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Summary
Grace's tongue is still coated with toothpaste residue. His whole mouth is minty-fresh, and he spent three hours earlier trying to convince Rocky to let him disconnect the mass spec to see if they could hotwire it to work on the floor, and his stomach is cramping and they're still more than a year away from Erid and he doesn't remember what fresh fruit tastes like and he's tired. He's so tired.
So he doesn't notice, at first, when things start to go to hell.
“He's talking about my suppressants,” Grace sighs, rinsing his toothbrush off and dropping it in the cup next to Simon's before bringing both hands up to rub over his face. “I ran out ages ago – well, except for a handful to keep in reserve so we can synthesize more when we get to Erid – so my scent's probably changing. It's why I've been so sweaty. It should equalize, soon, or –”
“Suppressants?” Simon interrupts, and Grace drops his hands to see him backing away, his face contorted in an expression Grace has never seen before, his eyes wide. “Sup- wait. I thought you were a beta. Why would you need suppressants?”