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Grace thought that he'd get used to the feeling of not really knowing himself, of having to scrape together an uneasy sense of self from the fragments that came back to him over time.
Memories never come at convenient times, triggered by the familiar motions of work in the lab or lines of dialogue from movies. They crash over him in massive waves, barely letting him get his head above water before dragging him under into his old life. Most of them were small by now, a moment of being pulled into a memory of dinner with a friend, of grabbing his favorite coffee mug in the morning before classes, of sitting in the creaky office chair in his classroom…
Now that he and Rocky have bred nitrogen resistant taumoeba and purged those that had slipped from the xenonite breeder tanks, all that was left was keeping up with the constant repairs around the Hail Mary. Rocky tackled most of them, but without the Blip A's robot arm, any EVA work was up to Grace. So there he was, clinging to the side of the Hail Mary with a wrench and a very bossy alien in his ear.
The repair is fairly routine, but Rocky still walks him through the steps; he's not sure if he really thinks human memories are that bad, but he certainly isn't going to correct him. There's something soothing about the routine, and comforting about the certainty in his voice as he gives the instructions. Rocky can and does make rocket science sound mundane.
"All finished out here!" Grace slings a small tool bag mostly full of xenonite instruments over his shoulder to begin the climb back to the airlock. He scrambles along the handholds, eager to get back to his own atmosphere and away from the freezing vacuum of space—eager enough that his tether looping around one of the handholds behind him catches him by surprise, yanking him back and sending him drifting away from the Hail Mary.
A black leash pulls taught with a snap, tugging back the excitable pup at the other end. Grace wriggles his hips happily, soaking in the sounds of barking and play growls and the sound of his tail knocking at his owner's thigh as he wags.
"Easy, puppy." Says a deep voice, one that fills his chest with a syrupy sweet affection that has an odd melancholy to it. He couldn't remember the relationship between him and this man beyond that he was his owner. He remembers the brush of his knuckles against his neck as he unhooked the leash from the soft blue leather collar around his neck, even as he can't remember his name.
He bounds off to join the mess of wrestling pups, looking back to his owner every so often for his approval or praise. He wasn't too much or too needy or clingy or awkward for once—he was a cute puppy deserving of pets and treats and quiet praise so sweet it bordered on condescending.
He's pulled out of the memory just abruptly as it began, a whine escaping his throat at being pulled from comfort so harshly. Only as he comes back to himself does he recognize the layered harmonic chimes as words, "Grace okay question?? Grace answer now, statement!"
“Yeah, I’m okay bud.” Grace says with a smile, hoping the expression will translate to his tone and hopefully reassure Rocky. He could hear the panicked waver in his voice as he shouted. “Just startled…” He pulls himself to the ship hand over hand, wishing that somehow he could feel the rough texture of the rope through the thick gloves of his suit—anything to ground himself.
“Grace lying. Stop and stare. What Grace remember, question?”
Grace sucks in a breath, already hearing the tones of “need word, need word” echoing in his head—not only does he not know how to explain this, he really isn’t sure he wants to. “It’s a weird one, Rock. I don’t know.” He lets himself chuckle awkwardly as he reaches “solid ground” and starts his scramble to the airlock once again.
Rocky stands outside of the airlock, skittering from side to side impatiently as Grace hovers his finger over the controls. He hits the cycle button after a moment of hesitation, then steps back to wait for the inside door of the airlock to unseal.
“Grace remember, statement.” Rocky states bluntly, finally coming to a halt in front of Grace.
“Yes, yes, I remember. Can you give me a second to get this thing off, at least?” He clumsily begins pulling the suit off, cheeks pink at the memory of stinging knees and the gentle restraint of his leash.
He swallows harshly—his leash? If his reaction to the memory wasn’t enough, now he was sure that it wasn’t a one off. He made a habit of being leashed..
Rocky stares as he shucks off the suit—he may not have eyes, but the gentle tapping against the floor is a giveaway that Grace is being inspected. It only makes it harder to calm the burning in his cheeks and focus. He shouldn’t be this flustered, it’s just Rocky. He’s his best friend, if he can tell anyone it should be him…and clearly he told someone in the past, even if he can’t remember his face.
Rocky has grown used to the blank, slack jawed expression that Grace sometimes wears when a particularly vivid memory hits him, but even without being able to hear how his face moved the sudden silence was enough to know, Grace remembered something. His human is loud, even in unconsciousness. Grace seems nearly as uncomfortable with silence as Rocky is—he says he thinks he was always like this, that it wasn’t something being on the Hail Mary instilled into him the way Rocky’s near half century alone on the Blip A had in them. Grace is always talking or humming or tapping his foot, and even in his sleep he mumbles and groans at times.
He remembers the first time Grace remembered something around him, how his eyes stopped bouncing from item to item as he worked and how his hands had stilled. It was a pleasant memory of standing at the front of a classroom, instructing a room full of human pebbles. The recollection came easily once Rocky was able to get his attention.
Grace’s reluctance to share is enough to make Rocky curious, but the swelling of blood vessels in his cheeks and ears and the whooshing of blood rushing downwards fascinated him.
So yes, maybe they were being a bit pushy, but he needed to know.
Rocky follows Grace back to the lab and watches as he picks at his fingernails.
“Do you remember when we watched Marley and Me?”
“Yes! Sad sad sad. Grace remember something about movie?”
He clears his throat, “No, um. Marley is a dog, right? He’s a pet, and his owner takes care of him.”
“Understand. Pet is taken care of by owner because it cannot do. Why pet?”
His blush deepens, “Um. Some humans like to be taken care of. Like pets.”
“Grace pet human?” Rocky carefully climbs onto the bed they’ve been sharing, always aware of the fragility of humans and their items. With their lifespans, it doesn’t come as a surprise someone might keep a human as a pet—but from what Grace has told him, creatures on Earth tend to be short-lived from an Eridian perspective.
He collapses back into the mattress next to Rocky, staring at the ceiling rather than looking at his friend, “I um, I think so, Rock.” Grace reaches to his throat to grab something, though he’s not sure what—he finds himself disappointed at the emptiness of his neck and instead grasps at his shirt’s collar.
“Does Grace miss being human pet?” Rocky inches closer, the way one might carefully approach a feral cat.
Grace frowns at this, “I do, I think. But it’s fine, I chose you. What kind of weirdo gives up trees and grass and looking at the sky without a second thought, but balks at the loss of pretending to be a puppy?” He glances back to Rocky.
“Need word…” Rocky says, clicking his claws together.
“Puppy?” Grace waits until he gets a chime of acknowledgement before continuing, “A young dog, but people call adult dogs puppies too…it’s. A cute word for dog.”
“Grace being stupid, statement. Grace not give up. Trees and grass hard hard hard for Erid scientists. Puppy easy.”
Grace huffs, shuffling closer to Rocky on the mattress and letting him curl an arm around him, “I had an owner in the memory.” He closes his eyes, “I don’t remember him really, but I’m going to be the only human on Erid…and that part was important to me…” he gently tugs at his collar again.
“Why Grace stupid, question? When last sleep?”
“You know exactly when I last slept considering you watched, and you don't forget things.” Grace snaps back, sitting up and pulling himself from Rocky’s arms.
Rocky hums softly, a low sound that Grace can feel in his chest more than he actually hears it. “Puppy needs owner, Rocky is owner. Rocky already in charge, statement.”
His eyes go wide at that, “Wha - what? You…you know it’s kinda a big deal. It’s not something casual…it’s intimate. I can’t ask you to take care of me more than you’re going to have to once my food really runs out, Rock.”
“Yes, is big deal, statement. Still want. Rocky will always care for my Grace, it is easy decision.” He stomps lightly for emphasis.
Rocky is afraid he’s overstepped watching Grace look away from him and swallow harshly. He blinks harshly to try to hide the wetness in his eyes, but soon fat teardrops run down his cheeks, “R - really? You’re sure?”
“Yes yes, if Grace wants I can do! Human make for good Eridian pet, fragile, live short time, learn lots of trick, statement. Like dog.”
He laughs softly, roughly wiping his face off—at least Rocky doesn’t have any point of reference for how much of a crier Grace really is, “Y - yeah…like a dog.” He smiles. He settles back in next to Rocky, wrapping him in a loose hug.
“Talk more later, sleep now, statement.”
Grace hums and closes his eyes; it doesn’t take him long to doze off against the warmth of Rocky’s carapace.
Stratt thought of everything when it came to the success of the mission, so it was no surprise that the amnesiac she chose didn't touch anything he'd learned or anything procedural—nothing that would effect his usefulness to the mission, just his name and personhood. Yes, he is bitter about that and he feels justified in it too.
So maybe he should've expected his knowledge of kink and all of his protocols to remain intact, but he still found himself surprised as honorifics tumble out of his mouth.
“….sir, mistress, dom, or diminutives like girl, boy, pet, thing, or um….puppy.” His heart quickens at the memory of Rocky calling him puppy just a few days ago—he can’t believe they’ve already been discussing this a few days. Most of the logistics have been worked out by this point.
“And Grace likes puppy, statement.” Rocky announces smugly.
“Y - yeah, I like puppy. Do you…do any of the honorifics sound right to you? A lot of them are pretty gendered but, yeah.” Maybe he should explain gender more thoroughly…he has assigned Rocky pronouns perhaps presumptuously.
“Owner Rocky is good!” He clicks his claws before reaching out with one arm to gently pet Grace. “Like like like…Puppy Grace belongs to Owner Rocky.”
Grace leans into the touch, closing his eyes. He is constantly grateful for Rocky’s engineering genius, but never more than feeling the warmth and rough texture of Rocky’s claw through the improved xenonite suit he wears—but it’s not as if the more articulated suit that allows for tactile feedback isn’t generally a boon. Rocky can do a lot more around the ship than he ever could in his ball or even in the first version of his suit.
Grace whines when Rocky pulls away, the thick fog of pupspace already settling in.
“Stay puppy. Owner has a treats.” Rocky says, pointing to the floor directly in front of Grace who scrambles to get on his knees and wait. His hearing isn’t nearly as good as Rocky’s, but he does his best to track his owner through the ship through the sound of his claws clacking against the aluminum of the Hail Mary. He wiggles and whines impatiently but doesn’t dare move from his spot, intent on being good.
He only takes a moment to cross the ship and retrieve his gift for Grace—a thick band of xenonite fabric with a unique, ornate latch.
Any concern Rocky had about if his puppy would like the gift is quickly waved away when he lights up at the sight of it and wiggles his hips with un-containable excitement.
Grace can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. It’s easy to see what drew him to this as the constant chatter in his head is silent on all fours. The weight of his own nearly impossible survival is off of his shoulders, because Rocky is going to take care of him.
He gently loops the collar around Grace’s throat, listening closely to his vitals as he adjusts the tightness. His heart thuds loudly in his chest, something that brings to mind his racing heart as he’d panicked about his dwindling food supply—Rocky quickly brushes this aside, focusing instead on the happy wriggling of his puppy. It's easy to refocus on the needy little thing in front of him, so soft and cute even as it drools.
“Good puppy!” Rocky chirps happily, scratching under Grace’s chin and watching fondly as he cranes his neck to give him more room to scratch and stroke his skin.
His Grace had explained a lot of this to him, the words spilling out like a pot boiling over; but Rocky also did plenty of his own research while Grace slept. He’s begrudgingly thankful for Stratt’s mass pirating, and for the sheer quantity of human thinking machines aboard the Hail Mary—giving one to Rocky to modify hadn’t even been a choice, what would Grace do with 3 thinking machines and only two hands?
Needless to say, Rocky had plenty of ideas for how to proceed.
Grace whines when Rocky pulls his claw away, but stays still and watches his owner with wide eyes.
“Puppy, stay.” Rocky holds up a claw and clicks one of his free hands against a small notch in his carapace to make a distinct noise, before scuttling backwards away from Grace. If he weren’t already so deep in pupspace, he may have noticed that the notch is new, and the clicking for his benefit — Rocky has read up on clicker training, and has decided he would like a well behaved puppy.
Gingerly he sets a small grey-ish square on the floor in front of himself, “Stay.” Another click, and then silence. Grace tilts his head but continues to wait.
“Grace, release.” Rocky says, clicking again and watching happily as Grace clumsily bounds over and scarfs down the frozen cube of taumeoba without complaint. “Good boy.” He trills, ruffling Grace’s already messy hair. It fills all five of Rocky’s hearts with joy to see his Grace so relaxed and willing to eat for him—not that he hasn’t heard his pep talks to himself where Grace says almost exactly that, but Rocky tried to ignore that. It seemed private, even if it did involve him. Rocky is quickly seeing several ways this new dynamic will be good for him as well as Grace.
Grace yips and presses his head against his claw, pulling Rocky out of his own thoughts and encouraging him to continue petting his puppy. He easily gives in, watching Grace wiggle happily…if he had a tail it would be wagging. He files this thought away for later.
“Grace, sit.” Rocky instructs, placing a claw on his back and trailing down while applying gentle pressure, the same way he’d seen dog trainers do with their pets. He clicks as soon as his butt hits the floor, “Down, down.” Putting his claw in front of his nose, Rocky guides Grace down gently and clicks as soon as he’s in the proper position.
“Good puppy! Grace, roll.” Rocky prepares to click, but Grace just tilts his head at him. Rocky gently pushes at his side to encourage him to roll onto his back, “Roll…” he repeats, quietly.
This is enough for Grace to get it, rolling onto his back and being rewarded with a click.
Seeing a goofy grin on Graces face as he tries to watch Rocky from his supine position only makes him wish they’d gotten to do this sooner. He has such a cute puppy.
Rocky rewards his enthusiasm with a gentle claw on his stomach, gently pulling up his shirt to rub the pale skin beneath. He can hear the odd melody of Grace’s organs which layer into a beautiful symphony—as wet and gross as the reality may be, it doesn’t matter. Because it’s Grace, it’s beautiful.