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The clatter from the other room is loud and sudden, startling Grace out of his work. A slew of curse words are quick to accompany the noise, voice deep and cracking. Grace stands from his desk, scrambling to click off the microscope light and put on his glasses at the same time. He stumbles over the leg of his chair, managing to catch himself at the last second before hurrying into his bedroom.
His currently occupied bedroom. Not like they had much choice. His new guest had sort of popped out of the water in the biodome when no one was looking, bloody and severely injured, needing immediate medical assistance and a place to rest.
Simon was his name. A man from beyond the stars. Possibly. They didn't actually know where he was from or how he got there. Running hypotheses were wormholes, mass hysteria, or magic. After Simon had been cognizant enough to ramble deliriously about a blood ocean, giant eel, and sky eyeball, Grace had added "cosmic horror" to the list in his head.
The Eridians were building an extension to Grace's home so Simon could have space, but the process was a little slow. The main focus had just been keeping Simon alive, not dissimilar to when Grace had first arrived on Erid. Different reasons, though. Simon was severely irradiated and with multiple tumors throughout his body. He'd lost his left arm and was covered in ghastly, branching scars like roots had grown into his flesh then been ripped away. Fangs had grown seemingly at random across Simon's body, centered around the left side of his face. Simon's left eye was in rough shape, nearly completely red last Grace saw, currently bandaged in hopes it could be saved later.
Overall, it was bad. Simon was alive, though, and was beginning his long, long road of recovery. Besides his arm, most of his damage was internal, despite what the extensive scarring might suggest. His body had been put through the ringer, everything weakened and frail from the radiation and tumors. He'd need physical therapy and lots of patience to get to some sense of normalcy again.
A fact which Simon loved to ignore, much to Grace's growing chagrin.
"Simon!" he exclaims when he enters his room and finds Simon sprawled on the floor beside the bed. Everything that had been on the bedside table is also on the floor from where Simon had tried to brace himself and tumbled. A blanket is tangled around Simon's leg, which is bent backwards awkwardly and on top of the bed. "Are you okay?!"
Grace crouches down, first assessing that Simon isn't injured again. The frustrated look on his face likely means the only thing hurt, though, is Simon's bruised ego.
"I'm fine, quit hovering. Jus' wanted some water," Simon grumbles. He certainly sounds like he needs the water. His deep voice sounds like sandpaper.
"Hovering's," Grace grunts as he finally reaches forward and helps Simon straighten up, untangling his leg from the blanket, "kinda my job right now, buddy."
Simon had been with them for a few weeks already, but most of that had been on emergency operations, scrambling to figure out what was going on, and keeping him alive. Simon had been unconscious for most of it, then delirious for the rest. Only recently had they actually begun to get to know each other.
Simon was a guarded, defensive, and overwhelmingly fragile man. Grace wouldn't ever say the "fragile" part aloud, though. He doubts Simon would appreciate that, constantly trying to appear strong and capable the second someone perceives him. Despite that, he'd warmed up well enough to Grace and the Eridians when he'd finally realized he was safe with them. They weren't the best of buds or anything, but Simon had definitely not had someone looking out for him in… uh… ever. He was awkward about it, but he seemed to lean into it.
Grace couldn't help but think of an abandoned, abused dog at the pound, or a stray cat that had been chased off with rocks one too many times.
Three days ago, Simon had gone under for another procedure to remove the worst of his tumors and the remainder of the foreign fangs. Grace called them xenotomas - alien teratomas - though he wasn't sure if linguistically that actually worked… Simon had been healthy enough for the procedure and was meant to be looking forward to a break, at last, from all the surgeries.
Unless he hurt himself again!
"You're gonna give me a heart attack if you keep doing stuff like this, you know," Grace sighs, crouched in front of Simon. The other man is glaring off to the side, doing everything not to look at Grace, and is totally-not-pouting. Grace huffs. Okay, he isn't getting an answer.
"You said you wanted water?" he asks, standing back up. He leans over and offers both of his hands to Simon, who finally looks back at him guardedly. "Come on. You could probably use a change of scenery anyway." Grace side-eyes his things on the ground. "Also get you away from anything you could throw at me."
Simon rolls his eyes and at last faces Grace fully. "Not gonna throw anything," he grumbles. His hand rises, hesitating on the way up, before grabbing Grace's firmly. He definitely once had a lot of strength, but right now his hand shakes in Grace's grip.
"You threw a cup at me when you first woke up," Grace shoots back as he also grips around Simon's left side to help get some leverage as he pulls him up. Once Simon is on his two feet, he wobbles, but Grace braces his whole body with his own. Simon has to lean against him for a few seconds just for the dizziness to pass.
"I didn't know where I was. Are you ever going to drop that?" Simon grumbles. His voice is right by Grace's ear, so low and baritone it sends a shiver down Grace's spine. He's got a gorgeous voice, he really does.
"I was so excited to meet another human and you struck me!" Grace bemoans dramatically. Simon leans back at last, shifting from foot to foot as he tries to find his balance. Grace slowly releases his side, hand still hovering in the air in case Simon falls. They don't let go of each other's hand.
"It was plastic and had, maybe, a drop of water in it. It bounced off your fucking head."
"But the intent was crippling!"
"Pretty sure the only cripple here is me."
Before Grace can tell Simon not to call himself that, the stubborn man has made an attempt to step towards the door. His knee immediately buckles, swinging inward, and Grace quickly catches him. Simon curses loudly in surprise, then grits his teeth as he slowly finds his balance again.
"Slowly! Seriously, Simon, there's no rush," Grace scolds, more nervous than upset.
Simon's eyes are wide from the almost-fall, but he breathes along with Grace for a few seconds and calms down. He nods and Grace nods back, then moves to start walking backwards, holding Simon's hand, other arm out and ready to support Simon at any second. "Don't try to rush again. Please. Let me help you," Grace says, smiling reassuringly at the only other human on Erid.
Simon looks up at him, one visible eye flicking over Grace's face. Slowly, the defensive layers bleed away to show what they were protecting. An anxious, vulnerable, frightened man who is used to doing everything on his own. As heartbreaking as the expression was, Grace preferred this. It was honest. The real Simon.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Simon shuffles one foot forward. He mirrors Grace, who guides him towards the door. Grace's smile grows, pleased. Simon often put up his boundaries when he was embarrassed or spooked, but they didn't seem to last long with Grace. It wasn't something that could be shaken easily, but that was okay. They just needed to get through it bit by bit.
"Easy now," the scientist murmurs. They're slow moving, but that's okay. "One step at a time."
Simon's eyes keep flicking down, watching the floor and his uncertain feet. His right leg is quaking something fierce. Grace can't imagine what it must be like to have your own body fail your directions like that.
"What if I fall?" Simon grunts, then cringes, hating the vulnerability in his voice, but Grace doesn't hesitate to reply.
"Don't worry," he says emphatically, leaning forward to catch Simon's eye. "I'll catch you." He'd already fallen out of the bed. They didn't need anymore accidents. Which, seriously, Simon just needed to stop being stubborn and ask Grace for help!
They manage to make it to the door but Simon's whole body is shaking now. "Stand with your feet together," Grace instructs, looking over his shoulder. He reaches backwards quickly to grab the chair he'd been sitting at in front of his microscope. With Simon's arrival, Grace had been bestowed a myriad of new things to study, so his science equipment was getting a lot of work in.
"Shift your weight to the other side," he continues to instruct, pulling the chair close enough. A little further and he helps Simon sit, resting. Simon breathes heavily, head thrown back, body giving the occasional, achy quiver. "You wanna stay here or try to make it to the table?" Grace asks after a while.
He and Simon are still holding hands.
It feels really nice, and Grace definitely won't turn down some much-needed contact.
"Table," Simon nods to himself after a beat. "Definitely table. I can make it."
"Alright, but if I have to carry you, I will," Grace grins.
Simon looks up at him, wide-eyed. His cheeks look a little pink, but that's likely from exertion. "You couldn't lift me…" he says, though he doesn't sound completely certain.
Grace arches an eyebrow. "I'm stronger than I look, you know, and you're lighter than you look. I get you're built like a brick house, but they did just remove, like, twenty pounds of tumor out of you."
"It wasn't twenty pounds," Simon rolls his eyes.
"Potato, flamenco."
"Even I know that's not the saying."
"Tomato, legato."
"Stop."
Grace cackles.
Simon doesn't need to be carried, which is a relief. Grace thinks he could, but Simon still has a lot of muscle mass. Some of that will be lost as he recovers, but not yet. Maybe Grace should start weight training…
Simon sits at the kitchen table and sighs in relief while Grace fetches him a glass of water. Simon still looks at any food or drink that's placed in front of him like it's impossible to exist, but he at least drinks the water after a few moments. It's "sunnier" out here, with warm light coming in through a window and warming both their skins. Grace keeps it cool in the house after getting used to the chill of space, and he enjoys warming himself up with the light or bundling up in a cozy blanket. Simon also likes the chill, especially after being in that sweltering oven of a submarine for so long.
The "sunlight" itself doesn't give them any vitamin D, alas, but that's okay. It still feels nice. Like a heat lamp in a lizard enclosure.
Grace wonders what kind of lizard he'd be… Simon, too. Would they be the same lizards? Or different ones that can cohabitate? Grace never had any pets, but his classroom had a little box turtle named Timothy. Grace had inherited him from a previous science teacher.
Tiny box turtle Tim. Grace hopes he's doing alright.
Simon is looking around and has said something. Grace blinks and shakes his head out of his strange, tumbling thoughts. "What?" he asks.
Simon side-eyes him, then huffs and leans back in his chair, grunting when a stitch in his side pulls strangely. "Where do you stay? I don't see another room," he repeats, and again looks around. "Is there another house somewhere?"
"No, this is it," Grace shakes his head. "They're working on expanding this one now, but I don't know the ETA for that."
Simon gets a complicated look on his face when Grace mentions the Eridians working on the house. The unspoken "for you" hangs heavy over him, even though it shouldn't. The Eridians were expert, efficient builders and they were so excited for Simon to be here. They wanted to do this for him. They were even talking about expanding the biodome.
"Then where's your room?"
"Uhhh, you're in it."
Both Grace's brows rise when Simon jumps and his eyes widen, shocked.
"What?!"
"Yeah…?"
"Why?!"
"You needed a bed. Bed right there. Give you bed. Why are you being jumpy?"
"Then where the fuck have you been sleeping?!"
"I have a couch, you know." Is the couch his favorite? No. But who cared? He was usually working through the night, anyway. All this new data was enthralling, and he loved a good puzzle.
Simon sputters, disbelieving. "Fuck that! I'll take the couch! I can't kick you out of your own bed!"
"No," Grace says with a brilliant smile, only making Simon more animated. It's a good look. "You didn't kick me out of anything, and you need the back support way more than me."
"I can't take your bed!"
"Actually you can. Because I'm giving it to you." Grace keeps smiling, leaning against the table. Simon flails his arm, clearly frustrated and confused.
"Ryland!" he finally says, exasperated and unable to find his next words.
"Simon!" Grace replies in mock exasperation, pouting his lips then grinning again.
Simon groans and slumps back, running his hand down the unbandaged side of his face. "You're impossible," he grumbles, half to himself.
"You just tried to start a fight over who gets to sleep in the less comfortable spot," Grace says, tone going flat. He stands and picks up Simon's empty cup to wash it. "Dooooon't think you have room to talk."
Simon grumbles under his breath while Grace cleans up, but he definitely hears a strangely endearing "fucking asshole" in there somewhere.
~*~*~
Simon is terrible at asking for things. That's what Grace has learned. The man is incapable of bringing up his own discomforts, wants, desires, or preferences at all! He accepts what's given to him, and that's it. No questions asked. The end.
On paper it could sound gallant, but really it's just getting frustrating.
They'd finished the expansion of the house quickly and Simon had moved into his own, new room to finish his recovery. Grace was still responsible for keeping track of him, but it was nice for them both to have their own space, too.
Sometimes, in the beginning, he'd find Simon sitting on the floor of his room. He'd thought Simon had fallen again, but the man was perfectly fine, looking around his room with huge eyes, open wonder on his face. It took a while for Simon to explain the only room he'd ever had for himself was his prison cell.
Grace assumed that was likely not a very comfortable room for yourself.
Simon had his own bed now, a window, a wardrobe, dresser drawers, and plenty of space to add his own charm to the room. Since Simon didn't really own anything yet, Grace had gifted him some nick-knacks to liven up his room, and sometimes he found Simon staring at those, too.
He knew Simon was eternally grateful, and it was sweet in a sad sort of way, but he also never made any requests for his room either. It took them forever to find out Simon needed extra bedding because he got so cold after all the procedures. As he lost muscle mass, as they predicted he would, he didn't bring up how achy he was and needed more support for his back and tailbone. He didn't bring up that the shelf at the top of his wardrobe was juuuuust a bit too tall for him to reach and was going unused.
And that was just his room! It took forever for Grace, Rocky, and Adrian to work any preferences, likes, and dislikes out of the man. He seemed under the impression that if he ever asked for anything he'd need to earn it, and if given something he didn't want he still should be grateful, which was a very frustrating thing to have to deprogram.
A lot of what Grace learned came more from observation than actually being told.
First, Simon liked scarves. He'd had something like one when he'd arrived, but his old clothes had been more blood than fabric by then and had to be burned. But then Grace, who was getting pretty good at knitting in his free time, had made him a scarf. Simon wore it just about everywhere, burying his face in it, using it as a barrier of sorts when he got overwhelmed.
Grace ended up making him many more scarves after that.
Second, Simon really liked plants but didn't know how to handle them. He'd often stare at the potted plants in the house, transfixed. Grace, after talking to some of the Eridians that helped develop many of the human safe items within the biodome, had gotten some of the digital plant care files from the Mary printed onto books to leave around the house for Simon.
He often found Simon reading through them when he thought no one was looking.
Third, Simon is afraid of the water, or at the very least unnerved. On the few times they've managed to walk outside, Simon was fascinated by the scenery, but also always moved away from the crashing waves. Grace worries it gives him memories of the blood ocean at first, but that turns out to be wrong. Through a series of talks and stories about his past, Grace had pieced together that Simon doesn't know how to swim, and something like an ocean, even a fake one, was very intimidating for him.
Grace promises himself to help teach Simon to swim another day, after he's recovered enough. It's a great way to exercise for humans in the increased gravity.
Fourth, Simon is creative. He wouldn't have had an outlet for anything like that in his past, but it's definitely there. Rocky, a while back, had recreated Lego's for Grace after they'd talked about them. They were so fun they'd actually become popular with Eridians, too. Grace had a ton in his classroom and around his house. Sometimes, he'd find a new creation somewhere it hadn't been before and it only could have been Simon who made it. They were good, too. The man had an eye for crafts.
Grace wondered if he could get Simon a sketchbook or something…
Fifth, and this was a hard one to spot, Simon was a texture eater. He generally didn't mind what flavor of nutrient-dense jello was given to him, how bland a me burger might be, or how bitter the coma shakes were. He accepted just about everything put in front of him. But he always was slower to eat anything with taumoeba in it, or if a me burger was a bit too chewy it would end up being pushed around in his mouth a lot longer.
Simon had grown up with minimal rations, needing to eat what he could to survive, but it turned out most of that food was one, single texture. Now that his palate was expanding, it was clear he was a lot more sensitive to the feel of foods in his mouth than the flavor. So, Grace tried to make sure his meals were mostly soft or crunchy, the two extremes he preferred.
And sixth, and probably most importantly, the man was touchy.
Okay, that wasn't completely right. He didn't go out of his way to touch anyone, usually, but the second contact was given to him he was desperate for it.
Grace could understand that one… Despite how helpful the Eridians were, plus their new xenonite suits, human contact had been something Grace had desperately missed. Years and years without it, he'd felt a thrill just from helping drag Simon out of the water that first day, even while covered in blood.
Simon also hungered for touch, but for different reasons. The man had more exposure to other humans, but it was rarely pleasant. Possibly a friendly pat here and there from other prisoners, but mostly he would have been familiar with being used, abused, and tossed aside. Contact was both a need and an impending threat.
So, it was important that touch be mostly on his terms. Grace knew that… Except Simon still didn't know how to ask for it. Grace had to give him openings - really, really obvious openings - for both of them to get what they wanted.
Grace had noticed all this the first time he'd had to carry Simon. They'd finally started him on some beginning workouts in physical therapy, which was great, but it left him completely drained in the beginning. So much so Grace had needed to carry him back to his room. Simon had definitely been shocked when Grace actually managed to lift him up, all wide-eyed and red-faced. Grace had been worried that Simon might get upset with him, but then Simon had thrown his arm around Grace's shoulders, shoved his face in his neck, and clung for dear life.
It was startling, but far from bad. Very far from bad. Arguably one of the best feelings ever. Grace had beamed the whole way to Simon's room.
Yes! The scared cat likes me!
But then, when he'd tried to put Simon down on his bed, he simply wouldn't let go. At all. He was sitting on the bed, but his arm was still firmly wrapped around Grace, face hidden away in his neck.
"Uh… Simon? You good?" Grace had asked, awkwardly bent over the bed and Simon's body, effectively held hostage. He felt Simon nod against his neck. "I didn't break you or anything, right?" A shake of the head had some of Simon's beard hairs tickling Grace's neck. "You… gonna let me go anytime soon?" A pause, then another shake of his head.
Cool. He is being held hostage.
"You need to stay like this for a while?" A nod.
Alright then. This was fine. Grace could work with this.
After some readjusting with a very unhelpful, clingy Simon, they'd both managed to lay in the bed with Simon atop Grace, clinging like his life depended on it. After a while of only staring up at the ceiling, Grace had begun petting his fingers through Simon's hair, making the man shudder. Grace is pretty certain he felt wet tears on his shoulder, too, but he did not mention them. Simon likely wouldn't have reacted well to it being pointed out.
And, honestly, Grace really needed this too. The weight and heat of another human being pressed against him, warm breath against his neck that reminds him that they're both alive and there, the rise and fall of a firm chest against his own. It's perfection. Truly it is.
After that, they don't magically become touchier, though. Grace is only more aware of it. That this is a thing they both need.
He still has to help Simon get around sometimes, and when he does Simon clings to his hand like a lifeline.
When they watch movies or shows, Grace sits a little closer and wraps them both in his quilt, and after a while Simon will shuffle in close and plaster himself to Grace's side. Once, he even feigned sleep so he could stay where he was longer.
When Simon managed to wobble through the house, getting a little bit stronger everyday, Grace would sit back in his chair in such a way that Simon could "accidentally" brush his hand against his shoulders.
It was nice. It was very, very nice.
Not to say there weren't plenty of rough patches, too. Simon was a fighter. A survivor. He was used to being strong and independent within his own body and space. So now that he was in a position of constant vulnerability, sometimes the walls came up and they didn't come down for a while. That's when touching was not okay.
It was fine. Simon nearly bit Grace's head off one time when he'd gotten too close without thinking, but they were both learning about each other and would be for a long time. There was bound to be some hiccups, and Grace was far from an angel either.
Simon is a traumatized, confused man who hasn't felt a kind touch in a long while. He flips between overwhelmingly vulnerable to defensive and hostile in the blink of an eye. He and Grace are two very different people from very different worlds, both working through their respective issues in their own ways. They're also both remarkably stubborn, so arguments were bound to happen. But none of that lasted. None of the anger or the defensiveness or the hurt sticks like it used to.
Grace thinks that can only mean they're both improving, bit by bit, and when it came to touch they still had a ways to go, but something definitely began to change after about a month.
Simon doesn't exactly start asking for anything, really. Not verbally, that is. He's getting more comfortable in other's presences, which is good, and he seems to have become aware that Grace enjoys their physical contact.
The way he seeks that contact, however, is unique…
He's begun angling himself at Grace, slooooowly getting closer and closer until Grace reaches back to him. Usually it's his shoulder, tilting to the side until Grace presses his own shoulder back to him and he relaxes. It's sweet, really. A step in the right direction. But the best is when he wants his hair played with.
With only one arm, many things are more difficult for Simon to handle. Grace has offered to assist with personal grooming, helping trim Simon's beard and comb his hair. Grace didn't try to linger at first, but he couldn't help but notice the way Simon's eyelids would droop when he got to his hair.
And now, Simon would sometimes lean forward, very obviously pointing his head at Grace, not being subtle at all. Grace usually feigns ignorance at first before reaching out and petting Simon's hair, watching his shoulders slump in relief.
"You remind me of a cat," Grace said once, amused. Simon had hummed back to him, not moving away. Grace wasn't even sure Simon knew what a cat was or if he was paying attention.
In the end Grace was happy Simon was beginning to ask for something, even if it was a bit roundabout.
He wonders when was the last time Simon had someone in his corner. When was the last time someone stood with him, just because they could? Has there ever been anyone? Or had everything become so focused on survival that everyone was only focused on themselves?
Grace doesn't like to think about that, but he hopes Simon knows he now has Grace and a whole team of enthusiastic Eridians on his side. This isn't about being owed a single thing or being in anyone's debt. It's about caring about someone just because they're important to you.
~*~*~
Six months after the operation, Simon was doing great. He was doing more in his physical therapy, slowly building back the muscle he'd lost. Grace tried to do the exercises with him as often as he could, but some days his own joints ached too much to do much of anything.
Simon was also getting a little bolder with asking for what he wanted, finally beginning to realize he wouldn't be indebted or hurt by anyone just for making a request.
He'd asked Grace if he could start taking care of the plants, having been reading up on what to do in all the guide books he'd "found" in the house. Grace was more than happy to pass on the duty to him.
He'd also asked Rocky to start showing him how the house was built and functioned, wanting to know how to make repairs on his own if needed. He liked to use his hands— sorry, hand, and he'd been pretty competent at small jobs around the space stations he once lived on. It was a skill that was important to him, and Rocky had been happy to oblige.
He still wasn't spectacular at asking for touch, still relying on body language or fibs to get what he wanted. For example, he'd sometimes ask Grace for assistance with getting around again, like at the beginning.
"Can you help me get to the table?" he'd asked once, hesitant and not meeting Grace's eyes, his hand raised towards Grace. He was standing perfectly still, steady on his feet, no concerns that Grace could see.
"Yeah," Grace had replied immediately, scratching his neck uncertainly, "Sure…" He'd worried that all those months of physical therapy had missed something vital. Or was Simon stepping backwards in his recovery journey? It was bound to happen. Nothing was ever linear.
Except once Grace took Simon's hand, their arms had dropped, relaxed between them. There was no support there, only held hands.
Held hands…
Grace had pursed his lips, trying not to grin or laugh when he'd realized what was going on. Simon had still refused to look at him.
Since then Grace "helped" Simon get around to a lot of places. The couch. The kitchen. The porch. The beach.
It was cute. Which is not a word he would have originally used for someone like Simon, but it's true. Simon is cute. And cool. And handsome. Ridiculously handsome. Who gave him permission to be that handsome?
He nearly knocked Grace out the first time he had grinned. His normal, relaxed smile and his shy smile were sweet enough, but his grin? Cherubic.
Rocky had been over, destroying Grace in chess as he does, when Simon had come in from outside, a little breathless but in good spirits. Rocky had angled his body towards him as he came closer.
"Hello Friend-Simon!" Rocky had said brightly. Grace was able to understand him just fine without the translator nowadays, but Simon was still learning. Simple phrases at a slower tempo were needed for him to follow.
"Hey," Simon said, patting the bend of one of Rocky's legs. "You fucking him up?" He had jerked his head towards Grace, who sat up straighter, eyes wide.
"Hey!"
"Yes, yes, yes, Friend-Grace awful at chess game," Rocky replied brightly.
"Thought chess was a smart person game," Simon had turned his smirk on Grace, who stared back at him, unimpressed.
"Is! Rocky just smarter. Friend-Grace dumb."
"I would destroy you in Uno, I hope you know that," Grace said grumpily. He huffed but couldn't stay agitated long with the way Rocky laughed and Simon looked so at ease. Grace rolled his eyes mostly for show, then looked up at Simon. "Good workout? Nothing hurting?"
"Nothing hurting," Simon replied, nodding, and then was suddenly taking a step back with his dark eyes lighting up. "Almost regained my muscle mass too!" he said and promptly flexed his one arm. His shirt - it was Grace's old "I Had Potential" shirt but the other man had basically claimed it as his own by now - rode up a little to show an inch of naval. Simon's bicep bulged out impressively, really showing how quickly he had been building back his strength.
And he'd been grinning. A full blown grin. Grace could see his canines, a little sharper than most humans, and his cheeks scrunched up until his eyes pinched.
Grace was dumbstruck, mouth falling open. The man has laugh lines. Grace didn't know he had laugh lines!
"Guess I didn't lose as much muscle as you thought I did, huh?" Simon said brightly, dropping his arm and leaning towards Grace with a taunting expression. As if Grace had challenged him or something to regain his muscles so fast.
Simon must have taken Grace's silence as victory in his made up competition, straightened up and marched back towards his room to change, chest puffed out with pride. Grace stared after him, not even close to being subtle about it.
What?
What?!
What?!
"Has Simon always been that pretty?!" Grace had demanded, swinging back around to face Rocky.
"Mm, yes," Rocky replied easily, no hesitation.
"Wha— Why hasn't anyone told me?!"
Rocky's carapace "stared" at Grace for a long moment. "Even Eridians know. Grace just dumb." Rocky, only moving one leg, then moved his bishop on the chessboard. "Mate check."
Grace had groaned and thrown himself backwards in his chair.
~*~*~
Grace didn't often have nightmares anymore. When he and Rocky had first begun their journey back to Erid, they were an almost nightly occurrence. With his memory returned, he'd been dealing with them constantly. Visions of being pinned down, of being dragged away, of having no control. He often dreamt of being conscious during the whole coma, lying frozen, hearing everyone speak over him like he was nothing. A slab of meat to be used and disposed of.
He hated it. Hated how the memories haunted him. He knew on a logical level why it had been done. In many ways he'd forgiven Stratt long ago, even if he was glad he wouldn't ever see her again. But his unconscious mind didn't care much for his logic, wanting to relive the traumatic experiences over and over and over again.
Eventually, he'd had to tell Rocky what happened. Rocky had witnessed him wake from too many nightmares for it not to be clear Grace was hiding something. Rocky hadn't been pleased, screeching and cursing out Stratt and the team for hurting his friend. There were a lot of words the translator did not know. Who knew Eridianese had so many bad words…
Grace eventually talked Rocky down. Rocky had attempted to announce his hatred of Earth, but Grace had cut him off. "My kids are back there," he'd said. "My people. A small organization did this to me, not all of humanity." Because Grace loved Earth. He loved it so much and he was so happy to be able to save it. And he knew Rocky loved Erid with the same intensity. Beyond saving Rocky because of their bond, that was also why Grace had come back. He couldn't live with himself to let either planet die.
Through the years on the Hail Mary, Grace managed to shake off some of the nightmares. They began to spread out, every other night instead of every night. Then every three nights. Every four. Until Grace was having far more restful nights than terrified ones.
After a year on Erid, one Eridian came forward as a human therapist, having studied human psychology in extensive detail thanks to Mary's logs. They had intermittent layers of white and dark grey stone on their carapace, like geologic varves back on Earth. Grace called him Zebra, which ended up shortened to Dr. Zeb somewhere along the way.
Having that therapist had been a godsend. Grace had hated it at first, but now he couldn't imagine getting to where he was without Dr. Zeb. And by the time Simon had arrived, Dr. Zeb had been happy to assist him as well.
That didn't mean Grace was magically a-okay, though. He still had bad days. He still had a strange relationship with food after years of starvation. He still didn't enjoy being pinned to his front when he and Rocky rough housed. He still got twitchy around rainbows, of all things.
And he still had nightmares on occasion.
He'd been lucky that most of his nightmares had woken him up quickly and quietly. He'd been happy he wasn't disturbing Simon's own fragile rest. But that changed tonight.
Grace doesn't realize where he is at first when he wakes up screaming. He sits up quickly, lashing out wildly to shake off the hands grabbing, grabbing, grabbing at him. His blanket is flung and his quilt falls to the ground. He looks around wildly, trying to find an escape. He needs to get away! Get away now! He doesn't want to die!
There's a loud clattering sound just outside the room and Grace jumps, head swinging towards it like a spooked animal. Simon, hair a mess and dressed in his sleep clothes, bursts into the room, a decorative vase held in his hand poised to be thrown.
"WHAT?!" Simon barks, voice a little slurred, his own eyes flicking around, wild and ready for a fight. "What's happening?! Who attacked?!"
As Simon takes in the room, realizing it's empty, Grace takes in Simon. Simon, who clearly was woken from his sleep by Grace's screams and came running the second he processed what was going on. Simon, who was ready to defend Grace at a second's notice.
Simon who is on Erid with Grace, not Earth, and certainly nowhere near any Project Hail Mary bases.
Both men begin to relax at the same time, realizing there's no threat, they're safe, it was all just a dream. Grace lets out a shaky breath, his heart thundering in his chest, and drops his head forward into his hands. He tries to get his bearings slowly, breathing in even, consistent counts.
He's okay, he reminds himself. He's here. He's safe.
"You were…" Grace swallows around the tackiness in his mouth, trying again. "You were going to defend my honor with a vase?" He tilts his head enough to peak over at Simon, trying to put on a smile, though it shakes.
Simon tilts his head, eying Grace. He looks like he's considering something, before he lifts a knee to balance the vase on it, adjusting his grip and holding it from the lip instead. "Ye of little faith. I could do some serious damage with this," Simon smirks, waving the vase around. Grace's smile twitches, feeling a little more genuine.
Simon sets the vase down by the door then walks further in, bending to pick up the thrown blanket and toss it back onto the bed. "What happened?" he asks, looking up at Grace.
Grace's mouth dries, eyes glued to the soft way the fake moonlight colors Simon's hair and eyes. The man looks lovely in moonlight. It's unfair.
"Uh… just a nightmare," Grace murmurs, looking away. Simon hums, understanding but not pushing it. He walks around the bed to pick up the quilt next, tossing it onto the bed, too.
"Wanna talk about it?" Simon asks after a while, but Grace shakes his head.
"Not right now."
"Alright…"
They're quiet for a while, Grace staring at the sheets while Simon stands awkwardly at the foot of the bed. Finally, after what feels like hours, Simon turns and marches out of the room. Grace watches him go, a pit in his stomach.
Had he upset the man? He'd been through hell and back, and being woken up like that over a silly nightmare was likely unnerving. Maybe Simon needed some time to himself. Grace tried to understand that… But he really wishes he hadn't been left alone. He didn't like to be alone after those dreams. He felt like he was trapped on the Hail Mary all over again and—
Grace doesn't know how long he spirals, but suddenly Simon is returning to the room. He's fastened on his new prosthesis and in both hands he carries a mug, steam lazily wafting from both. The mug he hands Grace has a picture of a lab fume hood with the words "The hood life chose me" written around it, while the one Simon keeps is shaped like a shark with the mouth being the lip of the cup.
Grace sniffs the contents of the mug and sits up a little straighter. It always took the scientists forever to figure out how to synthesize different tastes. They only had their two humans to work off of, one of whom had very little experience with a wide range of flavors, so there was a lot of trial and error. But, they'd recently figured out how to synthesize a rich, creamy chocolate flavor that Grace was able to turn into a faux hot chocolate of sorts.
It was nice. A delicious treat. Simon liked it more than Grace - the man had a serious sweet tooth - but there was comfort in a warm cup in his hands, steam over his face.
Grace smiles at the mug and looks up at Simon as he sits down on the bed beside him. "You just wanted an excuse to have more chocolate," he teases weakly.
Simon keeps his head high. "No clue what you mean. Drink," he says, then primly sips from his mug just to be an ass. Grace laughs at him and Simon smiles back, his shoulders relaxing.
Grace sips his hot chocolate, the warmth blooming inside him, and he sighs in relief. The two of them drink, not saying a word for a long while, just existing in the same space. Safe. Together.
Grace doesn't even realize he's begun to cry until a tear falls onto his hand. He sniffs and rubs at his face, trying to compose himself, but then a xenonite hand is reaching out and taking his mug away from him. Simon sets both mugs on the bedside table and slides up closer to Grace's side. He grabs Grace's quilt and throws the thing over them both, urging Grace closer.
The second Simon wraps his arms around Grace, that's it. The floodgates open and Grace turns into Simon's chest, wrapping his arms around him in return, and cries. He hasn't cried like this in a while. Despite Rocky's constant teasing about him being so leaky, Grace hasn't had a reason to cry. He's been happy.
But maybe he needed this… Maybe he needed to finally be held by another human, comforted and cared for, instead of held down kicking and screaming. He needed to be reminded, in his weakest moments, that humans were capable of great love, not only great pain.
Simon holds Grace firm, no doubt in the strength of his arms. It would take a force of nature to rip Grace from him now. Grace had never felt like he belonged somewhere more than right there in Simon's arms.
"M'sorry," Grace eventually manages to mumble against Simon's chest. The tears were slowing down and it was getting easier to breathe again. Simon's grip tightens, just a little.
"Don't be," he murmurs. "I want to help."
Grace sniffs, eyes watering again but not weeping. He takes a few pointed, deep breaths through his mouth and readjusts in Simon's hold. He rests his head on his shoulder, near his neck, arms looped around Simon's middle.
"Thank you," Grace offers instead and manages to look up at Simon and see the surprised look on his face. Simon's cheeks pink a little. Sweet. "You make me feel safe."
Simon swallows, looking away for a moment. His expressions can be so minute, hard to follow if you don't know him very well, and right now he's flicking through a ton. Grace likes that he can basically watch as Simon thinks.
Then Simon is looking back at Grace and his expression has softened. "You make me feel safe, too," he says quietly, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Grace's forehead. Grace's eyes flutter shut, basking in the soft feeling of Simon's affection, never wanting this moment to end.
He doesn't know when the last time Simon had someone in his corner, but he has Grace and all their friends now. And in return, Grace was very happy to have Simon in his corner, too.
