Chapter Text
In Tom's opinion, dying in space was a very outlandish and frankly unthinkable way to die. Not that it wasn't possible, he's fully aware that there have been several lifeforms who have gone up to space and died there.
(Look, just because he was a bit of a junkie and a himbo as the fans would say it, he wasn't a complete idiot, of course he knows about Laika and Félicette, the poor darlings. 12-year-old Tom Ryder may have been a brat but animals were dear to him.)
If he were to be asked, his ideal way of dying would be peacefully, in his penthouse in Sydney where he'd be curled up in his husband's arms with all the love and care in the world. Ryland would kiss his forehead and Tom would die a happy man for everything he had.
Of course, that's not really a viable option now, considering he's in space but his presence was entirely voluntary. Tom could've not gotten sent to space, but that would've meant leaving Ryland alone and Tom was not about to let his husband die in space by himself. It would be a long, painful and lonely death.
So while Ryland sets out to save the sun from dying, Tom sets out to be just a pretty face for his husband.
Of course, he is pretty useful around the spacecraft – piloting the spaceship wasn't that hard once Tom had sifted through enough articles and digital books. That, plus Rocky's guiding, he was practically a pro!
(Ilyukhina had said that a lot of it was just for fancy pictures, which Tom can relate to. But still, maybe they had craft the spaceship in such a way that it could be driven by total idiots.)
In a sense, Tom was content with the current state of his life. He gets to be with his husband and for once, he isn't being nagged by annoying directors or Gail, for that matter.
Dying in space didn't seem too much of a big deal to Tom, after all.
Trying to get the stuff from Adrian was a precarious process.
Tom had tried to catch up with most of it, though he really only understood that Ryland and Rocky had found the solution to defeating astrophage. The way they explained it, 'life' was the reason and while it sounded more philosophical than scientific to Tom, he went along with it.
Again, pretty face.
The precarious part came with figuring out how to get it in the first place.
“We just need to figure out how to get close enough to the clouds,” Ryland says, bouncing a small basketball in his hands. “If there is some kind of microbial predator on Adrian, it'll be in the clouds. That's where the Astrophage breeds.”
“So what's the problem?” It seemed like an easy enough process to Tom – get in, get the stuff and get out. Just like how it went in all those spy movies he used to star in.
“The problem is the ship,” Ryland responds, tossing the tiny basketball to Tom. “It's not built to go into the atmosphere. If we get within five kilometers, we'll get ripped into a million pieces and then we'll burn up.”
“You mean like, in a fiery explosion and stuff?” Tom raises an eyebrow, tossing the ball back.
“Don't say 'and stuff', but yes.” Ryland huffs, quickly turning on his heel to begin bouncing the ball against the clear glass of Rocky's hamster ball. Tom had started calling it a hamster ball, because it looks like one and functions like one. Of course, he doesn't say it out loud after being slammed into the ground by Rocky.
“So we just have to figure out how to get it without getting too close,” the actor says.
“But how, exactly?” The scientist responds. “There's no other way. If we get too close, we die, but if we can't get the microbrial predator, then Earth dies. Game over.”
“Game not over,” Rocky chirrups from within his enclosure. He'd been quiet the entire time Tom and Ryland were talking, which was a surprise because the alien was an absolute chatterbox. “I make chain. I make long chain. I put collection device on end.”
Now that Tom glanced over, Rocky was making something between his claws. Had that pile of chains always been there?
Ryland scoffs softly. “Oh yeah yeah, five kilometers of chain, sure.”
He bounces the ball back, seemingly not paying attention to what Rocky was really doing. That's the thing about Ryland, Tom has realized over the course of their relationship, it's that the man gets too absorbed in the negatives.
“Babe, I don't think it's all that impossible,” Tom says, crouching down next to Rocky and peering at the pile of chains at the Eridian's feet. “He seems to be doing a pretty swell job of making a chain.”
“Yes, Tom correct,” Rocky agrees. He lifts up one end of the chain, holding it up for Ryland to see. “Like this chain. Look.”
Ryland's eyebrows furrowed visibly. “You can do that?”
“Yes.”
Tom met his gaze from where he was crouched low. “Sounds like a fishing trip.”
Ryland gives a slight nod. “Fishing. Yeah, kind of like fishing.”
Rocky gives a curious trill from inside his enclosure.
“What's that?”
Suffice to say, Rocky loved the plan. Which wasn't a surprise because Ryland's plans were always great and Tom is glad that an alien appreciates that as much as he does.
So they make the chain – all five long kilometers of it. In order to keep track of the measurement, strands of it had to be strung up in the lab, creating a maze that covered a large amount of the room. Rocky was sufficient and very quick with weaving the chain, though not without help from Tom and Ryland.
“About 4900-ish meters made,” Tom grunts, holding the camera as he steps over and ducks under. “Close to the 5 kilometers that we need. Rocky's doing a great job of making the chain, so props to him.”
“Appreciation is very much appreciated,” Rocky trills happily. “Rocky make chain strong, so not weak. Very sturdy.”
“Which will be needed when we need to lower the collection device into the atmosphere. Can't have the chain snapping and losing our only hope of salvation.”
Of course, they could always just make another chain, but that would take precious time. And it was too dangerous to try and put Mary under such extraneous pressure. It would be a miracle if she could even withstand the atmospheric pressure the first time around.
“Tom, can you help me?” Ryland calls out from behind all the mass of chains.
“And that's my wonderful husband calling, so,” Tom quickly makes his way over, stopping to prop up the camera to face Rocky in one of his tunnels. “All yours, Rock.”
“Rocky tell Earth plan!” The Eridian chirps, already excitedly positioning himself in front of the camera. “Hello Earth!”
As the Eridian begins to excitedly recount the plan to the camera, talking about everything that was done and had to be done, Tom pads over to Ryland. The scientist was currently putting things away, clearly having just finished chaining the last of the links together. He passes over some of the lab equipment, pointing at where it needed to go.
Driving Mary close enough to Adrian's atmosphere was going to be shaking the entire ship, so everything had to be put away and strapped down. Tom knew that Ryland would have a conniption if any of the equipment ended up damaged in the slightest.
So everything went back to their original spots and tightly secured. It was a good thing that Tom liked to pay attention to everything Ryland does, because he's done in record time.
His arms come around Ryland's waist, hands interlocking and resting against his husband's stomach. Tom nuzzles into the scientist's shoulder, pressing a light kiss over the fabric of Ryland's “I Wear This Shirt Periodically” T-shirt.
“Hey,” Tom murmurs.
Faintly, he hears Ryland huff fondly. “Hey you.”
They don't say anything else, just quietly bask in the presence of each other. Ryland even pauses what he's doing to just relax in Tom's hold. Which is wonderful, because Tom adores it whenever his husband just simply relaxes in his arms. He's a sap, dare he say it, but he's a sap for Ryland. It's why he took his last name, after all.
“Think this is gonna go great?” He asks. Ryland hums and shrugs slightly.
“Best case scenario, we get the sample. Good case scenario, we get a few scratches. Bad case scenario, we're alive. Worst case scenario, the ship explodes and we're all doomed.”
Tom laughs slightly. “So cynical, babe. You don't trust my piloting skills?”
“Well, considering how you used to drive...” Ryland trails off, squeaking when Tom tickles up his ribs in retaliation.
“Stunts don't count,” the actor remarks petulantly. “I have to drive bad, it's for the part, baby.”
“Eh, says enough about your driving.”
“Psh, rude. You're just mad that Rocky prefers me behind the steering wheel.”
“The ship doesn't have a steering wheel.”
“Stop deflecting and admit it.”
“I will never admit to your lies.”
Ryland giggles sharply as Tom really digs his hands into the scientist's armpits, jostling the man as he tickles him. Tom gets an elbow in retaliation, but that doesn't stop him from turning Ryland around and kissing him lovingly.
Things would turn out great.
Things were not turning out great.
Tom didn't know what exactly had gone wrong. Everything was going exactly according to plan – his piloting was immaculate, the collector had been successfully lowered into the clouds and all seemed to be going well for the time being. Sure, the entire ship was rattling like crazy, but it hardly seemed to be of much concern. Tom had it under control like a pro.
Then Ryland has to go and grab the collector and despite Tom's many attempts at convincing the man to let the actor go instead, it was happening still.
“Hey, be safe, baby.” Tom leans up quickly to steal a kiss from Ryland, keeping a steady hand on the steering gear.
“I'll be safe,” Ryland murmurs, returning the kiss before pulling away. What Tom would give for another kiss, but alas, his husband had stars to save.
So Ryland goes out onto the hull and Tom focuses his everything on keeping the ship stable. He doesn't need to be launching his husband into an atmosphere and killing him.
And for a bit, everything was going smoothly. The rattling was slightly intensifying, but nothing Tom couldn't handle. At the very least, Ryland was alright, so there was very little to worry about.
Then Mary has to go warning him about low altitude.
“Well shit,” Tom mutters. “That's not good.”
“Grace, hurry hurry.” Rocky shares Tom's sentiment.
The actor grips the steering gear, trying his damned hardest to tilt the ship back up. It had to be a slow ascension because anything too rough to jostle the ship and Ryland would go flying off.
But Mary seemed to be rejecting Tom's gentle attempts at pulling up, lowering further and further into Adrian's atmosphere.
“Fuck,” Tom curses, looking out the window. The clouds had dispersed. But they were on the wrong side. “Rylie, not to stress you out or anything, but uh, could you hurry it up a little?”
“Trying,” Ryland grunts through the communicator. “Not exactly a walk in the park, Tommy.”
“What that mean, question?” Rocky questions.
“It's an expression.” Tom shifts the gear. “Means something is extremely difficult or challenging. As opposed to something being a walk in park, meaning it's easy.”
“Ah,” Rocky chirps. “Collecting collector is not walk in the park, statement.”
“You got it, buddy.”
It really was not a fucking walk in the park.
Things go from zero to a hundred real fast, a sudden loud clanging startling both Tom and Rocky. It couldn't have been anything indoors, but the noise was too loud for it to be anything outside. Unless...
“Rylie?” Tom calls out, checking the screen in front of Rocky. “Rylie, what happened?”
Rocky trills. “Grace? Grace, status update!”
Things were not looking good. Ryland is laying on the hull, head down and still. Tom doesn't want to assume the worst of things, but the panic rises inside of him.
“Rylie, this isn't the time to be laying around,” he says, trying and failing to instill calm into his voice.
“Grace!” Rocky warbles. “Grace is safe, question?”
Ryland groans into the earpiece and, much to Tom's relief, moves on screen. “I'm okay.”
“Good, good, good,” Rocky responds. “Come inside with predator collector now.”
Tom agrees with Rocky as much, grunting as he continues to retry his attempts at stabilizing Mary. It wasn't working that much, as of far. But trying was the only thing Tom could do at this point.
He glances over at the screen and frowns when Ryland disappears from it, shuffling to the side.
“Uh,” his husband says eloquently and Tom knows that's not a good sound.
“Please tell me it's not a situation,” the actor mutters.
“It's a situation,” Ryland winces.
Rocky chirps. “Why Grace not moving, question?”
Tom would also love to know, but can't say as much when Mary gives him a warning of the ship's external temperature rising. He really needs to get the ship out of the atmosphere and quick.
He's fiddling with buttons, jostling the gear and trying so hard to pull Mary. It works, but the ship creaks dangerously and Tom hears Ryland squeak, so he abandons his attempts. He can't fucking get the ship up if Ryland is still outside, damn it!
Rocky suddenly warbles in worry. “No, Grace. Bad idea. Come inside.”
Tom can feel his cortisol spiking to new highs. “Rylie, what's going on?”
“I'll be there in a minute.”
“We don't have a minute!” Tom jumps, the rattling now becoming worrying. “Rylie, we need to pull up, now!”
Mary is still giving him warnings, all of which Tom ignores in favour of keeping the ship stable. Rocky is making all sorts of noises beside him, panicking at whatever he can see that Tom can't. Fucking echolocation.
Tom needs to keep his cool, but it's hard when Rocky keeps warbling and telling Ryland to come back inside and that he's going to die.
There's clanging on Ryland's end of the radio, noises that worry Tom relentlessly. They aren't great sounds and definitely not good to Tom's anxiety or high cortisol at the moment.
“Rylie, so help me, I will go out there myself if you're not back here in the next goddamn minute!” Tom pulls the gear, trying to keep his hand steady as the entire room shakes around them.
“Rocky agree, statement!”
More clanging, more anxiety spiking. Tom isn't sure how much longer he could take the anticipation.
Then Rocky is trilling in excitement and Tom knows that everything is going to be fine.
“Amaze, amaze, amaze!!” The Eridian cheers as footsteps come their way. Ryland throws his helmet onto the ground and practically launches himself into the third empty seat, quickly strapping in the collector. “Grace okay, question?”
“Well, I'm not dead, so yes,” the scientist pants, crouching low next to the seat.
“I'd prefer you not dead,” Tom quips.
They're pulling up out of the atmosphere, trying to get away from imminent doom. Tom jerks the steering gear as Ryland presses buttons and flips switches, turning the ship from reverse into normal. Mary practically races out of the atmosphere, rattling and shaking as the pressure threatens to tear the ship apart.
Rocky trills and warbles, panicked noises as he hovers over the switch to turn off the engine. They can't do it too early, they have to get into orbit or risk crashing and dying in a fiery explosion. The ship continues to rattle and the hull can be heard bending, the pressure pushing and pushing against the metal exterior of the ship.
When they finally get into orbit, it's quiet.
“Did we do it?” Ryland asks, trembling behind Tom and clutching onto his seat.
Mary cruises through space, carried by the force of her engines' power. It's all still. Tom thinks that they might've done it – might've pulled off the most nerve-wracking thing he's ever done.
And then his vision tilts.
Red light blares from all around and Mary goes spinning. There's a breach in the hull, the fuel escaping to Adrian. They're being pushed, the force of the spin pressing down on them all. Ryland isn't seated – he's pressed up against the wall, clutching desperately at anything his hands could grab on.
“Ryland!” Tom can't do anything, holding onto the rails above him to keep the chair from sliding.
“We need to eject the fuel tanks!” Ryland yells back at him. “The buttons, Tommy!”
There are a fuckton of buttons, but Tom can see what Ryland is talking about. He hauls himself over, pulling and stretching.
The first faulty fuel tank pops off easily, but it jostles the ship and launches everyone in every direction possible. There's a sickeningly loud thud to Tom's right and he hears Ryland's faint scream. He doesn't turn, desperately reaching for the second fuel tank.
The spinning intensifies, Tom's going to be sick. Mary spits a warning and lights blare brighter, red washing over his vision.
“Tom!”
“Eject other fuel bay!”
He flips the switch and slams the button. The ship jerks back – Tom can hear Ryland screaming, the only one not strapped safely into a seat – and the consoles are suddenly rushing up to meet Tom's face.
His vision goes black.
It's red all around him. There's a pounding headache and Tom can faintly taste blood on the roof of his mouth.
For a moment, he forgets where he is. He thinks that he's at some sort of party and that he must've gotten hammered. The kind of party where he drinks his woes away and gets drunk and high to the point of numbness. It's the kind of party with bright lights and blaring music, the kind of party that made up a majority of Tom's image. It's the kind of party Tom always used to frequent, the kind of party he stopped attending and throwing after he got married, the kind of party that he promised Ryland he would stop participating in, for his health and wellbeing and for Ryland's sake.
Tom thinks he's at a party. But that's not the case, because he hears frantic squealing and chirping. Tom is on a ship, in space, with his husband and an alien he befriended and whatever is happening right now, it's making said-alien frantic.
Tom opens his eyes and drags his gaze down.
Ryland is propped up against the console, hand mid-reach of the centrifugal force switch. He's just shy of pulling it, but Tom can tell that the pain was too great for him to withstand. His husband, passed out and bloody on the console, unmoving. Tom can feel his heart in his throat and the anxiety makes him sick. Rocky is squealing and chirping, tapping frantically at the glass. He doesn't look to be doing too well either. But who was?
“Ry-... lie..” Tom rasps. Everything hurts and his vision is swimming. He can't move, there's something obstructing his chair.
His arm aches and Tom reaches over to the switch himself. The metal grazes his fingers. He grasps onto the handle and pulls it down. His head hurts so much and Tom can faintly hear Rocky still chirping – now calling out his name as well as Ryland's.
But it hurts and Tom can't keep his eyes opened.
Rocky's chirps go shrill as Tom passes out.