Archive of Our Own

Run.

Run as fast as you can. Don't look back, don't think about the screams. Don't distract yourself. Just run. You have one chance. You look back and they will get you. They will kill you. They will send you off into space on that ship, and you'll never feel the warmth of the sun ever again.

But don't think about that. Just run. Run and don't think about how they're catching up. Don't think about your feet slipping on the grass, still slightly wet with rain. Don't think about how she betrayed you. Don't think. Turn off your brain and just run. You don't care about astrophage and the Hail Mary and DuBois dying and certainly not Stratt's betrayal. Survive. Just survive and then you can think about everything you want for the next thirty years as the sun dims. 

Don't think about how they're tackling you to the ground. About how you're scraping the wet soil with your nails, desperately trying to anchor yourself to the ground. Don't think about Carl. About the needle stabbing your neck. About how they're sending you off to your death. About all the things you'll never see again. About your kids. About your classroom. About your weekly movie night. About grabbing a beer with Marissa. 

Don't think or this will kill you. 

———×———

Grace woke up with a gasp, eyes flying open as he gripped the sheets tightly. He was drenched in cold sweat. His hair stuck to his forehead, and his shirt had an obvious wet spot. His heart was beating ferociously and his chest heaved with every breath he was greedily taking. And he could never take a satisfying breath, as a tight squeeze in his chest prevented him from doing so. 

He had a nightmare. 

It wasn't the first time such a thing happened. He had been having nightmares since his first night on the Hail Mary. He didn't remember them at first. He was simply waking up sweating and gasping for air, remembering only pitch black instead of any images. As soon as he regained his memory, however... Well, the nights have been even more rough, to say the least. Before, he hadn't been bothered by those nightmares as much. But then the amnesia was wearing off heavily and those events triggered something in his brain. Like a light switch, making his nightmares so vivid and terrifying that most nights were unbearable. And it was always the same thing. Grace running for his life, begging God not to let him die in space. Always the tackling. Always that needle. 

Grace felt his breathing even out slightly, and so he released the sheets from under his fingers. He looked around. Everything was in its place. The bed was still firmly placed against the wall. His glasses rested on the nightstand; in the same place he put them in the evening. He could look out through the transparent xenonite window and see a projection of the moon and stars in the sky of his biodome. He was still lying under the blanket, Simon sleeping soundly by his side. 

Simon. Simon was there. Lying on his back. His only hand was resting on his bare chest, which was slowly rising and falling with his peaceful breathing. His mouth was slightly open, and it seemed that he wanted to whisper something to Grace, but the whisper died on his tongue before it could even escape past his lips. 

Everything was right where it belonged. 

That thought usually helped him. Soothed him enough to roll on his side, bury his face in the crook of Simon's neck, and go back to sleep. But not today. This night was different. Wrong in a way that could not be described or measured or put under a microscope to fully observe it.

Grace still couldn't breathe. Sure, his chest was still rising and falling and his lungs filled with air. But no breath was satisfactory enough, and with every second he felt like he was slowly suffocating. He tried yawning, deep and slow breaths, and quick and deep breaths, but nothing worked. The last thing made him even slightly lightheaded, and he would much rather stay on the more grounded side, thank you very much. At last, he even tried to match his breathing to Simon's. Nothing. He was still hungry for oxygen, and the dense, hot bedroom air wasn't doing it for him.

He needed fresh air. He needed to get outside.

Grace scrambled from beneath the covers, trying his best not to wake up Simon. It wasn't an easy task; Simon was a light sleeper, always on alert. It turned out that maybe today he finally let himself fully rest, because Grace wasn't especially quiet. Despite his great efforts, the blanket was making way too much noise, and he knocked his glasses from the nightstand. He didn't bother picking them up. He quickly put on his cardigan and flew down the stairs, trying to get to the door as quickly as possible. At last, he turned the handle, and his face was blessed by a soft breeze coming from the fake ocean. 

Finally, he had something to breathe with. Fresh air filled his nostrils and then lungs, and oh, how thankful he was for never touching cigarettes, because the amount of deep breaths he took in a row would kill a smoker. Grace sat down on the stone steps, leaving the door slightly ajar. He was going to return to bed soon anyways; he didn't have to close it. He just... He needed some time to breathe. To calm himself.

To remind himself that all this is real. That he was on Erid and there weren't any doctors chasing him with a needle. That nobody would ever send him unwillingly into space again. That he belonged.

He belonged.

Ryland felt his chest tighten. He had to get over himself. Nightmares didn't change anything. They were just silly dreams. Bad memories his mind wanted to replay for whatever reason. Nothing to be scared of and certainly not a reason to storm out of the bed like that. For goodness' sake, he was an adult; he could handle that.

He was fine. No, really. He just... Needed to sit there for a moment. He needed to feel the breeze on his face and calm down. He will return to Simon in a few minutes. Gosh, he really needed to pull himself together; this was getting ridiculous.

"Am I interrupting?"

The voice was calm and low, soft like velvet cushions. Quiet, but loud enough to be heard through the soft sound of waves crashing against the shore.

With that said, Grace all but shrieked, almost toppling down the stairs.

It was Simon. Of course it was Simon; who else would have come out of their house in the middle of the night? Stratt? Unknown aliens? Rocky? Well, that last one was possible…

"Christ, Ry," Simon said, voice still soft but a bit louder than it had been. "Chill out, it's just me." 

Grace looked up at him. It was, in fact, his Simon. Dark locks falling on his shoulders, hair looking messy because of the pillow. His eyes were scanning his features, clearly looking for something he couldn't name. Eyebrows were pinched so close together, Grace almost couldn't make out where they separated. He was holding something in his hands. Two cups, steam visible in the chilly air. Hot tea, maybe? Their colorful quilt was draped over his xenonite prosthetic arm. He looked worried, maybe confused. Rightfully so, Grace stormed out of the bedroom without saying a word and now he was sitting outside, looking at the water longingly. Simon was probably thinking how stupid and immature Grace was acting. Great.

"May I sit with you?" His voice was still cautious. As if Ryland were a wounded, scared animal on the brink of running away. "I brought you some herbal tea."

Grace huffed out a tired laugh and patted a spot near him. Simon passed him a steaming mug, which he accepted with gratitude. Then he felt Simon draping the quilt over his shoulders.

They sat quietly for a while. Both of them were sipping on their tea and listening to the waves. Something unspoken was hanging in the air, and Ryland knew better than to hope they could just hug it out and forget about it. Afterall, he had been the one to teach Simon about the importance of communication. He could only blame himself.

"You know..." Simon finally started, breaking the silence for the first time in what seemed like ages. "I won't push you to tell me anything. I'm just... I'm worried, y'know." 

Grace sighed. Of course he was worried. And Grace was being selfish again. Instead of communicating, he was sitting there, a cup in hand, unable to say that, yes, he got scared because he had a bad dream. It was especially stupid because Simon had nightmares too, and they were far worse than his own. Simon would sometimes wake up crying and screaming, calming down only when Grace held him for an hour or so. One time it got so bad, Simon started strangling him because of hallucinations. Grace's experience with nightmares was mild at best.

"I know, Si. But there's really no need for that," he said, a tight smile curving his lips.

"And... You're sitting outside... Just 'cause?" The other raised his eyebrow at him. 

"Well... Yeah...?"

"Bullshit." Simon scoffed, clearly not having any of that.

"Language."

Simon didn't answer. He simply turned his head to the ocean, seemingly thinking hard about something. Ryland knew that look. Brows scrunched, eyes focused in one spot. He was tapping his fingers against the cup in the beat of a song Grace recognized. 

Usually, it was Grace who talked more. He would come home after the classes with pebbles and start talking... and he would talk nonstop. During dinner, while doing the dishes, while they were chilling in the living room, during their evening walk. He was usually the one to talk, and Simon would usually listen. He was embarrassed because of it at first, but Simon assured him that he didn't mind. Right now, however, no words were coming out of him.

And so, Simon took the initiative.

"The plants are growing," he started, his voice quiet and uncertain. Grace looked at him; Simon met his gaze. It was a bit awkward, but... for some reason Grace didn't mind. They looked at each other for a few seconds, and then he rested his head on Simon's shoulder. He wanted to hear more. Everything about the plants, about the greenhouse.

"I think by the end of the month we will have some fresh vegetables and fruit." Grace could hear the poorly concealed pride in his voice. Good. Simon should be proud. Ryland was terrible at tending to the plants. It was honestly a miracle that the seedlings on the Hail Mary didn't die during the trip to Erid. 

"It's a shame we don't have any insects here. I have to pollinate every flower by hand. And it's hard; I'm not a fucking bee or some shit..." Grace giggled at that, and Simon did too. It was like some tension had been lifted. Only slightly, but enough for Grace to manage a giggle. 

"I'm documenting everything in a notebook..."

"Finally doing what I tell you to?" Grace looked up with a sassy smile.

"Oh, shut up, I just wanted to use your fancy pencil," Simon teased, pressing his nose to Grace's forehead. "But... Yeah, I started only because you asked me to. Though it's kinda fun to keep a journal like that. I'll be cataloguing every plant we have and the amount of time it takes for the fruit to ripen. And how much water they need."

"What types do we have now?" To be completely fair, Grace never looked into Hail Mary's seed bank. He just... accepted it as it was, and he let Simon take as many seeds as he wanted. Quite quickly it turned out that Simon wanted everything. 

"Well, we have cucumbers, zucchini, tomatoes, peppers... I think I also found one very old potato with green sprouts, so I put that in the soil as well... Interesting, I didn't know they could survive without soil for so long. Oh, we also have some strawberries!" 

"Strawberries... Wow, I don't remember the last time I had a strawberry in my mouth." It felt like ancient history. To be fair, most "Earth" things felt like that. Especially food, now that he was living on meat synthesized from his muscles, vitamins made by Eridian scientists, and taumoeba with coma slurry before that. He didn't remember the taste of most Earth food.

He missed beer. And ramen noodles. With mustard, preferably. 

"To be fair, I don't think I've ever eaten a strawberry," Simon admitted. "We didn't have much on Eden."

"That you told me," said Ryland. Simon would constantly get baffled by things that were very obvious on Earth, back when Grace was still there. He was aware of the existence of movies, but a cinema was a completely alien concept to him. The same went with the concept of stores, travelling, or even just having plants and trees wherever. That's why Grace had gifted him a laptop with a sticky note saying, "The whole world at your fingertips." And Simon was extremely adamant about learning just about everything there was to learn about that little blue planet 16 light-years away from their home. 

"You never really told me about the food, though," Grace added, looking up at Simon. This time, he didn't look back at him.

"Well, to be fair, there wasn't much to say anyway. Food was always scarce. We had rations, but you know that by now. We grew some vegetables, but the harvest was never enough to last us the whole season. If you had your own vegetable plant, you were rich. My mom was one of the few lucky people who were taking care of the communal gardens. She would sometimes steal a zucchini or a potato for us to eat."

Simon got quiet. Grace barely knew anything about his mother. He rarely talked about her, probably not wanting to evoke hurtful memories. Ryland understood. Of course he did; he himself barely mentioned anything about his family.

"She was the one that taught me the basics of cooking. How to make food last you longer. She taught me the basics of tending to the plants, so... That’s why I know so much. The rest is because of the botany books you have on the laptop. She wanted me to take her role when I grew up. But... Then the Filament Station happened and..."

His voice went quiet and then died in his throat. Grace squeezed his arm three times, and Simon took a deep breath. It was their signal. Remember to breathe. You're not alone.

"She would be the proudest mother in existence if she saw you now. Believe me. I'm the CEO of proud people."

A bitter-sweet laugh filled the space around them.

"You? The CEO of proud people?"

"Hey, I never said I was a good CEO. I didn't sign up for this job, and I'm terrible at it."

Another salve of laughter. It was like they were floating in space. Completely alone, with no one to hear their laughs, only the stars being the sole witnesses of their happiness.

"You know... I think she would really like you, Ry."

Grace's heart fluttered.

"You think so...?"

"Yeah. You're kind. And brave. She would say that you're 'good for me' or something like that."

"I'm... honored," Grace whispered, feeling that squeeze in his chest again. This time, however, he didn't panic. It was a good squeeze. Like the one during a tight hug with a person you love.

Simon only hummed, pulling Grace closer, his head resting on top of Ryland's. He loved when Simon was being so touchy. Simon rarely used words to express his emotions. Usually it was calling him “Angel” in any and all possible situations or “I love you” during more intimate moments. But mostly, Simon would just touch him. He would touch the small of his back when he passed by him. Graze his shoulder in the lab. Hold his hand during a walk. And Grace loved it. They were both so touch-starved that all physical contact was welcome.

"I had a nightmare."

Barely a whisper. Soft and delicate like a cobweb in the wind. If Simon weren’t listening so intently to Grace's breathing, he would have probably missed it. But he did hear it. He looked at Ryland, brows pinched again in that worried look. Grace wanted to reach out and smooth out the crease with his thumb.

"We can talk about it, if you want...?" Simon matched his tone. Thank God. Anything louder would have made Ryland's skin crawl. 

Grace squeezed his arm slightly. Did he want to talk about it? Well. Yes and no. “Want” was a rather strong word for something he was feeling. He knew he needed to talk about it. He knew that would be for the best. He never really talked about what he was dreaming about. Never told Simon the whole story. I mean, of course Simon knew that Grace didn't volunteer for the mission. He knew why and who sent him. But Grace never really got into the details.

He never talked about his cowardice.

And Simon was brave. Much, much braver than him, much more strong-willed.

But he didn't talk about it because Simon's nightmares were far worse than his own. Simon deserved the attention and care to be on him. Grace was just... Randomly waking up in the middle of the night, sweating and with a heart rate so high that you would think he had run a marathon. He didn't have panic attacks or hallucinations. He was fine. 

Either way, he knew Simon wanted to know about all this. And he deserved to know. 

"I... Well— uh. It's a nightmare from my last day on Earth." 

He felt Simon's right hand starting to move up and down his side, smoothing out any creases on his shirt. He needed that. He needed to feel that Simon was still there. 

"I never really... You know. I never told you the whole truth. And I'm very sorry about that; I know it's not fair and that we've been together for so long and—"

"Angel," Simon cut him out. "It's fine. I don't mind. It's normal not to feel ready to talk about some things."

Huh. It was usually Grace that told him this type of stuff, not the other way around. Maybe he taught himself that? Maybe he read some psychology books Grace had told him about. 

"Thanks. The whole thing was..." Grace wiped his face with one hand, clearly frustrated. He couldn't find the right words. Because how do you say that not only were you sent to space against your will, but also you were drugged and pinned down to the ground while your only friend looked at you from above, and you were screaming and crying because you just didn't want to die? And that you were forced on a suicide mission by the only person you thought you could trust in any way? How do you explain that? 

"I never told you in detail what happened to me, because... It was quite traumatic to be honest. Also, I'm not quite sure if I remember everything correctly." Here comes the post-amnesia doubt. What if it was completely different than what Grace remembers? That would be lying to Simon, and he didn't want to lie. 

Simon didn't interrupt him. He only stroked his side and his hip slowly, trying to bring him some comfort this way. And it was actually working. 

"It started with a measuring mistake. The original science team got way too much astrophage for experiments, and it blew up the lab. Both DuBois and Shapiro died there." Grace felt his breath stagger a bit. Simon squeezed his hip a bit, as if prompting him to continue. He knew that part of the story already, but it was worth mentioning again. "I was the coordinator of the science team. I knew everything about astrophage; hell, I was the one that named it. So, Stratt turned to me for help. Said I had to go. And as much as Ilyukhina and Yao tried to convince me, I said no."

"And you had every right to do so," said Simon, sounding way too confident for the words he was saying. 

"Well..." Grace wanted to argue, but it wasn't time for that. They'd been over that already, and every time Ryland even tried to argue, Simon had a counterargument. "Stratt told me I had three hours to rethink and give her the answer. Then I met up with her again and told her no."

He could feel just how intently Simon was listening to his words. In the meantime, his hand snaked up to Ryland's arm. And Grace's hands were shaking badly. He didn't realize it before Simon touched one of them. The man intertwined their fingers to steady Ryland's hand and remind him again that this was real. 

"And... Well. She told me that I was her only solution. And that she wasn't trying to convince me, she was trying to make me understand why she was sending me away against my will." Grace's voice got a bit quieter. "The doctor came in. I—... I tried so hard to run. I was so scared. I just... I didn't want to die. It felt like they were actually killing me."

Grace felt his chest tighten. Gosh, he was being so dramatic. He was nothing but a coward. It was that simple. He was a coward, a man who was willing to sacrifice the entirety of mankind to save himself.

A coward.

Coward.

CowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCowardCoward—

"Grace?" a whisper pulled him back to reality. Simon looked at him with those brown, almost black eyes, and Grace almost wished they weren't so penetrating. Ryland sucked in a deep breath.

"They drugged me, Simon." His voice quiet but painfully loud in the silence between them. "They caught me. Four people tackled me to the ground, and they put me under. The last memory I have is of my friend Carl, looking over me and not doing anything to help me.”

Another deafening silence. Grace didn't mind it as much. He knew Simon wasn't the best with words. He might have been afraid of saying something wrong or something that would worsen the situation. So, they sat in silence for a moment, completely content in each other's embrace.

"So... Is that why you don't like being the little spoon?"

Huh?!

The question was so out of pocket considering the situation; it made Grace actually laugh. And he let out a laugh so loud and uncontrolled, Simon's cheeks went a bit red from embarrassment.

"I'm just asking!" He tried to defend himself, very unsuccessfully, by the way.

Intentional or not, it made Grace actually feel a bit better. Simon redirected him. He did the exact same thing with his students to prevent panic attacks.

Well, apparently, he was no better than a middle-schooler.

"I guess so," he finally answered after calming down a bit. "But mostly I just like hugging you from behind. You have a nice ass."

This time, Ryland found out the hard way how good of an aim Simon had with his right arm. He yelped after a hard elbow met his ribs, slightly moving away from Simon. When he looked at him, his lips were stretched in a barely contained amused smile. It matched the one on his own face. After a moment, Grace leaned back on Simon's shoulder. 

"Thank you for trusting me with your story, Ry," Simon murmured, turning his head to plant a kiss on top of Grace's head.

"No, thank you for listening to my rambling for so long and for the lack of judgement."

"I would never judge you. For anything. Ever."

"I know," Grace sighed. "That's what worries me."

Simon frowned.

"I don't believe you're a perfect, divine being, Ryland. You're not a god, and I'm not uncritical." The man put his hand on Grace's head and stroked his hair. "But you're better than them. You're so, so much better."

How could he say that? How... How could he? Did he not listen? Grace was a coward. He was a selfish, egotistical man, trying to first save his ass rather than save the entirety of humanity. Did he even listen?

Grace was no better than an animal. A fox running from its hunters. Trying so hard to flee, almost as if it's trying to outrun its own legs. Running to the forest instead of standing its ground and baring its teeth.

"I'm—... I'm a coward, Simon," Grace whispered, clenching his teeth. He was trying his best not to break down and cry, but wetness appeared on his eyelids out of the blue, and after a few seconds he couldn't stop the fat tears from rolling down his cheeks. He was wetting Simon's shirt and the blanket. One thing he was good for. Fucking crying. 

"You were trying to survive. You wanted to live." Simon's fingers combed through his hair one final time before settling on the nape of his neck. "Do you think I would go down in that sub if I knew I was going to die? If somebody told me, ‘You go down there, but there's a 100% chance you'll die in torment,’ I would also run. Hell, I would have yeeted myself off of COI's station in a blink of an eye!"

The wording of that last sentence made Grace actually smile a bit. A small, very tight smile that only stopped his tears, really.

"The point is that you're not any less worthy because you didn't want to go. You're brave, Ryland. You did all those things. You saved Earth, you saved Erid. You went back for Rocky when he needed help, knowing you would never return home. You pulled me out of that sub, even though I could have wanted to kill you. You fought off starvation. Holy shit, Ry, how do you not see how amazing you are?"

Now, Grace knew everything Simon told him was true. He did many of those things, but not because of his own bravery. He saved Earth and Erid because he didn't know he was sent to space unwillingly. He went back for Rocky because otherwise he would have died. And he was his friend. Best friend, even. He fought off starvation because he had carefully measured out all the portions. Not because of his willpower.

He wasn't amazing. He was nothing but a scientist, trying to be a good friend and trying to survive. Nothing extraordinary.

But he didn't want to argue. It was late. He was tired and finally sleepy again. And Simon... Oh, he was thankful. No, really, he was. Simon wasn't the type of person to say these types of things. He would rather keep quiet and hug Grace as he cried in his arms. This time, however, ... Well, Ryland didn't know why it changed. He didn't want to dwell on it too much either. The explanation that Simon read some psychology and self-therapy books had to suffice.

"Thank you," Grace mumbled, still not entirely convinced of Simon's words. He raised his head from Simon's shoulder to look him in the eyes. "I think I wanna go back to bed."

"Are you okay enough to walk, or do you want me to carry you?"

Frick. He loved it when Simon carried him. His eyes wandered a bit, weighing the pros and cons, until they set on two empty mugs standing on one of the steps.

"No, I'll be fine. I'll help you carry those mugs to the kitchen."

"I'll get the mugs, and you carry the blanket."

"Deal."

And so, Simon took the two empty mugs from the ground, and Grace folded up the quilt a bit. They went back inside, Grace holding up the door for Simon. He was a gentleman; sue him. 

Ryland stood there, in the small hall, between the kitchen and the stairs, as Simon rinsed the mugs quickly. They will wash them in the morning; they were both way too tired to do that now. Then, Simon turned around to face Grace. There was a playful grin splayed on his face, but Ryland paid it no mind. He only smiled tiredly in return, ready to lay back down, before his legs gave out on him. And just as he turned to go up the stairs, a strong hand snaked up his waist.

"Sim—"

But he didn't finish. Simon's hand gripped his waist, making Grace gasp, and the other arm, the xenonite one, lifted him up by his thighs. And there he was, his own hands flying to grab Simon's shoulders to steady himself, being lifted bridal style. And he didn't even have the need to grip Simon's shoulders as tightly as he did. The man was strong. Inhumanely strong. He could lift him with one arm if he wanted to; the xenonite one touching him was unnecessary.

Grace felt his head spin for a moment.

"I know how much you love this," Simon muttered right into his ear, sending shivers through his whole body. He tilted his head slightly to kiss alongside Grace's jaw, and the man simply melted into the touch, featherlight on his skin. "Let me take care of you."

Grace laughed quietly as Simon started going up the stairs. He tucked his head into the crook of Simon's neck, partly to avoid hitting himself on the wall, but also because he just liked being that close to the man.

"You already did so much for me," Ryland sighed, taking the opportunity to kiss the bared skin there.

He felt Simon shudder at the contact. They reached their bedroom, and the man laid Grace down very carefully. As if Grace had been precious porcelain that could break at even the lightest wrong touch. Simon hovered above him for a second.

"Not enough." The softest smile curved his lips, and Grace felt his own breath hitch. Simon didn't address it, simply kissed his lips sweetly. Simon’s lips were a bit chapped, but did he care, really? Then he straightened, only to bend down to pick up Ryland's glasses that were still lying there on the floor. 

At last, he finally returned to bed. He lay down by Grace's side, pulling him in to envelop his body in a warm embrace. The hug wasn't too tight. Just enough that they could breathe while having their bodies touch in most places.

"It's enough, Si. I promise." Grace protested, running his hand along the man's spine. He felt the vertebrae protrude a bit more than it should. Another one of Simon's mutations. 

Simon made a disagreeing noise. "You gave me everything, Grace. You gave me food, shelter, friendship, love. You gave me back my life. I will never repay you."

"I don't want you to repay me."

"I know. But still, you do something for me, and I do something for you. It's partnership, is it not? We're partners. And if that means holding you while you cry, talking you through a panic attack or simply listening to your story... Well, I'm more than happy to provide that."

Grace felt his eyes sting for a moment. This whole thing was just so overwhelming, he couldn't even think about looking Simon in the eye. Nobody on Earth cared for him as much as Simon did. Nobody went out of their way to do something for Grace. He was the one that was always one hundred percent accommodating. But now? Now he could be a little selfish. Only a little. He could allow himself to breathe in the vicinity of another human being and not be scared of being scolded for it.

Grace didn't need heaven. Not when he had Simon.

"Will you watch me sleep?" A tired voice, but tight with emotion, filled the space between them.

"I will," Simon whispered, kissing his forehead one more time. "Close your eyes, Angel."

And so Grace did. He cuddled up to Simon's chest, completely removing all negative space that was separating them, and he closed his eyes.