Archive of Our Own

“6… 9… 12…” I mutter under my breath.

The floor is cold under my knees in the dormitory and my skin itches with anxiety.

“And… 21,” I sigh. 

I drop my head low as I replace the food packets in their box. My hands grip the fabric of my jumpsuit and clench hard. The white noise of the silent Hail Mary buzzes in my head loud enough that if I concentrate on it I can almost ignore my racing heart. 

I feel tears welling up in my eyes as the realization dawns on me. I only have 21 meals of real food left, plus the five that I decided to keep safe for special occasions. I rub my arms in an attempt to soothe myself, but it turns out more like scratching my skin.

Of course the realization isn’t really one. I already knew how many meals I had left, but… I needed to recount them still. It’s stupid, it’s not like a meal could have suddenly appeared on this tin can of a spaceship. But my brain kept bothering me with it and I finally relented when Rocky fell asleep. I’m glad I did it when he is unconscious with how my heart is racing. 

One week worth of real food, and then I’ll switch to coma slurry and taumoeba for two years. We already did the tests, it’s safe for me to consume but even hospital goop is more appealing than this. 

I shake my head trying not to think too hard about it and stop the rocking I didn’t realise I had started. I put the almost empty box of food back in its slot in Armando’s storage space and close the closet. 

I turn around to Rocky sleeping in his habitat above my bed. His arms are spread all around him like a starfish. I want to smile but my lips don’t move. Instead, I feel a wave of shivers run through me from the nape of my neck to the tips of my fingers. I shake violently to make it go away but the uncomfortable sensation I’ve been feeling for the past few months continues. 

I make my way to my bed and sit on it with my knees to my chest. I wrap myself in my good luck quilt and clench my hands in its softness to stop them from shaking. 

Rocky is just above me and yet I miss him, even when he is awake and talking to me. He’s next to me and yet so far away.

I bury my head in my raised knees. I can feel the sewn patterns of the quilt on my cheeks.

It’s been a while since Rocky and I bringed up my food situation. I think neither of us want to talk about it but I know we still think about it, I certainly do. I did the math, more than once. Even in the best scenario, I’ll arrive half starved and dying on Erid. I don’t know much about eridian technology, but for them to be able to synthetise my nutriment fast enough would be a miracle.

And Rocky would be there the whole time, watching me slowly wither away.

Even if the Eridians manage to synthesise my food, what kind of life awaits me on Erid? I’ll have Rocky and maybe I’ll make some eridian friends, but…

I’ll never see another human again.

I’ll never talk with another human, laugh with another human.

…touch another human

Or anyone else.

A spot on my forearm burns through my mind. I involuntarily take in a sharp breath. I feel my throat close up and I squeeze my arms around myself as tears damp the quilt against my face.

Yeah, I’m really glad Rocky is sleeping right now.

I try to keep control of my wails but the excruciating itching feeling all over my skin overwhelms me. It starts low on the back of my neck then spreads down my spine, in my arms and legs and up around my scalp.

I place one hand on my scarred arm and rub where the stinging is the worst. I scratch at the three raised bumps on my skin, but the more I scratch the itchier it gets. 

Everything is getting worse and I feel like screaming or peeling off my skin.

Unable to take it any longer, I throw away my quilt and jump off my bed. I make a beeline for the sink and take off my shirt and jumpsuit in a flash. I usually do my sponge bath half by half of my body, because I don’t like to be naked. But right now that concern is very far away in my mind.

I grab the sponge in a tight fist and run it under the water. I turn the tab to make the water warmer, and warmer, and warmer. Steam is beginning to form, still I raise the temperature. It burns my hand, I barely feel it. Instead, I relish in the fact that my skin isn’t buzzing with the itching sensation. 

When the sponge feels like melting iron, I scrap it against my forearm. The stinging withdraw under the scalding burn and I sigh in relief. But it’s not nearly enough. 

I run the sponge up and down my arm for several minutes, then switch hands to do the other. I go back to the water when I feel the sponge cooling just a tiny bit. My hands are bright red, the scars on my arm are raw and the skin has split at certain spots. Still, I continue. 

I do my chest and back next, squeezing all the water out of the sponge onto the back of my neck. The droplets carve their way down to my waist, leaving trails of fire. 

I chase away the ants under my skin down to my legs. I rub, scrape, and claw like an animal. As soon as my legs settle, my upper body gets uneasy again. It's becoming a hunt between me and the itches. 

I turn the temperature of the water up again, until finally, finally all I feel are burns and pain. I sag forward holding myself on the sink. My whole body is shaking and my legs are moments away from collapsing beneath me. 

I peel myself away from the cleaning station and all but collapse on my bed. I’m overheated, yet I wrap myself in my bedsheets and quilt and curl up on my side. I can’t fall asleep while Rocky is still unconscious but my body is exhausted. 

I try to just lay down and get some rest but the heat from the bath is soon to disappear and the itching comes back. Tears well up in my eyes. I press my shoulders towards my chest seeking pressure but nothing seems to stop the crawling on my skin. 

I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much. I’m not meant for this, I wasn’t trained or prepared. This isn’t fair.

Please make it stop.

Please-

There’s…

There’s Ilyukhina’s heroine in the storage unit.

I know it, I’ve seen it in her belongings. 

It could make me feel better.

It’s right next to Yao’s gun.

It would be painless… it would-

“Grace?”

I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of Rocky’s voice.

“What’s wrong? Why Grace heart rate elevated? Grace leaking?” Rocky asks, tapping his claw against the xenonite barrier.

God he sounds so alarmed and worried, but if he taps that barrier one more time I’m going to lose it. Actually, I already am…

I sit up a little and let my head rest against the wall closest to him. My body is made of lead and it takes everything in me to keep my head somewhat upright. 

“Grace is hurt?”

I close my eyes and shake my head, unable to mutter a proper response.

“Grace can’t talk,” Rocky says half asking. “Rocky understand.”

His words spring a new wave of tears in me because I know he means it. I don’t have to force myself around him, I don’t have to hide or suck it all up. He understands.

I hear the soft clicks of his steps and the hiss of his airlock. He's careful not to make too much noise for me. His ball rolls quietly across the dormitory floor, proof that he deliberately tries to be as noisy as possible the rest of the time to get on my nerves. That’s fair game for all the times I ate in front of him.

“Grace want hug, question?” He asks, gently nudging my bed with his ball.

I smile at his use of a question marker. I stopped using the translator a long time ago and can pick up his variations in intonation, but we sometimes revert to our old dialect out of nostalgia or a need for comfort.

I nod. A hug from my best friend would be amazing right now. Rocky chirps happily in response.

I slide out of my bed and directly onto the ground, opening my legs and arms for Rocky to claim his usual spot. His ball fits perfectly against my chest and even if he always uses his freedom to make a mess of my already messy part of the ship, I’m so glad that we’re able to do this.

Only… this time it doesn’t bring me comfort. All I can feel against me are the hard edges of the xenonite. It's solid, it's uncomfortable, and it's the furthest sensation from that of a real hug.

It’s lonely.

A whimper escapes my lips and I withdraw.

“Grace feel better?” Rocky asks, clicking his claws in uncertainty.

Absolutely not, but I can’t say that to him. He already worries too much about me.

“Yeah, thanks bud,” I answer, my voice hoarse.

Rocky taps two fists together and honks at me.

“Grace tell lie,” he accuses me angrily. “Grace is not better. Rocky need to fix it!”

“No Rocky… I didn’t mean to lie. I…”

“Rocky will find a solution on Earth thinking machine,” he declares while scuttering away.

For some reason cold sweat runs down my back and fear overtakes me.

“Rocky stop!” I yell, getting to my feet.

Heavy silence falls on the both of us and I wince. We made it a rule never to shout at each other. We still have two years of our journey together to Erid in a confined space. We can't afford to hate each other.

“Rocky…” I begin in a much lower voice, almost defeated. “There’s nothing you can do. It’s a human problem. Just… drop it, please.”

I stare at the floor, unable to bring myself to look at him. I sigh and take the ladder to the Don’t Crazy Room, knowing he won’t follow me.

And he doesn’t.

***

It’s been several days since then. Six to be precise. According to the onboard clock it is afternoon and I haven’t eaten anything since waking up. I pushed away Armando’s insisting hands this morning when my stomach turned at the sight of my last breakfast.

I know Rocky noticed, he notices everything about me. It’s both reassuring and irritating. The past week, it made me feel guilty. 

We haven’t talked much since my breakdown and the itching has only gotten worse. Everyday is horrible, it’s driving me mad and I don’t know what to do about it. The worst part is the impact it has on Rocky. He started avoiding me and I can’t blame him for it. I’m getting more and more irritable and angry. I try to control it but it’s just too much and I frequently snap at him over nothing.

In a way, I’m glad he is avoiding me. He doesn’t have to watch me go crazy. He doesn’t have to watch me d-

I slam my head against the lab table where I’ve been sitting. The test tubes and other glass instruments rattle under the shock. I sigh and slowly ease back up. I stare down at the experiment I’m supposed to have been doing for the last… two hours, according to the clock on the wall. 

I just can’t get myself to concentrate, all I feel is the itching on my entire body. Nothing is making it go away completely. Only pain and pressure manage to take a bit of the edge off. I look down to my nails bitten to blood, and remind myself why pain isn’t a good coping mechanism. 

I glance at my blank experience report and wish words would suddenly appear out of fine air on it. When nothing happens after five minutes, I give up and rise from my stool. 

I hesitate at the mouth of the ladder going down to the dormitory. What if Rocky is there? 

I hear the voices of past ghosts.

Why are you always being so dramatic?

You’re so annoying.

Stop acting like a child!

I shake my head. Rocky isn’t like them. He isn’t like anyone on Earth. He’s my best friend. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.

I take in a deep breath to calm my nerves and climb down the ladder.

The dormitory is… empty. 

I refuse to acknowledge the sag of relief in my shoulders.

I haven’t done anything today and yet I’m exhausted. I walk up to my bed, ready to curl up under my good luck quilt but freeze when I don’t find it in its usual spot. ‘Usual spot’ may be generous, nothing I own stays in one place, more like a general area.

I lift my blankets and pillows, look under the bed, turn around and scan the room, but nothing comes out of it. My quilt is just not there.

I don’t put it past me to have taken it to another room and forgotten, but I’m just too tired to search for it now.

“Rocky? Have you seen my quilt?” I ask before I can remember to be awkward.

I cringe, my shoulders reaching my ears. When will I learn to think before talking?

“Ah… um nevermind, I’ll find it myself,” I call back with reddening cheeks.

But it’s too late and I hear the click clack of Rocky’s claws approaching. Without really knowing why, I turn away from him, facing my bed.

“It’s okay, I must have left it somewhere else,” I mutter, my hands flailing with my flipped bed covers.

I don’t know what to do with myself. Please just leave. Go back to ignoring me.

“Here,” comes Rocky’s voice way closer than I thought he was.

It’s a miracle that I don’t startle, but all my muscles do tense up. I slowly turn around and still.

Rocky is in front of me, in the room with me, in my atmosphere, holding my quilt.

“What?” I say intelligently. “Rocky- you- but-”

Before panic can raise in me, I notice an odd reflection on his carapace. I realize he is wearing a very fine suit of xenonite.

I kneel down to his height and he shifts from side to side.

“Is this an EVA?” I ask unsure.

“Yes. Rocky got inspiration from your suit,” he thrills with excitement. “But had to do it fast, so it’s not perfect, very fragile and can’t wear it for long.”

Now that he mentions it, I can see the rough seams made in haste and the uneven surface of the tiny xenonite triangle. There’s so many joint points that the suit fits his body perfectly. Even for a rush job, it’s extraordinary.

“Why did you make this?” I ask, my throat tight as I can take a guess at the answer.

Rocky drops down my quilt next to him on the floor, and opens his arms in invitation.

“To give Grace a proper hug,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing. Like everyone would go to such lengths for another. 

I’ve been horrible to him these past few days, snapping at him for no reason and keeping him at a distance, wallowing in my own misery and self-pity. And all this time, he was working on a solution to make me feel better.

“Grace want hug, question?”

I nod eagerly, tears welling up in my eyes and spilling over. Rocky makes a displeased trill as he tilts his carapace away from me.

“Rocky will not give a hug if Grace put moisture on the suit,” he says, half serious and half joking.

I laugh and dry my tears on my shirt. And when was the last time I laughed like that?

“No leaking on the suit, very fragile,” Rocky insists with a pointed finger.

“Yeah, yeah, I promise not to cry,” I say as I sit criss-crossed on the ground and scoot closer to him.

Rocky considers me for a moment, clicking his claws to detect the lie.

“Would you just get in here?” I urge him, rolling my eyes. 

“Fine, fine,” he huffs.

He closes the gap between us, carefully positioning himself over my lap with three arms on the ground to bear his weight. He then slowly raises his two remaining arms and wraps them around my middle.

I take in a sharp breath as the hug finally settles my skin. A real person is touching me, hugging me.

There are real hands on my back, pushing and pressing me to the ground. I yelp under the shock. The blades of grass get crushed under me. My cheeks are getting damp from the morning dew and my tears. I claw at the ground, soil seeping under my nails. The smell of dirt and rain fills my nostrils and I want to gag. 

I struggle with all my might, but the hands on my back don’t bulge. I scream at the top of my lungs, begging them to not do this, to not send me, to not kill me. I look at Carl towering above me. I can’t see his face, blinded by the sun and rainbow behind him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t answer me, he just watches. 

I know a needle is coming towards my neck. I trash even more violently. 

Please, I can’t do it. I don’t want to die. You’re murdering me. You’re murdering me!

I just want to live.

The pressure on my back eases up. I don’t know why. I don’t ask. I get to my feet in under a second and get away as far as possible. I curl up in the corner of the room, my knees pressed tight against my chest and my arms wrapped around my head in defense.

They’re still here, screaming after me. I don’t have anywhere to go. I curl up as much as I can and close my eyes. I don’t want to see what’s coming.

The shouts are getting closer. I can’t make out what they say but they strangely sound melodic.

“♩♪♩”

Please leave me alone.

 “G-♫♬”

I’m not brave.

“♬♪♩  Gra-”

I’m no hero… I’m a cowa-

“Grace!”

I startle hard enough to crash into the wall behind me.

“Grace,” Rocky calls out again.

He reaches a hand towards me. Fear overtakes and I flinch away, my eyes wide. Rocky draws back as if burned. 

His carapace is so low to the ground it makes my stomach clench. I hate to see him like this, but I still feel the sensation of hands pressing against my back and the presence of men just behind the corner.

My body shakes with force and I can’t get air in my lungs. I want to run away but have nowhere to go. I’m going to die. I can’t breathe. They’re going to get me.

“Grace,” Rocky’s voice cuts in. “Grace focus on Rocky. Follow Rocky’s rhythm.”

A familiar clicking rhythm begins, to which my breathing automatically synchronizes. After one of too many of my breakdowns, Rocky started learning human psychology on his laptop. What followed were hours upon hours of him teaching me every single regulating exercise he found. It was annoying but they do help.

I know this particular rhythm by heart. In for four seconds, hold for seven, out in eight. I repeat until my breaths come easier and my head feels clearer. My hands are still shaking but I don’t feel in immediate danger anymore. I just feel spent and empty.

Silence stretches for several minutes, until Rocky breaks it.

“Rocky apologise,” he hums in a very low register. “Rocky hurt Grace.”

Guilt is quick to weigh on me as my best friend blames himself because of my reaction. I want to tell him that he did nothing wrong, that it wasn’t his fault, but my throat decides to forget how to produce sound. I kick myself mentally for being so useless. Why do I always have to make things worse? 

For once I don’t want Rocky to be the one who always has to fix everything by himself.

I tentatively uncurl from my tight ball, and hesitate before extending my hand. It's shaky and pathetic and can't even compare to what Rocky offered me, but it's the best that I can do.

I feel Rocky carefully studying me before he reaches out and our hands touch.

He’s so warm, and solid, and gentle. And so, so alive.

The touch is almost too much, too intense, and yet I stretch out further and intertwine our fingers together.

I start crying. Rocky doesn’t blame me for it.

I want to take him in my arms and hug him tightly, but fear paralyzes me.

Rocky notices, because he always does. Without ever letting go of my hand, he uses two of his other arms to unfold my quilt and wrap it so gently around my shoulders. A heavy weight lands on me, all encompassing. 

I exhale deeply, immediately feeling my muscles relax and my mind calm down. Something in me, buried under decades of loneliness and rejection, finally settles and I find myself at peace.

“What did you do to the quilt?” I ask, apparently unable to clam up my scientific curiosity even in this state.

“Rocky did long research on how to help Grace on the thinking machine. Found out weight can help with Grace’s symptoms. Rocky made a weight blanket by sewing pebbles of xenonite in the good luck quilt,” he explains in a rush.

I can tell he’s unsure of himself, which should never be an expression on him I think. He is the most skilled engineer I know, and I’m pretty sure the best on both Earth and Erid.

“It’s perfect,” I say with a smile. “Thank you.”

He raises his carapace high and trills proudly. However, he lowers himself right after, clicking his claws together nervously.

“Rocky is sorry Rocky can only give this to Grace. It’s Rocky’s fault if Grace feels bad,” he rumbles in a low tone. “Grace turned back to save Rocky and all of Erid, and now Grace will never see-”

“Rocky,” I interrupt sharply, “I’m going to say this once and I never want to have to say it again. It was my choice, and mine alone. I’m proud to have saved you and would do it again and again.”

I squeeze his hand into mine and he squeezes back, his warmth blooming in my palm.

“You gave me everything, and everyday I’m so happy to be with you. It’s only that-”

I cut myself off not knowing exactly what my heart is trying to say. Rocky places another hand on top of mine, and it is only then that I notice I am trembling again.

“Grace is scared,” Rocky finishes for me softly.

I nod as I realize it’s the truth. I’ve been so scared for so long that I’ve internalized it as normal and stopped thinking about it. But it’s still there. 

I’m scared of the Hail Mary failing before we make it to Erid. 

I’m scared of running out of food and slowly starving.

I’m scared of my equipment malfunctioning on Erid and being crushed by its atmosphere.

I’m scared of dying every single day.

I stopped believing that I was going to make it to the other side.

I feel Rocky rubbing the back of my hand.

“Rocky is scared too,” he says. “Afraid to not make it home. Afraid to not have Adrian be there. Afraid… to lose Grace.”

Silence falls between us, as words can’t conjure the depth of our emotions. Yet, we understand each other.

“But Rocky still believe,” he continues, his carapace held high. “Rocky believe we will make it to Erid. Believe Adrian will still be there. And believe Rocky will stay by Grace’s side through it all.”

My heart clenches painfully hearing so much conviction in his voice.

“How can you be so sure?” I ask, my voice breaking.

“Rocky is not sure. Rocky choose to ♩♫♬♩♪.”

I frown. It's been a long time since I didn't know an Eridian word. 

“What was that last word?” I ask.

“Means wanting to have something happen when not sure it can.”

Oh.

Hope.

Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee.

I swallow. I lost hope, that's what it is.

I was never confident in myself to begin with. The last time I did that on Earth, I got expelled from academia. Since then, I just tried to live my life quietly with my head low. Then, came the astrophage and I had a purpose again. A purpose to live, not to die. 

Waking up on the Hail Mary, hope didn’t matter anymore. I was going to die either way.

But then, Rocky came along and turned my world upside down, giving me hope like I never had.

And somewhere along the way, I lost it.

The most precious gift my friend had given me, and I lost it.

I hunch forward, not letting go of our clasped hands, and rest my forehead on the top of Rocky’s carapace. He presses back.

“Okay, okay,” I breathe. “I’ll try to keep hope. I don’t promise that I won’t lose it again.”

“It’s okay, Rocky is used to dumb human brain. Rocky will remind Grace.”

I chuckle lightly and wrap an arm around him. He returns the hug making sure to not put pressure on my back. 

My lungs fill with fresh air. My skin warms up with comfortable heat. My soul sings with a hope of living.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. 

Amen.