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The trip to Erid is a long one, and Grace is running out of food.
This is a fact that Rocky is painfully aware of, and knowing how little he can do to help just makes it feel worse. It still hurts each time he's reminded of Grace's original mission: save the stars, then die in space. Only enough food for a few years, then... a lonely death. Far from home. No one to watch him sleep.
It makes Rocky angry sometimes, that someone would send his friend off to that fate. But mostly, it makes him sad.
They talked about the food situation early on. Once it had been determined that Grace would be coming home to Erid, he brought out a couple whiteboards and they worked out their options together.
Option 1: Grace goes back into his coma. That was the first idea to come up, and the quickest to be struck down. Rocky could hear the way Grace's heart stuttered in his chest as he said it. But Grace clasped his hands tightly together, maybe to stop them shaking, and pushed forward.
"It solves the food issue."
"No," Rocky said immediately. "Grace crew die in coma. Is too risky."
Grace sagged slightly, though from disappointment or relief, Rocky couldn't tell.
"It might be the best option," he tried.
"No," Rocky repeated. He stomped his foot for emphasis. "Bad option. Bad bad bad. Last resort."
"We'll come back to it."
"Will not."
Grace ignored that last part.
Option 2: rationing what food Grace had left, starting now. They did the math together, covering the whiteboards in Grace's messy handwriting. There was a lot to consider: how much food would Grace need to be functional, and how much just to survive? And, just as important, what would Grace eat once they actually got there?
"Can make food for you when we arrive," Rocky said confidently. "Eridian scientists very smart. But we should keep samples for scientists to copy. Will be faster that way."
"Okay, good," Grace nodded. "We'll just reserve a little of everything. So I can have some variety, y'know?"
"Only little. Small pieces."
"Small pieces," Grace agreed.
The hard part, as it turned out, was the balancing act of rations versus time. If they reduce the rations X amount, how much more time does that buy them? And what would be the drawbacks of that reduction? About an hour of calculations and discussion later, they hit a snag.
"Okay," Grace sighed, tugging at his hair. "So, if I only eat enough to keep me alive, I can probably make it, but it'll be a miserable few years and I'll be in really rough shape when we arrive. Assuming I don't die from scurvy or something on the way."
"Not good."
"Not good," Grace agreed. "But if we go for functionality the majority of the trip, and a survival-only period for the last few weeks, then... I'll run out too early."
"How early, question?" Rocky tapped nervously on the xenonite glass between them. Grace's hand slid down from his hair to rub at his eyes.
"Half a year," he said, almost inaudibly. Rocky let out a rather rude burst of notes that Grace's computer didn't know how to translate yet. "Assuming there's no problems during the trip."
"Make survival period longer, question? Shorten functional period?"
Grace shook his head. "The longer it goes, the worse my health will get. A couple weeks of starving is all we can afford. We could make my functional rations a little smaller to buy us some time, but I don't think it'll be enough." He glanced over at Rocky, chewing on the end of his glasses. "I think we need to talk about the coma again."
"No."
"It really might be the best option," Grace insisted, even as his heart picked up that same nervous beat as before. "All of this—" and here he gestured to the survival vs functional calculations they'd just discussed— "Is assuming that we get there on time. No delays, no disasters, nothing. If we're wrong about the timing, we have no backup stores. I could still starve."
Rocky stomped his foot. "But—" he struggles momentarily to find the words that truly express all the stress and fear he feels at the idea. For Grace, and for himself. Because he knows the coma scares Grace, and why wouldn't it? His crew died last time. What if this time, Grace isn't so lucky?
And what would Rocky do if Grace never woke up?
"Can't watch Grace sleep for whole time," he said finally. "Is not safe. And want to... want to spend trip with Grace friend. Is long and lonely when just Rocky."
Grace wilted. "I know, buddy." He put his hand up to the glass, and Rocky matched it with one claw. "I don't want to do it either. But we have to pass those six months somehow, and the coma uses a fraction of the food."
It was Rocky's turn to wilt now. "Short coma," he insisted. "Only six months, statement."
"Eight," Grace countered. Rocky swore again, directed at his friend this time. Grace kept going before he could argue. "A little extra time in stasis gives me some buffer room in the food supply. Means if we get delayed, I'm not completely screwed."
Rocky stomped indignantly. "Seven."
"Deal." Grace held out his fist. Rocky bumped it behind the glass.
"No problems during sleep," Rocky demanded. "And Grace have to wake up on time, or Rocky will be very angry."
Grace chuckled. "Sure thing, pal. I won't be late."
They started the coma early in the trip. Grace reasoned that it'd be most likely to go off without a hitch if he went under while he was still in good health. He was right— seven months later he emerged no worse for wear, and they continued the trip together.
Now, they're down to the final leg of the journey. And Grace is on the last few weeks of his food.
He's been eating the bare minimum for almost two weeks now. And each day, he gets a little weaker. He sleeps longer, talks less, moves less. It's like someone's taken Rocky's friend and hollowed him out until just a shell remains. It makes him nervous.
Today, Grace hasn't gotten out of bed. He's awake, but barely. Rocky doesn't like it. At all.
"Grace." He knocks his ball against a blanket-covered leg. "Grace. Still awake, question?"
"Mmmyeah." Grace shifts minutely, and a tuft of hair emerges from under the covers.
"Feel okay, question?"
Grace groans. "Not really. Tired. Hungry. Cold."
"Oh. Sorry."
Grace curls a little tighter into his blankets, but the edge slips down from his face. His tired eyes find Rocky.
"Grace should get up, statement," Rocky says. It's only about half of what he really means: you should get up so I know that you still can.
Grace just shifts minutely and groans. This does not inspire confidence in Rocky.
"Don't think I got it in me today."
Rocky taps a foot insistently. "Is not healthy sleep all day."
Grace's eyes are already trying to close again.
"I miss sunlight," he says. "I think I'm forgetting what it feels like. Do you miss that too?"
Rocky slumps slightly. With each day that goes by, Grace seems to lose his focus faster.
"Yes," he answers anyways. "Miss sun-heat. Is cold in space."
"Erid's pretty hot, isn't it?" Grace yawns. "I think I'll like that."
Then he pulls the edge of the blanket back up, and appears to try and sink through the mattress. Grace has no intention of leaving his bed today; that message comes to Rocky with a fresh bout of concern and a hint of frustration. The frustration he pushes to the side. Grace had warned him of this before the survival period started. I might act like a different person. Hunger messes with your head. It's gonna be a rough few weeks.
Knowing that this is (technically) normal does not do much to reassure Rocky. Instead, it just feels like yet another sign of his friend deteriorating. If Grace is too miserable to get out of bed, will he make it all the way to Erid?
He tries not to let those thoughts consume him. Rocky rolls down the Hail Mary's halls aimlessly; pacing is an old habit of his, but he’s been doing it a lot more often these days. They're close to the end of the trip now— either a week or a few days, depending on how smart Rocky is with their remaining fuel. Grace made him promise not to be stupid and burn it all up to get them home faster. Rocky has to exercise every ounce of self control to not break that promise.
It's just... frustrating. He's watching Grace fall apart a little more every day, and he wants to do something, anything, but there's so little he can do from within his ball.
Rocky stops pacing and slumps dejectedly to the floor. He's rolled all the way to the far end of the ship, and now sits sulking next to the airlock. Dimly, he registers the familiar shape of Grace's EVA suit hanging on the wall. Then he stops, and takes a second look. He stares at the suit, then the glassy walls of his orb, then back again.
And slowly, an idea starts to form.
Two miserable days later, Grace is woken not by the usual clunk of Rocky's ball entering the room, but instead by something that sounds a lot like footsteps.
He's still processing the strange sounds through a haze of exhaustion when something hard prods him in the side.
"Grace." Another poke. "Grace, wake up."
"Mgh," Grace responds, and tries to hide in his blankets. Rocky keeps poking him.
"Have surprise for Grace. Get up get up get up."
A few uncharacteristically mean thoughts come to the front of Grace's mind. It's probably just the hunger talking, so he pushes them aside and reluctantly lifts his head.
All annoyance is forgotten as soon as he sees it: Rocky is outside his ball! Grace shoots upright, momentarily overtaken by panic.
"Wh— the atmosphere, how are you—"
"I make suit!" Rocky raises two legs to jazz-hand excitedly. Once Grace finds his glasses and puts them on, he sees the shiny geometric layer covering him like, well, a suit. It seems to be made of the xenonite glass he's become so familiar with, but this is the most complex construction that Grace has seen so far. Rocky's suit must have hundreds of facets, with dozens at each of his joints.
"Is this what you've been working on?" Grace asks, still in awe. How long had this taken to make?
"Yes yes, big project. Need many many parts so suit can be flexible. But not point!"
Not the point? What, so this was a side project? Grace may never truly understand the Eridian work ethic. It's kind of insane what Rocky can do when he puts his mind to it.
"Grace has been sad sad sad. Made something for you also! Needed suit to set up. This way this way! Up up up!"
Rocky practically herds him out of bed. Grace's legs shake as he stands.
"How far are we going?" He asks. "Because I don't know how much walking I can do right now, if I'm honest."
"Is not far. I catch if Grace fall. This way, this way."
It's cold in the hall, and Grace finds himself wishing he'd brought the blankets with him. But once he sees their destination, it's clear he needn't have bothered.
Rocky drags him towards the ship's largest window, where a small mountain of blankets and pillows await.
"Where'd you find all this?" Grace didn't think they even had this much bedding on the ship.
"I look in storage. Mary help. You sit!" Rocky butts his carapace against Grace's legs until he relents and settles down. Rocky flutters around like a mother hen, adjusting the pillows and pulling a blanket over Grace's shoulders.
"Still cold, question?"
"Uh—" instinct tells him to lie, just to be polite, but manners have taken a bit of a backseat ever since he started the survival period. "—a little."
"Move leg. I join."
He gives Grace about half a second to process that before clambering up and settling himself in Grace's lap. Grace lets out a little oof. He forgot how heavy Rocky is, even in the reduced gravity they're currently operating at. The xenonite suit contains the vast majority of the heat, so instead of boiling Grace alive, Rocky feels like a warm, particularly heavy cat.
"Is better, question?"
"Yeah, much better. Only crushing me a little bit."
"Too heavy?"
"No no, it's all good. Just joking."
"Good good. We do surprise now. Mary," Rocky calls, "Tilt ship 32 degrees port."
Huh?
"Tilting crew compartment 32 degrees portside," the Hail Mary replies. Grace opens his mouth to ask, but Rocky taps the window before he can get a word out.
"Look look look."
Grace does. The stars drift slowly past as they turn. He squints into the blackness, not quite sure what he's looking for, until—
Sunlight hits his face. And everything else seems to disappear.
God, he knew he'd missed it, but... until now he hadn't really processed that it had been years since he truly felt sunlight. Even as the light blinds him, just feeling the warmth on his skin lifts a thousand pounds from his shoulders. If he closes his eyes and sinks into the pillows, it's almost like he's back in his own bed. Sleeping in late on a weekend, with the sun streaming through his window.
"Grace is leaking," Rocky says. Grace touches his face and his fingertips come away wet.
"It's, uh— it's okay. Happy tears."
"Good good good." Rocky shuffles a little closer.
Yes, Grace misses his bed back home. He misses the sun. But he'd rather miss home, than miss Rocky. Rocky, who built a spacesuit from scratch, just so he could make a cozy spot for Grace by the window. Rocky, who saw Grace wallowing in his own misery, and brought the sun to him.
"What, um—" he pauses and wipes his face, "what star is that?"
"Sol Eridani." Rocky taps his claws together and whistles. "Grace Rocky almost home."
Despite his best efforts, Grace starts crying again.