Chapter Text
“I want you to know…whatever happens, just remember we’re gonna figure it out. Together, okay?” I swallow around the lump in my throat, but fortunately I hold my own against the tears building behind my eyes.
Even though I know it won’t make a difference to my alien companion, I turn my head to face the Powerpoint and blink away the heat. It doesn’t really help; the words still blur together, but maybe I can convince myself that I have a handle on this if I just focus on what’s actually in my control.
“I know,” Rocky sings. Soft. Gentle. He’s always like that when he thinks I'm upset. “I can’t forget, statement. That your job,” he adds, the translator somehow capturing a cheeky undertone.
I chuckle. “What else is my stupid human brain good for?”
It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out way more pathetic than I meant. I hear methodical steps plant themselves closer to me, muffled by the xenonite ball and the blanket nest it rolls on.
(We built it together in the Don’t Go Crazy room after my first night terror—Rocky’s idea; not mine. I’m…I’m not really sure…well, big shocker: I can’t remember any of it. Just the waking up with a raw throat, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, and my friend screaming at the very top of my pitch perception in a desperate plea to get me to wake up.
I think he thought I was dying. I probably would, too, if I were him.
He didn’t leave me alone for hours after that. I don’t know why; he’s the one who could watch me from anywhere in the ship. Not that I complained. Despite my denials of need, I was scared. Even if I couldn’t remember my dream, I knew that I’d hurt Rocky, and that knowledge ate away at me. The best I could do was assure him that I was fine by going about my daily business as usual. I told him to research night terrors on his laptop while I worked, just to give him something to do. To my credit, it worked: he got to spend hours on that project, while I spent that time avoiding sleep.
Until, of course, I passed out at the fifty-two hour mark. Standing up. Rocky had a lot of words about it after ARMando cleared me for a possible TBI, but I was pretty out of it. Thankfully, I woke up to a much calmer, put together roommate, who firmly explained to me that new rules were going to be implemented, and no, Grace not get a say.
Thus the blanket nest was born, complete with Yao and Ilyukina’s old mattresses and pillows.
Also, I now have a bedtime. At thirty-five(?) years old.
Regardless of my feelings about it, we managed to turn it into a pretty cozy spot, and I honestly prefer it to the dormitory. If I turn my brain off, I can almost believe I’m back on Earth: camping in the mountains, or people watching in the park, or stargazing from the solid ground.
Almost.
It’s also pretty useful for teaching difficult Earth concepts to a non-native: e.g., the long term physical effects of human malnutrition and starvation.)
There’s a soft thunk on the xeno-ball. Rocky holds his claw out, pressed against the clear panel closest to my leg. “Grace is smart, smart, smart, statement. Is not your fault that human brain is inefficient.” I know he’s baiting me, the little bugger.
I crouch down, dropping automatically into teacher-mode so he knows I’m serious. “Rocky,” I begin, placing my palm over his so he can see me better.
“Yes, smart-friend-Grace, question?”
Okay, that one gets a small snort out of me. I allow my mouth to curve into the universe’s tiniest smile, despite the weight of what I need to say sitting on my tongue. “It won’t be easy. Like I said before, a lot is going to change. Not right away, but soon.”
“Yes, Rocky remember.”
Right. “I…I may get mean. Really mean. Humans don’t tend to do well when they’re really hungry,” I try not to dwell on the memory of Stratt’s final words to me; despite their truth, they won’t help. “I'll probably get whiny. Angry. I might–” I have to physically suppress the shudder the thought brings, “I might get violent. Maybe yelling. Maybe throwing things…I promise, I promise, if it comes to that, I don’t mean it. A-and this isn’t a guarantee that it will, but I just want you to know. I want to prepare you.”
He’s quiet for a moment. His claws click together as he digests my words, then he stills. Even though he has no face, I can feel all of his white hot focus return to me.
“Rocky know what kind of person is Grace. Is smart, is kind, is brave brave brave, statement.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a finger to cut me off.
“Grace sacrifice self to save Rocky even when Grace knew Grace would die. Rocky will not forget,” he trills. “Can’t. But…but Rocky is scared. Not scared of violence,” he adds quickly, leaning toward me in a distinctly human way that he must have picked up from me, “Grace human body weak, Rocky much stronger. Not scared of mean, either. But, scared…mmm, maybe bad word for how Rocky feel…anxiety…no, nervous. Rocky nervous, not for self, but for my Grace. Humans already so so so fragile. Rocky nervous will make mistake and hurt my Grace.”
Oh, absolutely not. How can he think that? “Rocks, I know you would never hurt me.”
Again, he doesn’t respond right away. His arm pushes through the xenonite mesh, hesitating just before the crook of my left elbow.
“Rocky already did.”
I pull my left arm back. “Hey. That was different. I would have died without you. You saved me.”
He trills again, coloring the translator voice with what my monkey brain interprets as a smile, “Will always save my Grace.”
I hope you can, bud. I really do. I sniff in a useless attempt to conceal my watering eyes. When the tears come anyway, I press my pointer finger into his claw, savoring the warmth that seeps into my skin as he hooks it around my joints. He thunks his whole carapace against the glass like he does whenever I ask for a hug.
“Understand Rocky can not fix starve. But Rocky will still help, statement. What will Grace need, question? Anything Grace need, Rocky will build, will do. Ask anything, statement.” He traces his claw along the lines of my palm slowly.
I chew on my lip. As long as we’re already on the subject, there’s no point in sugar-coating it. He needs to know what to expect.
“Well, at first I’ll probably just be really cold. Not much you can do about that. My plan is to just wear more clothes, maybe increase Mary’s temperature slightly. Compression is good, anyway, because once the real food runs out, I won’t be getting the good vitamins that I need, so I’ll have some fluid build up, especially in my ankles. As I lose muscle and fat, things are gonna hurt. It’s…gonna be hard for me to get around, so I’ll have to rely on you for a lot.”
I wonder if I’m doing that thing where I overexplain everything as, like, a way to protect myself from it. Like if I understand all of the raw facts about my situation it’ll somehow make it easier. Illogical, yes. Probably annoying to someone as intelligent as Rocky. But he never interrupts me when I’m in science-teacher mode. Still, I force myself to pause.
“Anything Grace needs, Rocky will do,” he purrs.
I absentmindedly run my fingers through my hair, trying not to think of how long it’ll be until it falls out. One thing at a time, Ryland. “My bones and joints will weaken, so I probably won’t be able to get up to the cockpit by the time we make it to Erid. You…you’re probably gonna have to land the ship by yourself.”
Rocky straightens up on his limbs. “Yes, yes. Rocky good at ship flying, statement. Will work on system to allow Rocky to fly from Rocky atmosphere, so Grace won’t have to.” I can tell by the way he’s swaying side to side that the challenge of this puzzle excites him. I wish I could share his enthusiasm.
“Rocky…” I trail off. He stills, tapping his claw a few times on the floor. He’s listening intently, but this is the part he won’t want to hear. “There may come a point…actually, there will come a point when I’ll get confused. I’ll get upset. Stupid. I may not remember whether I’ve eaten, who you are, what’s going on,” I swallow thickly, “when that happens, I…I need you to be in charge, okay? It’s probably going to fall to you to keep track of my food intake, the medications I might be on, my sleep schedule.”
He coos softly. Sadly. The translator doesn’t make a noise, so either he’s saying something I don’t understand, or the sounds aren’t really words.
“And most important, if I forget where I am…I–I need you to lie to me,” I whisper.
“...why, question?”
I really couldn’t give less of a darn about the hot streaks running down my face, or the growing headache behind my eyes. I just- I need him to understand. It’s important.
“Because…because I don’t want to die scared.”
For a second, I manage to convince myself that he didn’t hear me. He goes as motionless as a- well, as a rock.
“Grace stop being stupid right now.”
“Rocky—”
“GRACE STOP BEING STUPID. RIGHT NOW. STATEMENT.”
I flinch at the sudden increase in volume. “Rocky, please—”
He stomps, once, twice, three times. “No,” he bellows, “NO! Grace will not die! Rocky will not let Grace die! Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid—”
“ROCKY!” I yell back, so, so much louder than I mean to, but I don’t care. “Be realistic, please! I don’t have the privilege of denying this, and neither do you. This is my life, and my death. And I—” I have to rip my glasses off my face and take a steadying breath, burying my face in my hands. It does nothing to stop the sob that rips through my chest.
Rocky ignores me, bringing his claws down on the xenonite so hard I get scared that he’ll break it. “No! Why Grace no trust Rocky, question? Grace think Rocky lie, question? Grace must think Rocky lie, or else Grace want—”
“I don’t want to die, Rocky!” I scream. It’s the only way I know he’ll hear me over all the noise he’s making. And I’m angry. “Of course I don’t! But I need you to understand what we’re up against. There are just so, so many ways that this ends bad for me. I’m being honest: I’m probably going to die.”
My voice cracks on the last word. Rocky says nothing. The weight of reality is making it hard to breathe, like a knee pressing into my back, but if I don’t get this out now I don’t think I ever will. I stop looking at him.
“...a-and I don’t want to die scared. So if there comes a day where I’m too confused, too disoriented, too sick to remember where I am o-or who you are, I don’t want– just– I need you– I– please, I—”
I need you.
I can see it: my emaciated body, clinging to the last dredges of life, with barely the strength left to breathe. The bruising peppering my skin. The holes in my mouth where my teeth have come loose. The curve of my softened skull where my hair has fallen away. A form so sunken that it’s nearly indistinguishable from the sheets that envelope it, yet despite this the shaking still comes, futilely fighting off the chill that emanates from deep within its core. Not a person anymore.
How long will that take? I wonder. How long will I be able to claim that I am still alive, still here, still real? How long before I forget the fundamental parts of myself? Will it be quicker, if I’ve already done it before? Can this vision of me still be counted as an iteration of Ryland Grace?
Who even is that?
Was I ever real?
Maybe not. In so many ways, I was born on this ship. The past is just a messed up reflection of the reality I woke up in only a few months ago. A part of me doesn’t believe that any of it actually happened.
It certainly doesn’t matter anymore. That person that I was—that I must have been—he’s already dead.
I don’t remember curling into a ball. I don’t even know when the shaking started. With my burning eyes shut and my heart ringing in my ears, I can almost pretend that I’m not on the Mary. I’m simply in a void, drowning in sheer agony as the sensations flood my chest.
My skin tingles numbly. I’m probably hyperventilating, but no amount of self-awareness motivates me to do anything about it.
I am going to die.
There’s a warm pressure on my shoulder.
I am going to die.
A deep rumbling passes through my chest and bounces into my throat.
I am going to die.
Someone is singing. I don’t think I recognize the melody...it’s less of a sound and more of a feeling.
“I am going to die,” I moan. The words fall out dark and wet, pushing against the pressure in my sinuses. “I’m scared…”
“...Understand. Rocky is scared, too.”
“I–I—” I cough on the moisture running down my throat, “I don’t wanna die—”
The pressure massages my heaving shoulder. It’s not enough.
“Rocky not let that happen, statement. Promise. Promise promise promise.”
I shudder. He lets me. I sob and I sob and I sob until I’m retching up the nothing in my stomach. He props me up so I don’t choke. When I’m finished, he lets me grab the ball for support and we make it to the mattress. I collapse. Even as I cocoon myself in the blankets I know it’s not enough to stop the trembling.
Nothing will ever be enough.