! “Chain done… long ago. Astrophage collected. What is Grace…”
“My head hurts.” He sways. Oh, the brown sludge is Rocky! He’s closer now, Grace can see him. Where are his glasses? He fumbles at his face clumsily, like a toddler reaching for food.
Oh. He’s wearing them.
“Grace?” Rocky trills nervously. Grace steps, stumbles, like a newborn baby deer. “Grace!” Another step, then his legs give out and he tumbles towards the floor. But Rocky is there, Rocky with his arms reaching out, catching his collapsing form and setting him against the tiles. “Why fall? Why fall!?”
Grace’s head swims. Well, at least he didn’t mess things up so bad that his friend would just watch as he topples. “Mm. Just tired.” He slurs. His head hits the wall behind him. Now that Rocky is here, he can feel the call of sleep whispering in his ear. That would be… that would be rude though, he thinks. To show up and just. Force Rocky to watch him sleep. Especially with their relationship being as rocky as it is now. Ha!
“Why… Grace not been sleeping, question? Grace stupid. Grace know Grace get stupid when no sleep.” Rocky is trying to sound chastising, he thinks, but there’s an edge of concern.
“Couldn’t.” He mumbles. “Need uh… no. Feels weird without someone watching.”
Rocky stills. “Oh.” He shifts awkwardly. “...Apologies. Rocky… ‘is not like Grace’. Rocky believe Grace does not want Rocky around, statement.”
There’s a bitterness there. Fine, he deserves that. He… thinks he deserves it? What did he do again?
Oh. Yeah.
Wait- oh.
“No, I- I want you around.” His words come out too fast. He drags a hand down his face, the motion leaving his arm feeling strangely heavy. His head is pounding. The room still won't stop tilting every few seconds. Are they on a rollercoaster? No, get it together, Ryland. He’s in space.
Maybe it’s because of how physically exhausted he is. Or maybe it's because of how emotionally tired he is from keeping it to himself for so long. Whatever the reason, his mouth opens, and the words start slipping out before he can stop himself.
“I meant-” He swallows. “I didn't mean you're not like me because we're different species.” Grace stares at the floor between them. “I didn't mean that.”
Rocky's tapping stops. “Then what mean, question?”
Grace laughs. It sounds awful even to his ears, like nails scraping against a chalkboard.
“Rocky, you chose to go on your mission, yeah?”
“...Yes. Grace know this-”
“You volunteered.” He feels awful for interrupting, but he needs to get this out, he needs to get this weight off of his chest before it swallows him whole. Or before his throat closes up. “You knew it was dangerous and you went anyway because your people needed you.”
“You were… brave.”
For a moment, there’s silence. Then Rocky's notes soften. “Grace was brave also.”
A sharp, bitter sound escapes him. “No.” His hands curl into the fabric of his sweater. “No, I wasn't.”
His chest suddenly feels too tight. His eyes burn. “I didn't choose to go. I didn't volunteer. I didn't decide Earth was worth dying for.” His voice cracks. “I couldn't do it.”
“I was scared.” Grace's gaze drops to his trembling hands. “I was so scared that I chose myself over everyone else. I refused. I ran.” His breathing hitches. “Then they drugged me. Wiped my memories. Put me on the ship anyway.”
Rocky's carapace gives a tiny, involuntary shudder.
“...What?”
He’s rambling now, words pouring out like a waterfall, cascading over one another. Tears run down his cheeks, and he gasps for breath. “But you, Rocky- you were brave! You chose to go! I- I figured you would, you would hate me, because- I’m worthless, I’m a pathetic waste of space that can’t even, can’t-”
He tries to force out another word, but he’s run out of air. He’s gasping now, choking on his own tears, each one depleting energy reserves that aren’t there, each one shaking his trembling body like an earthquake- and-
“Grace is not worthless.” Rocky insists, and… oh. There’s… he’s horrified. His voice wavers, notes trembling at the end. “Grace is… Grace- Earth forced Grace?!”
Grace nods, sniffling. “They drugged me.” He chokes out. “Took away my memories. Put me in a coma. All because I was a coward-”
“Grace is not a coward.” Rocky interrupts sharply. “Grace chose to come back and save Rocky! Save all Rocky plural!”
“That- that doesn’t count-”
“Does count.” Rocky insists forcefully. “Earth… Earth murder Grace. That is nightmare, question? That is nightmare Grace have, question?”
“Yeah.” Grace whispers. “I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. They… they didn’t murder me, though. It was for the good of everyone-”
“They force!” Rocky screeches. Grace flinches back slightly, the loud noise aggravating the pounding in his skull. Rocky’s next trills are softer. “They force Grace sleep! Sleep alone! Nobody to watch, nobody to protect! To- to die alone! Earth bad! Earth bad bad bad!”
“They did what they thought was best-”
“Wrong!” Rocky suddenly presses himself up against Grace. The warmth radiates out from the xenonite, like a big, heated, weight blanket resting on his legs. “Rocky sorry. Rocky sorry sorry sorry for argument. Rocky still mad, Grace should’ve told-”
“I should’ve.” He mumbles.
“Shush.” Rocky chastises. “Grace should’ve told, yes. But Rocky understand why. Rocky also… keep secret. Grace was right. Leg… has been hurting. Small injury remain after go fishing. Is getting better, but. Slowly. Did not want Grace to worry.”
“Rock, we're friends.” His voice is rough. “That's what friends do. We worry about each other.”
Rocky's claws click softly against the floor. “Yes. Rocky promise no more secrets.”
“Grace also promise no more secrets.” The adrenaline that had been keeping him upright is fading now. His limbs feel heavy. His eyes stick to each other like glue every time he shuts them, taking monumental effort to force back open again.
“I’m… really sorry, Rocky.” His gaze drops to the floor. “I shouldn't have said any of what I did. I understand if you still don't want to be around me-”
“Grace stupid and tired, statement. Rocky mad, yes. Rocky also love Grace. Forgive Grace.”
Grace… forgets how to breathe. For a second, all he can do is stare. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh.” Rocky's notes turn amused. “Grace understand now, question? Grace... 'get through head', question?”
A surprised laugh bubbles out of him. “Nice Earth phrase,” he mumbles. “Get through head, statement.”
His eyes drift shut. The warmth pressed against his side makes it dangerously easy to leave them that way.
“Grace sleep,” Rocky says quietly. “Rocky will watch. Grace safe, statement.”
“But you're tired too,” Grace murmurs.
Rocky immediately begins a protesting trill, but Grace lifts his finger, tutting. “Nuh uh. What did we promise?”
Rocky stays quiet.
“No lies, yes?” Grace opens his eyes and stares pointedly.
“...Rocky is tired.”
“There he is.”
Rocky makes an offended clicking noise, and Grace smiles. Around them both, the Hail Mary hums softly. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, but it almost sounds like a lullaby.
“How about we sleep together?” Grace says. “Watch each other.”
Rocky is silent long enough that he begins to wonder whether he’s already fallen asleep. But then-
“...Can not watch while sleeping. Grace stupid.”
A laugh bursts from his chest. Oh, he missed this. The jokes. The teasing. “Got me there, pal. But…”
“Rocky… Rocky feel safe even when Grace asleep.” Rocky confesses. Grace feels his heart twist in his chest, but not from grief or guilt this time.
“Same.” Grace whispers.
“Then we both sleep.” Rocky says with finality. As if to accompany his words, he sets himself fully onto Grace’s lap with a thud, carefully tucking his injured leg under his body.
“Ah, careful there buddy-”
“Rocky is careful. Rocky is always careful. Grace is the not careful one. Grace is big silly space blob. That is OK. Rocky love Grace anyways.”
“Hey, you can’t just insult and then compliment me directly after-”
“Shush.” Rocky insists. “Sleep. Rocky tired. Let me sleep, statement.”
Grace laughs. “Whatever you say.”
They may have been resting against the cold, hard, tile floor, but in that moment, in that place, with Rocky against his legs and a warmth filling his chest, Grace felt more comfortable than he ever had before. Cheesy, sure. But he didn’t care.
And so, together they slept.