Archive of Our Own

The first place Simon found himself was somewhere paradoxically comfortable. He remembered the place. He remembered the grey and red that covered everything no matter how many times it was washed. He remembered the hazy, dark air. He remembered the thin curtains put up in an attempt to keep the dust out of the long empty windows. The glass was removed and repurposed ages ago. But he didn't remember all of it, and anything that wasn't familiar he couldn't see. He had carved out a place that looked exactly as he remembered, but the edges of it were something he didn't. Beyond the door were no hallways or lights. Behind him on the thin mattress was no wall, just something hazy and grey. The figure laying beside him had no real face.

He was himself, but he knew his body should have been smaller. He should have been swallowed by the rag-like blanket and the woman beside him. The hand that she held should have barely been visible between her fingers, and he should have another arm where it disappeared. His feet shouldn't have been hitting the cold floor.

He was so tired. His eyes barely stayed open. The shouts and booms coming from the crowded expanse beyond the window didn't worry him. He didn't wonder what was of the people making the noises. He didn't care for the faint smell of something burning. Only the fingers running through his hair and hand squeezing his. The kisses pressed to his temple.

He remembered the location. He remembered the grey and red that could only be his Eden on the outskirts of a dying planet. He remembered the shouting that followed every moment regardless of where you may be standing. He remembered the shit hole he lived in until he was fully a Son of Eden. Before he knew about the tree. The Father. His Brothers and Sisters. His cruel but opulent goddesses. Before he even knew of the stars.

But he didn't remember ever being loved so dearly. He didn't remember ever trusting someone so much that he would curl against them as he drifted away. He didn't remember anyone touching him with the reverence only given to the altar. He couldn't even remember her face. But he knew the care was real like he knew the back of his eyelids.

Simon could have sat like that forever. He would have. But as the smallest of smiles was making its way to his face, his entire creation began disappearing. The woman was gone. The environment around him faded until it was only the red-grey of the barely patched walls. The red became more prominent, and the grey made it deeper. Darker. No longer were the edges of his vision hazy and warm.

The red wasn't just the walls anymore. It surrounded him. It coated him until he was swimming in it. Drowning in it. It was sticky and viscous and his arms and legs moved through it as if they were made of lead. He knew he was falling deeper despite his desperate attempts to find the surface. The pressure only became stronger as time went on. He knew he couldn't breathe. The stuff would flood his lungs and enter his organs and start eating away at him from the inside out. He would die. But pressure built in his chest and he needed the oxygen until—

It was gone. The pressure was gone. His mouth wasn't open, and his nose wasn't taking in air. But he didn't feel like he needed to breathe. Something on either side of his neck felt like it was expanding and contracting, and with it he lost the need to inhale. He was still going deeper, he knew that. The pressure around him still built to the point of becoming unbearable, but he was breathing. He was living.

And it was hot. It was so hot. It felt like it burned everything it touched. He thought his clothes must have melted off and the stuff was searing his skin and flesh into something mangled and ugly. He couldn't actually see the liquid because it had burned his eyes in their sockets and threatened to make its way to his skull. To his brain.

Then he couldn't breathe. The liquid was thin and watery and cold, and the vision in his eyes was back, though blurred and dark. A hand fisted itself in his hair, forcing him to be still as the lack of oxygen made his entire body twitch. He was on his knees, bent over something metal and jagged as his hands were shackled behind his back.

The hand in his hair yanked him up, and Simon swore he could hear it ripping from his scalp. For a moment, as he gasped and spluttered and coughed, he had the sense to look around him. A dark, poorly welded room made of nothing but scraps. A figure standing in front of him that wore what was unmistakably a COI uniform. Everything was dark and dirty, with one person on the ground at either side of him, the one at his left holding his head firmly in place.

Before the thought to push against them occurred to him — as useless as it would be — he was forced back into the disgusting muck. He tried staying still, but he was halfway through a shaking breath when his mouth hit the water. He felt it enter his lungs, and any hope of subtle resistance left as his body forced him to try and expel the liquid. The attempts only brought more in, gasping and coughing now beneath the surface as animal instinct tried to free him. He heard what sounded like laughter above him.

It went on like that for an agonizing amount of time, but no longer than the memories he held of it told him. Eventually, he was pulled hard and released, landing on his side as he coughed and gagged and something blunt came to hit him in the chest. After some time, they pulled him to his feet, not that walking was very effective with his ankles stuck at a maximum distance of one foot from each other. They were removed before he was tossed to his cell. The manacles at his wrists were not.

That happened often. They would say they forgot, if anything was said at all, but he imagined they just liked to see him tortured by more than them. To see him unable to push anyone off. To see him broken in ways that they were not allowed to inflict upon him. He doubted they would want to, anyway. Taking a Son of Eden? It would belittle them.

Yosef didn't feel it belittled him. He felt it empowered him. Told him that there was something he still had control of. That there was still someone he had control of. Simon didn't understand. He didn't understand the need to control other people. Not when the effects of being controlled were already tossed upon him for years at a time. It didn't make sense to burden anyone else with that.

He just breathed for quite some time. On the cold, wet, ragged floor the entire compound was made of. Closing his eyes. Appreciating the ability without having to think about the optimal time not to as not to choke. He was vaguely aware of fingers at his scalp, but it was not the figure from before. It held none of the love she did. They tugged and scratched and controlled. Forced him onto his back, resting painfully against the shackles between the floor and his spine. There was a hand on his face, and for a moment he let himself believe it was the same figure as before just so he could imagine something else. It didn't last long. It was hard to imagine the fingers belonged to someone kind as they wrapped around his throat.

He didn't want to think of this. Didn't want to feel the shift of weight from his torso to his hips. Didn't want to remember the vile finger forced to the back of his throat or the painful tug of his hair.

Eden had mercy, it seemed, because moments later it was gone.

The darkness of his eyelids turned a darkness he was looking through. So dark that he couldn't see anything for farther than was comfortable. It was a vacuum. He felt himself moving, but he had no sense of if he was actually going anywhere. He had that same lack of need to breathe, like he simply had the air even though nothing went into his lungs. Something about it was calming. He wasn't afraid in this expanse. It was… freeing. He was unburdened.

There was a light he saw eventually. Something bright and beautiful and far off in the distance. He tried going towards it, though he wasn't sure if it was actually effective. Regardless, it did get closer. The light seemed larger and larger until it started to look almost human shaped. Until it became evident that the figure was much, much larger than him. Until he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who she was.

She was beautiful, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He couldn't help but think she looked familiar, but the only way he knew to describe it was that she looked like him. Tanned skin that had what he could only describe as having galaxies embedded into it. Dark eyes that held sharp corners and few creases. A wide nose and prominent cheekbones that he would never have thought to call gorgeous on himself but had no other word to use with her. Long, dark hair full of stars more beautiful than the ones he couldn't remember where he had seen, something bright and glowing hanging from each strand.

Eden. There was no one else it could be.

He wasn't aware of the tears in his eyes until they were dripping down to his chin. He didn't know what it meant. He couldn't. He had never been told of meetings with goddesses. He didn't know if it was because he was worthy or because he was wretched, only that regardless, to be graced with her presence was something he could never believe he deserved.

She stared at him for a long time. Studied him. She blinked slowly and carefully, hardly moving now that she was so close to him. Then, a hand reached out. It shouldn't have touched him. It couldn't. She was so much larger than him that his entire body could fit in the palm of her hand, and when she reached to him it was clearly several feet away. But he still felt it. He felt the warm hand cup his face, fingers barely grazing the spines of his left ear and palm resting on the teeth at the side of his face and corner of his lips. Thumb running just under his eye as tears spilled over it. A second hand that never seemed to move from her side still running so gently through his hair that it broke him.

Simon had never cried uglier in his life. His body had never been wracked with sobs so strong he thought they would never stop. He had never felt the touch of another that was such a pleasantly warm experience. He had never felt anything so pleasant without the unbelievable guilt that followed.

Everything changed so fast that it was nauseating. The hand on his face was his own, running up the side of it to grip the disgusting mass of his hair in some attempt to stay sane. Everything was disgusting here, though everything was disgusting everywhere he had ever known. This place was just particularly more uncomfortable. He sat in the corner, one hand pushed into the hair at the top of his head and the other balled into a fist at his knee.

There was a snort from across the cell. "They'll keep sending it until you eat it."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Or die." He added.

"Do you ever—"

"No."

He'd held out for a week or so. No one had said anything, but he knew what it was. They weren't wasting meat reserves on convicts, even if they technically had a ridiculous supply of it given their methods. Only for the Sons of Eden they knew it would break to consume. He knew Yosef was right. They'd gone through this trouble especially for him. To squash the only tie he could still keep to his birthplace when he was trapped in this compound. They didn't care enough about his potential use to give up the chance to truly break him if he didn't eat it.

He was no longer sure how much of Eden's culture he still believed in. The longer he sat in this cell, the more doubts crept into his mind, but he knew that was the point. That was what they wanted from him. And it was working. His gods were not merciful, but three years of this had to mean something. Three years without so much as a word passing his lips had to gain him some worth, and yet still it seemed the world became bleaker for him by the day. His faith was weakening. He knew that.

But he also knew Eden was correct in this regard. They had to be. As unsure as he was now about what Eden did to the bodies of the fallen, he knew that this was not the correct path. Meat was short. He knew that, he wasn't stupid. Animals had disappeared with the planets, and any that hadn't were killed and eaten long ago. Plants had few places to grow, and even fewer had the technology to. Food was running out.

At first the Consolidation didn't want people to know. They were quiet about what happened to the lost bodies and where the occasional fresh meat may come from. They didn't state their solution, even if many knew what it was. Eventually it became common. Unremarkable. Simply a part of their rapidly changing existence. Something necessary to continue to survive.

But not for Eden. There was something of a superiority from them. They refused the unlabeled, carefully packaged substance. They did nothing of the sort to their fallen Brothers and Sisters. They rested, instead. They were dissolved into the soil and given a new life to continue serving. Maybe that was bullshit. He wasn't sure anymore.

But he couldn't eat it. He knew he couldn't. If Eden was right about nothing else, they had to be right about this.

Weight shifted beside him, and Simon tensed. He hated when Yosef got close. He screwed his eyes shut tighter so he wouldn't have to look at him. "You'll break one of these days, Butcher." Simon had never given his name, though he doubted he would use it if he had. One of those vile hands came to the back of his neck, squeezing the nape of it. He felt his throat contract. "If you don't, I'll force it down you, myself."

He scoffed. "You're not one to care for others' well being."

"No," he agreed, "but you've been a fun toy. You'd be a shame to lose." A growl built in his throat, Yosef laughing and slapping his back. "It's bound to happen one of these days. I'd suggest you let it be willing before someone takes it into their own hands."

And one of those days it was.

"Grace! Grace wake, now!"

What in the world…?

"Now, Grace! Grace wake! Problem! Bad bad bad. Grace fix. Now!"

Something tapped at his sternum and Grace coughed, finally opening his eyes. Rocky was right beside him, tapping his limbs frantically on the bed.

"I'm up. I'm up, bud. What's—"

"Simon problem." The notes were high and frantic. "Sleep weird. Distress."

His eyes immediately flew to the bed beside him, where the figure was trembling. Well, trembling wasn't really the right word. It felt too violent to be considered a tremble. Simon was curled in on himself, shaking and gasping with his hand clawing at his shoulder.

"Grace!"

"Sorry!" He shook himself out of it, got up, and went to him.

He wasn't really sure what he was supposed to do. He didn't want to scare him more, though he supposed whatever was happening had to be worse than waking up with someone touching you. He started with pulling his hand away from the skin he'd started to tear open with his nails, but it tore itself away from him immediately and instead went to his head to protect it.

"What wrong, question." Rocky was pacing.

"He's probably just— later, Rocky, okay?" He tried placing a hand on his back, and at least for the moment there was no negative reaction. "Simon." His neck twitched. "Simon, wake up. You're—"

His eyes flew open, wide and startled as he pushed himself up and Grace away. Then, he listed over the edge of the bed and threw up. For several moments he was coughing and gagging, then touched his face. His chest. Down his torso. Like he felt something there.

"I need—" He gagged again. "Fuck!" Grace could see as he turned quickly to face him that he had been crying. His eyes were red and the skin around them was swollen. He could barely talk through his heavy breathing. "I need it off. I need— I have to— fuck! Fuck, it's everywhere, I—"

"Simon!" He reached towards him but stopped himself. This was dangerously close to their first several weeks together, and he didn't want to be held down or attacked again, nor did he want Rocky to freak out and do anything to Simon if he did. Still, he stopped talking and gave himself a moment to breathe while he waited for Grace to speak. "I— what is? I'll help, okay? I just—"

"This fucking blood!" He wiped his face again. "It's everywhere, and I don't know how— I don't know. I need it off, I need—"

"Okay. Okay, that's fine." There was no blood to be seen, but obviously that wasn't what Simon saw, and he knew better than to outright deny a hallucination. That would just make him think he didn't believe him, and that caused a slew of other issues. "Here, let's— can I touch you? Is that okay?" Simon paused. Nodded. Grace took the back of his bicep in his hand and gently pulled him to his feet. "We'll get it off. All of it. Do you want a shower?" He cringed at something that Grace couldn't even guess at. "Bath?"

He took a deep breath for the first time since Grace had woken up. "Yeah. Yes. Thank you."

He moved his hand from his arm to the space between his shoulder blades as he guided him towards the bathroom. Rocky followed, and Simon wasn't protesting, so he didn't say anything, either.

"Rinse in the shower first, yeah?" He suggested. "Get the majority off and then we can bathe."

There was that look again.

"…Yeah. Yeah, that's fine."

"Do you want me to…?"

He hadn't really thought this through. Helping a guy bathe. That kind of involved a lack of clothing, and while he certainly didn't mind — hell, he'd already seen the guy naked, albeit when he was basically dying, and his body was far from bad looking — he also didn't want to, like, make Simon think it was a necessity if he wanted to just do it himself. And, oh, shoot, he didn't actually finish his question and now Simon didn't know what he was asking.

"…Go." He finished. "Go, do you want me to go?"

"No." It was immediate. Desperate.

"Okay." Grace took the sweat soaked fabric of his sleeve between his fingers for a moment. "Okay, um, you get undressed, and I can get it started?" He nodded. "Okay. Cool."

By the time the tub was full and he sat in it, Simon was just tired. The blood didn't stick to him like slime, and all that was left was the stuff caked in his nails and matted in his hair. He wasn't sure he had the energy to remove it. His mind was racing too much with visions of… everything. The warmth of the water was already pulling him in, and he wasn't sure how to make sense of everything he had seen.

Then Grace was mumbling something about leaving and alarms flared in his brain and Simon was reaching out because all he could think about was the loneliness of it all. The loneliness drifting in the blood. Drifting in space. In the SM-13. Stuck in a cell with someone who only made him more painfully aware of how godamn alone he was. Stuck in a room with guards that made it their mission to make sure he knew.

But Grace was gripping his hand with just as much strength as Simon gave back, slowly rubbing his thumb across his knuckles. Looking at him with all the focused attention he'd never understood from the man. Speaking slowly and calmly in a way that soothed all of his fears.

"I'll be right back." He assured him. "I'm gonna get a towel, that's all. Rocky's right there." He gestured behind him, where Rocky hesitantly raised an arm. "Okay?"

Simon let out a shaky breath and mumbled a quiet "yes" before Grace carefully dropped his hand and walked away. He reached down to mess with the hem of his shirt before realizing there was no shirt to touch. His head hit the wall behind him. He still didn't feel like he could breathe.

"Simon scared, statement."

He opened his eyes. He hadn't realized he even closed them. Some kind of barely-there laugh passed his lips as he remembered when Rocky said the same thing as a question. Catching him in something that felt so inconsequential now.

"…Yeah." He murmured. "Yeah, I am."

There was a brief mix of chittering and whistling before an answer came. "Grace fix."

He thought he might start crying again, but he tried to smile instead. "Yeah. Yeah, Grace can… yeah."

Grace returned, both a towel and chair in hand. He set the towel aside and the chair on the floor by his head. Simon's eyes flicked to it.

"I— uh, I can sit somewhere else." He spoke quickly. "I just thought—"

"That's fine." His smile felt more real now. It was probably just delirium, but it felt nice regardless. "Always so nervous, angel."

Grace flushed, and Simon realized the last word had been aloud. He hadn't even thought about that in a while. He didn't even think it was true anymore. If Mortus had sent an angel to take him, he would have been gone long ago. Grace was kind purely out of his own desire.

He spluttered a few moments. "I— you— what?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing. Sorry. I just—" He laughed. It was definitely delirium. "I thought you were an angel. For a little while. Waiting to see if I should be taken for Death's army. I don't— sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"It's okay." He said softly. His eyes were closed again. Why did that keep happening without him realizing? "Um, do you… need anything? Like, help, or…? I mean, if you just want to sit here that's fine. I do that sometimes. It's calming."

"I—" His hand came up to his hair. It was disgusting. He wasn't sure if he believed the blood was even there in the first place anymore, but it had been gross before that. He could wash it with one hand, but in all honesty he wasn't taking a lot of showers, and even when he did it was cumbersome and uncomfortable. He didn't properly wash it often. He hardly even knew how. Just… soap and running his fingers through his hair until it seemed like it had been long enough.

A hand that wasn't his came to rest on the back of his head. Its fingers carefully combed through the mess until it got through. "I'll wash it." He said it with an air of finality before taking it back. "If that's okay. Obviously."

"Yeah." He breathed.

There was some rustling and movement that Simon heard before his hand guided his head off of the wall. "I think it was for Ilyukhina." He said quietly. A brush seemed to be what he was talking about. He ran it through the ends of his hair. "She— um, she was supposed to be a part of my crew. She had long hair, too, so… good thing I didn't sent it out with her, I guess." Slowly, he worked the brush through higher and higher sections of his hair. He was so gentle, carefully guiding it through the knots without tugging too tightly on his scalp. Eventually it could pass from root to tip without snagging, and he did that several times. "Okay." He said quietly. "That'll be easier to wash."

Grace's hand ran through the top section of his hair, pulling to one side and carefully angling his head the same way. Simon's mouth hung open at the feeling. Warm water was poured over the right section of his hair. His first thought was that Grace cupping it with his hands, but the one still held the majority of his hair on his left side, so he must have had some cup or bowl to pour with. He did the same with the back of his hair, pulling the top forward and pouring two or three cup fulls of water on the section. Then the left. Then he pulled his head forward to soak the top of his hair.

The soap was what he couldn't handle, once all parts of his hair were thoroughly soaked. Or, rather, the way Grace's fingers scraped at his scalp and combed through his hair while he used it was what he couldn't handle. The first thing he thought of was running his hand through the mess when he was stressed. Fingers roughly pulling at it to yank him out of the water. Yosef tugging it in any direction he pleased just to make a point.

But that wasn't what this was. There was no violence in his touch. No trace of anger or fear as he worked the soap into every strand. He thought instead of Eden's hand on his face while the other combed through his hair. Like she was untangling it just by touching it. He thought of the woman he curled up to in that shitty room, kisses pressed gingerly to his temples as she pet down the side of his head and towards the back of his neck. Holding him close to her chest while her rough hand was steady against his.

And he was shaking again. Sobbing at how kind Grace was. How gently he treated him in every moment. At how he couldn't help but think that there was nothing he could do to deserve everything that this man had given him. How he could live a thousand lifetimes and never feel that he had given life to anyone the way these two had brought it back to him. And then Grace was talking, but he didn't hear a word. He just felt the hand cradling his face, and the sobs wracked him harder.

"I'm sorry." Was he ever going to stop feeling sorry? How many times did he have to apologize to reach atonement? The hand was wrapped more towards the back of his neck, now, pulling him towards something. Someone. Resting his head against something that was so undeniably human. "I— fuck. Fuck. Fuck, I'm sorry, I—"

"Shut up, Simon." Despite the words themselves, it was one of the kindest things he had ever heard. "It's okay. I promise. Just— rest. Rest right now."

He wasn't sure how long he sat like that before regaining a sense of where he was. His head, hair still lathered in shampoo, resting against Grace's thigh. He was soaking wet, and now Grace was, too. He allowed himself one minute. One minute to breathe and feel the warmth of another person before straightening himself and wiping his face.

"I'm—"

"Don't say it." Grace said. He took a moment to wipe his own eyes. "We need to get this soap out of your hair, yeah? It's gonna damage it if it's in too much longer." Simon nodded, and saw that he did in fact have a cup he was using to pour water over his hair. It took a moment before he spoke again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"What?" He wasn't really sure what there was to talk about.

"The…" He gestured vaguely for a few moments. "Dreams? I don't know, everything while you were sleeping. That started it."

"No." He answered quickly, but still paused. Then, "I don't know." Another pause. "Maybe."

"You don't have to." He ran his fingers through a section of his hair as he poured water atop it.

He thought about it for a few minutes. He didn't really know what to say. He didn't want to talk about the ocean. Didn't want to think about anything in that compound. But… there was something he couldn't keep himself from spouting out.

"I saw Eden." He said finally.

"…Like the space station?" Grace asked after a moment.

Simon laughed. "No, the—" He paused, thinking of the small room and the woman beside him. "Well, yes. The space station. Or… a part of it. But also Eden, the goddess."

He froze, hand halfway through a section of his hair, before finally speaking. "I didn't know she was a goddess, too." For a moment no one said anything. "Honestly, I was starting to wonder if my theory on you being religious was even correct."

"I don't know if I'd say that." He said. "I don't— it's less like a belief and more like a knowledge. I don't know what I—" He didn't know how to describe it. It wasn't like he talked at length about his feelings on it with his Sisters and Brothers, and certainly not the Father. Any time he had… "It's complicated. What I feel is not necessarily what I was taught."

"…What did she look like?"

Simon smiled. Something wide and warm and real. "Beautiful. Stars everywhere. Kind of—" He faltered. "She had features like mine."

Grace hummed. He had finished rinsing his hair by this point, now simply running his hands through it. "What did she want? Or… do."

"She—" He swallowed. He wasn't really sure. "She found me." He started quietly. "Watched me. Reached out and—" The feeling of Grace holding his face coupled with Eden's warm gaze washed over him and he choked out a few sounds before continuing. "—And touched me. Rested her hand on my face. Ran her fingers through my hair, and—" Yosef's hand wrapped tightly around the back of his neck as hunger tore through his body and brain was the next thing that entered his mind. He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

Grace was quiet for a long time. He was putting something else in his hair, now. Something he could only describe as cold and smooth. Combing it through the rough strands and making it soft.

"That's beautiful." He said finally. "I think you should be proud."

"I don't deserve it."

He paused. "I wont pretend I know anything about what you believe, Simon." He started slowly. Carefully. "But I don't think any goddess would hold you like that if she didn't believe you were worthy of it."

Simon didn't answer. He hadn't thought of it that way, but… it wasn't out of the question. It made no sense that she would lower herself to be kind to someone she didn't want to be towards. But that also meant admitting that her kindness was something he deserved, which was somehow harder to imagine.

"What else?" He asked after a moment.

He shook his head. That much he didn't want to talk about. He still managed to force out a sentence, though. "Things I didn't want to remember."

Grace didn't push. He poured one last cup over his head before standing. He placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get back to bed."

Grace sighed deeply. He was tired, but he wanted to watch Simon a bit longer. He seemed calm, now, chest rising and falling and face relaxed as he slept. A hand rested on his arm as he fell into slumber soon turned into fingers combing through his hair which soon turned into him just resting it on the side of his face.

"Grace sleep." Rocky said after some time. "Tired. Rocky watch."

He focused on his breathing for a moment. "I— I just want to, um…" He couldn't finish the thought. He wasn't sure what he meant to say.

"Grace care a lot." He said. "Care Rocky. Care Simon."

Grace smiled. "Yeah, bud, uh… yeah. Yeah, I care about a lot of things."

"Care Simon different." He raised an eyebrow. He hadn't really thought of it like that.

"Maybe." He decided. "But not more. Not more than you. Just different."

"No, no. Not more." Rocky agreed. "Care like mate instead, statement."

He choked on his own saliva. "Uhhh I don't— I'm not really interested in… romance isn't really, like, my thing? I don't really—"

"What word, question."

"What word?"

Rocky made a noise that didn't translate. Oh. Romance. He quickly typed it in the translator. "It's like, um, dating. People date and have sex and sometimes they get married and have kids. It's— I don't know, bud, you're asking the wrong guy. I just don't really want that."

"Mate not romance." Rocky insisted. "Mate partner. Friend. Adrian not romance for Rocky. Adrian close. Close in very special way. Like Rocky and Grace, but still different. Not same."

Grace nodded. "Yeah, I… we have some terms like that, I think. I don't remember them. But that's— yeah, a mate wouldn't be so bad."

"Simon Grace mate." He concluded.

"Okay, I'm gonna get to bed, now." He laughed. "I think that's something I'd have to talk to Simon about, not just… decide."

"Grace ask tomorrow."

He yawned, waving his hand dismissively as he crawled under his blankets. "Yeah. Yeah, sure. Tomorrow."