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The sea was calm. It should have been peaceful. From the cliffside house, the ocean stretched black and endless beneath the biodomes reflective night sky, its surface glazed with silver where the light touched it. Far below, waves broke against the jagged rocks in a steady rhythm, deep and patient, the kind of sound that should have softened the edges of the night. Instead, the silence inside the room felt heavy. It pressed against the walls and settled over the bed, unnatural and waiting, as if the whole world had gone still for something terrible.
Simon lay awake with his eyes half open trying to dose off, listening to the house breathe around him. Then a gasp tore through the dark, sharp and ragged, cutting the quiet clean in two.
He went still. His heart slammed once, hard, and every muscle in his body tightened.
For a breath, he did nothing. He waited, foolishly hoping the sound had come from the settling beams, from the wind off the water, from anything but the person beside him.
Another sound followed, a whisper so thin it seemed to scrape its way out of a throat already raw with fear.
“…no…”
It was Ryland.
Simon turned toward him. Moonlight poured through the window and spread across the room in pale bands, catching on the wooden floorboards and the edge of the dresser, turning every familiar shape strange. The house creaked softly in the night breeze. Everything was still.
Except Ryland.
Ryland was face down in the bed tangled beneath the blankets, his body drawn tight as a wire. His shoulders shook. His hands clawed at the bedding with small, frantic motions, fingers digging into the fabric as though he could tear himself free from whatever held him in sleep. “…please…”
Simon’s brow furrowed, a deep ache settling in his chest. “Ryland?”
No answer.
The muttering grew frantic, jagged and desperate.
“I said no.” His voice cracked, raw with terror, trembling with a pain too deep for words.
His hands, trembling and useless, clawed at the sheets like he was trying to rip himself free from invisible chains.
“No…”
A strangled sob tore from his throat, echoing in the quiet room.
“I don’t want to go…”
Simon sat bolt upright, heart hammering.
“Ryland.”
Still asleep. His breathing became faster, harsh and uneven, each inhale catching like it hurt. “No!”
The desperation so pure, so childlike it pierced through Simon’s defenses.
“I’ll do anything. Anything. Just don’t send me.”
Simon’s stomach clenched. The words did not sound like a dream. They sounded remembered.
“I’ll stay. I’ll help. Please, don’t send me away.”
Ryland’s hands trembled against the sheets. His face twisted with helpless fury and fear, trapped in a moment Simon could not reach.
“Carl! They’re forcing me,” Ryland choked out, voice trembling, broken with a despair so deep it seemed to fracture him. “I don’t want to die.” Ryland gripped the sheets under him sharply.
Simon had seen panic before. He had lived through horrors that left their fingerprints on the body long after the danger passed. But this was different.
This was the scream of someone already lost, fighting to hold onto what was left of himself.
And suddenly, Simon understood. Not just the facts. Not just the pain. The terrible, heartbreaking truth:
Ryland hadn’t gone willingly on to the Hail Mary.
He hadn’t chosen to go willingly.
He had been terrified.
He had been taken against his will.
Something inside Simon shifted, fierce and protective, an instinct older than reason. He could not go back and stand between Ryland and that moment. He could not tear open the past and pull him out. But he could be here now. He could make sure Ryland did not wake from that darkness alone.
In the nightmare, the room vanished.
Ryland was back at Baikonur, with dust in his mouth and fuel in the air, the whole world sharp with heat and concrete and command voices. Floodlights burned against the night. The rocket loomed in the distance, white and massive, patient as a verdict.
He was running.
His shoes slapped against cold concrete. Every breath burned in his chest. Behind him, shouts ricocheted off the buildings, hard and urgent, closing in from every direction.
“Grace!”
He doesn’t stop.
“I’m not going!” He rounded a corner and skidded to a stop. Security personnel blocked the passage ahead, a wall of dark uniforms and hard faces beneath the glare of the lights.
“No!” He stumbles backward, heart pounding, lungs burning.
They close in. “Stay away!” Someone seizes his arm. He rips it free, instinct overriding reason.
“I said no!” More hands catch him from behind grabbing and pulling.
He fought them. He kicked, twisted, and threw his weight sideways, every instinct narrowed to escape. Fear stripped him down to breath and muscle and the single impossible need to get away.
“Stratt!” He sees her as she approaches with cold, unwavering certainty.
“There’s no more time.” She looks down at him with a shadowed expression “There never was.”
“No!” Grace screams. “Please!” His voice brakes on the word. “I can’t get on that ship!”
Her face remains cold and impassive. “You are.”
The hands that seized his arms, dragging him off the ground feet dragging toward the looming rocket.
Ryland screamed, an animal sound pulled from somewhere too deep for language, all terror and defiance and despair. “No! I’ll die!”
No one answers.
The elevator waited ahead, bright inside and mercilessly clean, its open doors like the mouth of a trap. “I’m begging you!”
Finally, Stratt looks him in the eye, and the distain in her expression is worse than any blow. “I know.”
That single sentence cuts deeper than a knife because she understands exactly what she’s doing. By taking him. By breaking him.
“Please…” His voice shatters, tears of helplessness spilling over. “I don’t want to die…”
The hands grip tightened. Gloves dug into his arms. Something cold and sharp pressed against his neck. An needle.
As the cold medication enters his blood stream his world tilts. Sounds begin to stretch thin. The floodlights smeared into halos, and the hands holding him became distant, unreal, though they never let go.
The last thing he sees before the darkness consumes him completely is the looming shadow of the Hail Mary, patiently waiting above, silent and daunting.
Simon dragged him back with his voice. “RYLAND!”
Simon shakes Grace harder hands on his shoulders. Graces’ eyes fly open, pupils blown wide with terror and empty of recognition. He lurched backward with a strangled cry, throwing an elbow as if someone had him pinned.
Simon catches him before it lands.
“No!” Ryland fights pushing at Simins grip frantic with a desperate need to escape. “You can’t make me go”
Rylands Breath was ragged and panicked in a way that made it painful to breath.
“They’re going to take me!” Voice braking from not enough air and panic, eyes still distant from the night terror.
Simon changes his grip to holding him around the waist pulling grace to his chest, holding him there tight.
The instant Simon touched him again, Ryland reacted as though he had been seized again. He thrashed against Simon’s hold, twisting hard with a strength that surprises him, fighting with a strength born entirely of fear.
“No one’s here,” Simon said.
“They’ll drug me.” Ryland says breathlessly unable to get enough breath into his lungs.
“They’re not here.” Simon says gently slowly lifting a hand to trace through Graces hair. Holding the panicked man firmly but not restraining anymore.
“No.” Ryland says weakly his whole-body tense and shaking.
Simon kept his voice gentle, and firm, refusing to let it shake. Even though seeing Grace like this was shaking his world view. “Look at me Angel.”
Ryland flinches hard, jerking as if expecting pain as his still unfocused gaze lands on Simon’s. But Simon holds his gaze, unyielding. Rylands eyes darted around the room, searching for proof that the people were not here.
Ryland took stock of the dark room first the Wooden walls. The window. Seeing the soft glow of moonlight. Hearing the distant crash of waves on the beach.
There was no concrete. There was no grass and dirt digging into his cheek and hands. The press of hands he felt was nothing like the vice grip of those who restrained him against the grace pushing him deeper into the dirt. They were the gentle steady hands of Simon.
This was not Baikonur. Not Earth. This was Erid the biodome. This was his chosen home with Simon.
The panic falters to confused eyes still looked uncertain. The fight leaves Ryland as his body drops slightly becoming limp. Simon catches him easily, steadying him further in to his hold just holding Grace to his chest rocking him slowly.
Ryland clung to him, shaking so hard Simon felt it through his own ribs. Little by little, the remaining tension went out of him, leaving only the wreckage of it behind.
Simon held him close, one hand at the back of his neck tangling in his short hair and the other around his waist, solid and present and just here.
The ghost of the nightmare still hung between them, Ryland’s begging, his terror, the terrible certainty in his voice. Simon closed his eyes for a moment and let the vow form quietly inside him. Ryland would never have to feel that alone again.
Simon gently kissed Graces forehead and whispers softly “Do you want to talk about it?”
Silence filled the space before Grace spoke voice small and rough “I ran,” Ryland whispers, voice trembling. “I forgot that part. I actually forgot that part.”
Simon strokes his hair softly. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I kept running.” Ryland’s eyes closed as he presses further into Simon’s arms straddling Simons lap fully to feel safe while talking about this painful moment, feeling exhausted as he shook from remnants of adrenalin of the night terror.
“I thought… if I could just get far enough away…” His voice trails off. “It didn’t matter though, they caught me.”
Silence settled around them, softer and a heavy weight, no longer suffocating but not yet kind.
“I was screaming.” He takes a shaky breath. “I was fighting as they still dragged me onto the ship.” His fingers grip Simon’s shirt tightly grounding himself. “They still drugged me. To stop me from running again.”
Simon couldn’t speak. He had imagined it differently, Ryland accepting his fate, walking aboard with quiet courage, making the sacrifice, but nothing like this.
The running for his life. The begging not to die. Simon’s chest tightens painfully. but on the inside, something steadies the anger, yes, but also clarity. Ryland hadn’t failed. He had survived. He had endured something unimaginably horrific and still saved the Stars still saved his friend still chose to be kind. Ryland Grace chose to be a hero even though they forced him to be there. Simon was angry he was livid on the behalf of the man that saw Simons bloody body his scars and torment and saved him, so Simon will be there for Grace. He will get through to his saving Grace that he is safe now that he will never face this pain alone ever again.
“They may have hunted you,” Simon whispers.
Ryland flinches.
“They may have treated you like…” He stops himself, voice thick with emotion. “Like cargo.”
Ryland tenses faintly. Bracing for the blow.
Simon just states firmly “but You Ryland Grace are the strongest person I have ever met. Even though all of that you still choose Kindness.” Simon takes a shaky breath. “You didn’t deserve to be treated like that to be forced to do this”
“They had too. There was no one else. I was all that was left.” Rylands voice was so defeated like this was something he told himself to keep going.
“No,” Simon whispers pulling back slowly hands still gently holding Grace as he slowly holds his face in his palms, Brown eyes bright with pain.
Simon leaned forward until his forehead rested gently against Ryland’s.
The world shrinks. The steady rhythm of their breath. The quiet creak of the house. For a while, all that existed was the warmth between them.
Ryland speaks softly. “They believed they had to save humanity.”
Simons voice is steady now. “That doesn’t mean what they did to you wasn’t horrific.”
Ryland’s eyes fill with tears again. “I’ve spent years trying to convince myself it wasn’t that bad.”
Simon exhales slowly. “You woke up screaming for them to stop killing you. It was bad.”
Something inside Ryland gave way, not violently, but with the exhausted relief of a door finally opening. The fear loosens its grip, replaced by quiet steadiness. Someone finally said it. That it was real. That what happened was terrifying and wrong. And Simon just holds him through the remainder of the night, silent and steady. Slowly they fall back in to bed with Grace laid on top of Simon to feel the closeness and the warm safety the other man is offering. Just listening. Just watching Grace relax every twitch, every shudder. Not out of fear, but out of promise.
He can’t undo the past. He can’t erase the horror of that last day on Earth of the launch. He can’t give Ryland back the choice stolen from him. But right here, in this small, unbreakable space, Ryland was not alone.
And in that moment Simon makes a silent vow:
Whatever ghosts haunted him, whatever memories threatened to drag him back, Simon would meet them first. And if Ryland woke up believing he was alone again, Simon would be the first thing he saw. Simon will be the first thing he feels. This time, when Ryland reached out, someone will already be holding on.
Morning came softly, as if the house itself were afraid to wake them.
Sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows in warm gold, touching the counters, the worn wooden table, the two untouched plates Simon had set out without thinking.
The kettle hissed softly on the stove.
The air smells of toasted bread and sea salt, familiar, grounding.
Ryland sat at the table wrapped in Simon’s oversized sweatshirt, silent and small inside the faded fabric.
He had not spoken a word. He hasn’t smiled or made his usual jokes.
Simon sets a mug beside him.
Ryland just stared at the rising steam, lost somewhere beyond sight.
Normally, Ryland would smile, make some grim joke about coffee being “life support.”
Today, he only gazes at the steam, as if not really seeing it. Just existing.
Simon sits beside him, silent. The silence was not uncomfortable. Simon chose to just be present.
Then, softly “…Hey.”
Nothing, Grace does not react.
Simon doesn’t ask if Ryland is okay, because the answer is obvious.
Instead, he slid the sugar bowl closer, a small, familiar kindness offered without expectation.
Ryland doesn’t notice. Not today.
Then came the part Simon had not prepared for.
Simon reaches over, instinctively resting a hand on Ryland’s shoulder.
The reaction is immediate.
Ryland jerks violently, mug rattling, eyes wide with terror. his breathing catches.
For one terrible heartbeat, Simon saw fear before recognition.
Not recognition. Not comfort. Only a bone deep terror.
Ryland curled inward, shaking with horror at himself, unable to force the apology past his throat. The words getting stuck in this throat choaking him in the process.
Simon feels as though someone has punched him in the chest. As he slowly withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry.”
Ryland shakes his head rapidly, no, no, unable to find the words to explain. He can’t speak. He can’t ask for help. He just trembles, frozen in that silent agony.
And Simon knows, knows deep in his bones, that talking won’t fix this.
So he quietly rises, fetches the thick fleece blanket from the couch, and returns.
Without a word, he slowly wrapped it around Ryland’s shoulders, gentle and careful, making sure Ryland sees the movements and watching for any reaction that this is unwanted. He was just offering warmth and safety without asking him to explain why he needed it.
Ryland doesn’t resist. He simply doesn’t have the strength. His body is limp and trembling, drained of energy, overwhelmed by the weight of what he’s just endured. Simon senses the fragile surrender, the quiet plea for safety wrapped in silence.
Gently, Simon rises from his seat and carefully guides them both out of the kitchen, moving softly to avoid disturbing the fragile moment. He leads Ryland into the living room, where the couch awaits a sanctuary of quiet comfort.
With deliberate care, Simon eases them both down onto the cushions, turning sideways so they can lie together. He adjusts the blanket around them, cocooning Ryland in warmth and protection. Carefully, he shifts until Ryland’s head rests gently against his chest, the steady beat of Simon’s heart a quiet anchor. The blanket drapes over both of them, a barrier against the darkness outside and the chaos within. No pressure. No need for words. Just the steady sound of Simons heart.
Ryland sagged into him, his body loose with exhaustion and still trembling at the edges, finally allowed to stop holding itself together.
Simon drapes one arm around Ryland’s waist, anchoring him securely, while his other hand rests lightly on Ryland’s hair, offering a gentle, grounding touch. He senses the fragile peace settling between them, a delicate space where words might still be too heavy, too much.
Reaching for the book on the end table, Simon opens it with tender purpose, as if handling something sacred. His voice is soft, steady calm amidst the lingering tremors of Ryland’s distress.
“I figured…” Simon pauses, his gaze softening as he gently brushes a tender kiss against Ryland’s hair, offering a silent reassurance an unspoken promise that he’s here, holding space for him.
“…you don’t have to talk.” His voice is calm, steady, filled with gentle conviction “So I’ll do enough talking for both of us.”
And with that, he begins to read aloud, his voice steady and soothing, filling the room with quiet presence, a steadying force amidst the lingering shadows. With that, he begins to read aloud, his voice smooth and steady, filling the quiet room with the steady rhythm Not because Ryland is listening.
Because Simon’s voice, familiar, predictable, and steady, was enough.
A reminder that time continues.
That they’re safe here.
That no one is coming to take him away.
That Ryland isn’t alone.
And as the pages turn, Ryland remains silent, lost in his own world.
Then, slowly, Ryland’s hand moved beneath the blanket, grounding himself as he felt the firm, steady muscle of Simon’s side beneath his fingertips. With tentative, deliberate motion, his thumb traced slow circles, a quiet gesture of connection and reassurance. Holding his partner close, he clung with fragile resolve, offering a silent promise of presence and support in the stillness. Simon doesn’t stop reading.
He only curled his arm around Ryland slowly mirroring his motions and kept going, steady and unwavering, offering the only promise he could give in that moment. Kissing Rylands forehead softly at a slow part. Keeping his promise that Ryland will never face this alone.
Eventually, after a long moment of stillness and unspoken understanding, Ryland’s voice broke the morning silence, trembling but clear: the first word he’d spoken all morning.
“Thank you.”