Work Text:
“Boring.”
“What’s boring?” Rocky asks, pushing his goggles up his head to peer over at his Eridian friend. Said friend continuously taps a claw against his side of the xenonite, an action that’s more out of habit than anything, or so Rocky has learned. “Me? Well—” He considers the mess in front of him. “I guess it’s pretty boring for you to hear me work, huh?”
“No,” Grace says quickly. “That’s never boring. I like watching your hands.”
“Do you?” Rocky nearly purrs. He coughs when Grace tips his carapace to the side, as he so often does whenever Rocky does anything particularly human (so, confusing), and asks, “What’s boring, then?”
“Music,” Grace replies, pointing to Rocky’s left hand. “Feeling okay?”
“It’s fine,” Rocky assures, flexing it for him. Although he does feel a twinge of pain, the balm he applies to his skin daily does wonders in managing it. There may be some scarring once it’s fully healed, but Rocky plans to wear them like a badge of honor. They’re proof that he saved Grace—the final remnants of the only touch they’ve ever had, and they deserve to be seen. “What about you?”
“Am fine,” Grace says, waving a claw.
Rocky narrows his eyes. “Don’t you lie to me, Grace,” he says, pressing his palm against the xenonite. Grace chitters softly before doing the same on his end, and once again, Rocky privately hates the wall between them. Why can’t the universe realize that all Rocky wants is to be wrapped around Grace until they can’t be torn apart? It’s deeply unfair and cruel. “I’ll hide your Taumoeba experiments.”
Grace hisses at him, and Rocky resists the urge to coo because he sounds more like a spicy kitten than anything. “Don’t you dare, Rocky!” he says, his other claw held up into a fist. “Am fine! Promise! I heal better than my fragile human friend.”
“I guess I have to trust your word for it,” Rocky says, eyes flitting down to the chip atop his yellow carapace. The sight of it sends a rush of guilt through him, but beneath it, he can’t help but feel immense satisfaction over being able to save the loneliest, kindest, and prettiest alien he’s ever met. “Let me know if you have any issues, okay? I’ll fix you.”
“That’s Rocky’s answer to everything,” Grace grumbles. However, Rocky doesn’t miss the low giggle that follows. FUCK. How cute. Rocky might die. “Rocky always try to fix, fix, fix, even when things don’t need to be fixed.”
“That’s a lie,” Rocky says, pointing at him. “You always have something to fix!”
“Because Grace breaks it!” Grace trills, and does jazz hands. “Enrichment for human!”
“What am I, your dog?” Rocky mutters, and ignores how the thought makes his heart skip a beat. Oh, no. That’s not good. Well, he’ll have to shove it away for later consideration—preferably when Grace is asleep, or when he finally gets dragged to Hell for his indecent thoughts about his best friend. “Thanks, I guess. But the offer still stands!”
“Thank,” Grace says, wiggling. God, Rocky needs to keel over and die right this very second… or kiss Grace somehow because he always deserves some loving (if he lets Rocky do it, that is). “Happy that you are okay. Always worry, worry, worry for friend Rocky. Makes Grace feel close to having an Earth heart attack!”
“Sorry, Grace,” Rocky says, tapping against the xenonite. Grace taps back. “Now, what was that about my boring music?”
“Exactly that,” Grace says. “Boring!”
“Boring??” Rocky repeats with a gasp. “Did you even listen to the song, Grace?”
If Grace were human, he’d probably be giving Rocky the flattest look possible. “Grace says it’s boring,” Grace says with a sharp note and a honk. A part of him wonders where his shy Eridian friend went, but the rest of him is delighted to witness Grace’s bratty side. “So, is boring. Try something else.”
“Tchaikovsky is not boring!” Rocky nearly shouts, aghast by the insinuation. He narrows his eyes when Grace bobs his body—a shrug, which he definitely picked up from Rocky! The audacity!! “It represents the love between Romeo and Juliet! You remember that one, don’t you? I read it to you while you were recovering, and… Well, I thought you liked it!”
Grace taps his two claws together and sways in place. “Did like it,” he eventually admits, turning his carapace in a way that usually indicates his shyness, over what, Rocky doesn’t know. “Song is nice, but hard to focus on when it’s slow. Boring is best word I can use.”
Rocky considers this with a hum. “Alright,” he says, grabbing his laptop and scouring his pre-downloaded playlists. He has way too many, but that just means there’s gold buried here somewhere. Should he make a playlist for Grace? Would that be too crazy? Or would it be the exact amount of insanity he needs to help Grace see his feelings? Whatever, he can figure it out later. “We’ll find something for you, Gracie. Don’t you worry!”
“Don’t call me Gracie!” Grace squeaks. He stomps a foot, a bit of steam coming out the top of his carapace—an image so cute that Rocky has to duck his head to hide his stupid grin. “My name is Grace! GRACE!! That’s the name Rocky gives to Grace, so use it!”
“Grace-ieeeeee,” Rocky draws out, peeking at Grace in time to see more steam leave him. Would he do the same if Rocky—no, don’t go there right now. He laughs to distract himself, picking one of Adrian’s pop playlists to scroll through, and his voice comes out lower than intended when he says, “Don’t be so hysterical, sweetheart. I’m only teasing. Or do you need me to help you calm down?”
Grace tips his carapace to the side. “How, question?”
Rocky wets his lip, gaze flitting over Grace’s body. So many answers come to mind, but when he thinks about voicing any of his thoughts, something in him curls in on itself and swallows them whole. He stares at Grace for a moment longer and reminds himself that this is his friend—one who plans on giving up life on his home planet just to make sure Rocky makes it home.
“With more music,” he says finally, clicking on the shuffle icon. ‘Say So’ by Doja Cat immediately starts playing from the ship’s speakers, and Rocky grins when Grace startles. “We’ll find something for you yet, my dearest Gracie.”
“Not Gracie,” Grace grumbles. When he settles into a loaf with his arms crossed in front of him, Rocky sets the laptop on his stomach to lie down beside him, letting Adrian’s music taste wash over him. Although it makes his heart ache, the thought of seeing his partner again (and introducing them to Grace) fills him with enough hope to keep going.
❦ ❦
“No,” Grace says when they get through most of the playlist, skittering around in his xenonite ball. He keeps bumping against Rocky’s side, but Rocky doesn’t mind it. Hell, Grace could crush him to death, and Rocky still wouldn’t care. “Don’t like, don’t like, don’t like. This is bad, bad, bad. You listen to this, question?”
“Sometimes,” Rocky admits. “Although, it’s partially due to Adrian, but I do like some pop songs!”
“Rocky is a weird human,” Grace declares, shaking his carapace from side to side. Rocky squints at him, wondering if they’re going to arrive on Earth as an amalgamation of each other with how often their personal habits seem to blur together. Hm. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t mind the thought. “Change music, question?”
“At least you asked politely this time,” Rocky grumbles, remembering how Grace screeched his dislike over ‘Barbie Girl’ by Aqua, which… Rocky understands, but he wishes he hadn’t been lying so close to Grace when he did it. “What should we try next?”
“Something Rocky likes,” Grace answers, tapping a claw against the xenonite. “But not boring.”
“Metallica?” Rocky offers, switching over to one of his old college playlists (God) and tapping on ‘Master of Puppets.’ He sets the laptop aside to start drumming his hands on his thighs, trying to match the beat. “You know, I was big into rock and metal growing up.”
“Rocky into rock,” Grace says. “Who would have thought! Grace is so surprised. So shocked. Grace never expected this!”
Rocky pushes the ball away from him. Grace rolls away with one of those high-pitched squeals that often makes Rocky’s ears ring, before he moves back to Rocky and repeatedly bumps against his side—over and over again, clearly trying to get a rise out of Rocky.
But instead, Rocky drapes himself over Grace’s ball and peers inside with a grin. Grace squeaks and trembles, the sweet thing that he is, but also shoves himself up against Rocky on the other side of the xenonite, chittering in a manner that tells him that he’s pleased to have Rocky in his space.
Still, Rocky aches to be even closer.
“Grace,” Rocky says, pressing his cheek against the surface. “I’m glad I met you.”
“Happy I met Rocky!” Grace sings. “Even if Rocky has a bad taste in music.”
“Hey,” Rocky says with a frown, feeling his lips twitch at the sound of Grace’s musical giggle. “That was mean.”
“Rocky is mean to Grace all the time,” Grace points out. “I am only doing… What is human phrase, question? Back paying you.”
“Payback?” Rocky offers, huffing a laugh when Grace uses his whole body to imitate a nod. “Well, you like when I’m mean to you, so I think—” He pauses when the song finishes and changes to something unrecognizable, but familiar; a G note, followed by a melody from a piano. “Huh?”
“What, question?”
“Nothing, it’s just—what the hell is this?” Rocky wonders, glancing at the screen to see a song titled ‘Welcome to the Black Parade’ by a band called My Chemical Romance. “I never put this on my playlist! Where—” He squints, sighing when he spies the Smart Shuffle option on. “Ugh, sorry, Grace. Let me change it to something else.”
Grace squeaks something too high to make out, and then he’s rolling in front of the laptop to block Rocky’s path. “No!” he says loudly. “Don’t change it! I’m listening!”
“You’re… what?” Rocky says, genuinely befuddled. He glances at the screen, blinks, and looks back at his friend, putting his hands on his hips. “Are you saying that you might actually like this emo crap, Grace?” he gasps when Grace shuffles in place, putting a hand on his chest. “Say it ain’t so, baby!”
“Is good!” Grace replies, pointing at the laptop. “Who is singer, question?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes! Grace likes him. Nice voice!”
“Oh,” Rocky grumbles, ignoring the jealousy that writhes in his chest. He crosses his arms and looks away, praying he doesn’t sound as petulant as he feels when he says, “I thought you liked my voice, Grace.”
“Rocky’s voice is Grace’s favorite,” Grace says. Rocky struggles to keep the blush off his face—it’ll only draw Grace’s attention and curiosity. “But singer is very good, too.”
“Alright,” Rocky says, pleased that he’s Grace’s favorite—and this is coming from the Eridian who initially struggled to reveal anything about himself. It took some time, but Grace eventually admitted it stemmed from his personal fear of getting close to another individual, only to lose them (and boy, did it make Rocky’s heart hurt badly enough to make him cry in the storage room). He moves around the xenonite ball to crouch by the laptop and scroll down to the song’s information, humming thoughtfully. “Gerard Way, I think.”
“Wow,” Grace says. “Grace likes Gerard Way.”
I don’t, Rocky thinks sourly, but he still finds a My Chemical Romance playlist for his Eridian friend to see if he truly does enjoy this crap. He queues it up to let it play afterward, watching as Grace bobs and sways to the strange beat. Cute…
Even though he’s not quite a fan, it’s nice to see Grace enjoy something without complaint. Although quiet about his interests, the Eridian is never shy about voicing what he doesn’t like, so Rocky can’t begrudge him a listening session.
And when Grace gets over this little phase, Rocky will be ready to swoop in and show him better music.
❦ ❦
Grace does not get over it.
Rocky often wakes up to the sound of My Chemical Romance playing softly from the ship’s speakers while Grace messes around with some Taumoeba samples nearby. Whenever Grace senses he’s awake (or when Rocky calls out to him, because Grace often gets so caught up in work that he seems to forget Rocky’s existence), Grace will bump up the volume and squeak out some lyrics.
Although he’s beginning to get annoyed with the music, Rocky can’t deny that it’s infinitely adorable to hear Grace sing along and see him dance to the beat when he thinks Rocky isn’t looking (because he always stops whenever Rocky fully turns toward him).
He even asks Rocky to fix the Eridian ‘camera’ to improve his hearing. Rocky does it, of course, but when he asks why, Grace seems particularly flustered by the question. He even tries to run away from Rocky to avoid answering, and it’s only after Rocky manages to corner him in his ball that he squeaks out something about wanting to watch old concerts on Rocky’s laptop.
“Maybe Grace and Rocky can go to an Earth concert one day,” Grace says with a whistle. He has his display screen in front of him, and he occasionally wiggles happily whenever that Gerard Way guy appears. Rocky wants to be mad about it, but it’s awfully hard to feel any semblance of annoyance when he gets to witness Grace’s cute display. “Would be fun, I think!”
“Very fun,” Rocky says, stretching his arms up above his head. He sees Grace turn the camera toward him, and tries not to laugh. “Watching me, honey?”
“Yes,” Grace says. “Always curious about the human body. This lets me hear Rocky’s blood better! Is very nice.”
“Nice?” Rocky repeats, bemused.
“Tells Grace that Rocky is alive,” Grace says, sliding the camera back to its original spot. A pyro show is happening in the recording of an old My Chemical Romance concert—Rocky thinks he sees a clown blowing up? Weird. “Soothing. Almost like Eridian lullaby!”
“Wow, thanks,” Rocky says dryly.
“No, is good thing!” Grace insists. “Love, love, love to hear Rocky’s blood.” He points the camera at Rocky again. “Love hearing Rocky breathe, too. Lungs expand with air under Rocky’s ribs. And Rocky’s heart! Always beating, always there… Another song for Grace to hear!”
“Better than My Chemical Romance?” Rocky can’t help but ask, if only to ignore how flustered he feels.
“Rocky must watch himself,” Grace says, but there’s a teasing lilt to his musical notes. Rocky wonders if Grace was like this before, or if Rocky managed to corrupt him beyond belief. It’s a stark difference to his shy behavior when they first met, but even so, Rocky loves him all the same. “The truth may hurt Rocky.”
“Tease,” Rocky grumbles, feeling a lot like the exploding clown. He still smiles when he hears Grace’s soft giggle and glances at the screen, curiosity piqued. “So, what’s happening so far?” Rocky asks, lowering himself to sit behind Grace. “Help me understand all… this better. Why was there an execution earlier?”
“Well,” Grace begins, immediately scooting backwards until he’s against Rocky’s chest. He goes on about the band’s lore (and uses the exact word, too—maybe Rocky needs to take the laptop away), and while Rocky does listen, all he can think about is how well Grace fits with him.
The Eridian is a small thing. Outside of the xenonite ball, he’s probably about a foot or less from the top of his carapace to the bottom—a fact that makes Rocky feel a little bit insane. While inside, he barely reaches Rocky’s chin, so Rocky can safely wrap himself around Grace and feel the vibrations of his voice.
“And they keep dying!” Grace says, oddly cheerful. “Die, die, die! Is a cycle! A cycle of death!”
“Mhm.” Rocky smiles when Grace chitters with excitement. He glances at the screen, where the second half of the recorded concert plays, and says, “Keep going, baby. I’m listening.”
There are a lot of things he needs to do around the ship, but sitting with Grace is much more important. Work can wait.
❦ ❦
While searching for a screw he dropped, Rocky’s fingers brush over something jagged and rough.
He pauses, letting it roll between his fingertips for a bit to see if he can mentally place it. When nothing comes to mind, Rocky carefully crawls out from under the table and peers down at what appears to be a piece of yellow rock.
“Huh,” Rocky says aloud, brows furrowing the longer he stares at it. The rock is cool to the touch, but it steadily grows warmer as it remains in Rocky’s hand. It’s no larger than a quarter and oddly familiar in a way he can’t explain. He tucks it into his pocket for later observation and goes back to searching for his screw, not thinking much of it until dinner.
“Rocky, guess what, question?” Grace says. He proceeds to stomp one foot before Rocky can even get a word out and continues, sounding excited when he sings, “I found a tool I needed! It was buried under Grace’s other tools. Even better, now I can poke more Taumoeba! I missed doing that.”
“You’re such a mad scientist sometimes, Grace,” Rocky comments, staring at his friend. Although he never eats with Rocky, since he immediately goes to sleep after a meal, Grace does sometimes tinker with various things. However, this isn’t what captures Rocky’s attention. No, it’s the coloring of his carapace, and how it’s similar to the rock (a treasure, now) he found earlier. “Hm.”
“What?”
“Speaking of finding things you didn’t realize you lost,” Rocky says, letting the small piece of Grace’s yellow carapace roll onto his palm. “I stumbled across this when I was looking for one of my screws.” He holds it near the chip in Grace’s body. It doesn’t look like it’ll fit perfectly. “I can make it work if you want.”
Grace releases a low hum, tapping a claw against his project, which looks like an attachment to their Taumoeba farms. He tips his carapace toward Rocky in a way that makes Rocky feel like he’s listening to Rocky’s everything, before saying, “How would you fix my body?”
“Make some sort of mesh xenonite wall that’ll let me reach in and touch you,” Rocky says, ignoring how his mouth goes dry at the thought. He wants to go over to their little airlock, but Grace’s next soft sound, akin to a purr, keeps him there. “Fix you right up until you’re okay again.”
Again, it feels like Grace is appraising him. “Understand,” he says after a while, turning his carapace when he squeaks, “You keep it.”
Suddenly, Rocky is very aware of what’s in his hand. He peers down at it again; the piece of Grace’s sunshine yellow body, made smaller by exposure to oxygen, that glimmers beneath the lights of his ship. Slowly, Rocky curls his fingers around it and nods, voice hushed, “I’ll keep it.”
I’ll keep you, is what Rocky really wants to say.
He doesn’t want to freak Grace out with his all-consuming sentiment, so he chokes down the words, gently knocks against the xenonite and waits for Grace to do the same before pushing himself up. Then, Rocky carries his precious treasure over to his workstation, determined to make the piece of carapace entrusted to him into something he can keep close all the time.
Maybe a ring will work.
❦ ❦
Some days later, Rocky holds up his newly crafted ring under one of the overhead lights, watching the gunmetal gray coloring of the polished xenonite gleam. The shine nearly obscures the yellow inlay, and when he spots it, Rocky smiles, a warm feeling encompassing his heart.
He glances over at his slumbering friend, watching for a long moment to ensure he’s actually asleep, before he dares to slip the ring over his left ring finger, right over the one Adrian placed there so many years ago. Rocky’s hand shakes, as it did when he returned the gesture to his partner, and all he can hear is the loud thudding of his heart when it slides down with no trouble—a perfect fit.
“Christ,” he mutters, rubbing his fingers over both rings. “You’re a mess, Rock.”
Still, Rocky lowers his head to press his lips to them, feeling his face grow warm. He scrubs at his cheeks, a habit he developed after countless years of dealing with Adrian and their excessive compliments, and hurriedly transfers Grace’s ring to his other ring finger. Rocky then throws himself down onto his mattress and stares at his friend, waiting for Grace to awaken.
When he shows it to Grace, who extends a hand through the mesh portion of his xenonite ball to tap a claw against his hand, Rocky’s surprised when Grace breaks out into a song. Rocky doesn’t recognize any of the words, and the translator (still on in the background) certainly doesn’t tell him anything. He’s about to ask about it when Grace abruptly stops and turns his carapace away, tapping two claws together.
“Is nice,” he says. “Now Grace can always be with Rocky.”
“You’ll always be with me,” Rocky says, grabbing Grace’s claw. Even through the protective mesh, it feels hot—not uncomfortably so, but enough for Rocky to notice. “I hope you know that when we get to Earth, I don’t plan on ever letting you go.”
“… Rocky will keep Grace?”
“For as long as you let me,” Rocky says, stomach twisting anxiously. He presses even closer to the xenonite, feeling Grace do the same on the other end, and still holds onto Grace’s claw. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Got it?”
“Got it,” Grace says, musical notes coming out stilted and low. He taps a claw against Rocky’s palm, a bit of steam puffing out of him for some reason, before tipping his carapace toward Rocky. “Is Rocky mine, question?”
Rocky’s voice comes out a tad rough when he says, “Yeah, baby. I’m yours.”
Grace makes a sound akin to a hum, in a pitch Rocky recognizes as his feeling pleased. He doesn’t release Rocky’s hand, doesn’t try to move away, and again, Rocky is filled with the overwhelming urge to touch and hold him.
And even though My Chemical Romance continues to annoyingly play in the background, Rocky can’t help but think that the lyrics seem fitting for their situation.
(“Can’t find my way home,” Gerard fucking Way sings. “But it’s through you and I know.”)
“I’m going to figure out a way to hold you,” Rocky promises, sweeping a hand over the side of the ball. “I’ll build you a new suit, and then—”
“And then Rocky touches Grace!” Grace chirps.
Rocky somehow manages to ignore the faint flicker of heat in his stomach when he croaks out, “Yeah, Grace. I’ll touch you.”
“Good, good, good,” Grace says with one of those purr-like sounds. “Can’t wait to feel Rocky.”
“Fuck,” Rocky breathes, dropping his forehead onto the ball. He shuts his eyes, swallows, and bites the inside of his cheek to try and get a handle on everything else he’s feeling. After a while, Rocky exhales shakily and says, “Yeah, I’m going to make you that suit. Will you be good for me and get me all of your supplies? I have a feeling I’m going to use a lot of xenonite.”
“Yes,” Grace answers. “Can do!” Then, much quieter, he says, “After hug, maybe.”
“After hug,” Rocky agrees. He keeps his arms around Grace’s ball, eager for the day when he can fully wrap himself around the Eridian and never let go.
❦ ❦
Rocky wakes up to the sound of ‘Planetary (GO!)’ blasting through his ship.
And Grace loafed above him in one of his xenonite tunnels.
“Rocky,” Grace warbles after Rocky startles so badly he nearly slips off the bed. He hurriedly scrambles back into place, only because Grace so rarely sleeps close to him—out of shyness, he thinks, and probably because he still feels like he’s imposing on Rocky, as if Rocky wouldn’t let himself get burnt in Grace’s atmosphere again to save him. “I have a favorite album now.”
“Oh,” Rocky says, blinking. He rubs his eyes and grabs his glasses from the table he welded to the wall nearby, sliding them on to stare up at Grace’s… underside. Dammit, now Rocky has to stop all thoughts about it, lest he have a reaction and draw Grace’s curiosity. “Let’s hear it.”
“Danger Days is very good,” Grace chirps, pushing himself up to stretch. Rocky watches how his whole body trembles at the action, and wonders—STOP IT. “One song reminds Grace of Grace and Rocky.”
“Is it this one?” Rocky asks dryly as Gerard Way screams at him to GET UP AND GO! “Are you trying to tell me something, Gracie?”
“Grace,” the Eridian corrects with a stomp. “And no, is not this one. ‘The Only Hope for Me is You’ is our song.” He bangs a claw against the xenonite, making Rocky jump again. “You sleep, sleep, sleep for too long. Time to get up and work on my suit!”
“It’s too early for you to be so bossy,” Rocky replies, pushing himself up to press his face as close to the tunnel as possible. He almost grins when he catches Grace’s subtle tremble, taking a moment to bask in the warmth Grace exudes, even through the xenonite, before saying, “Who gave you permission to act like that?”
Grace taps two of his claws together, shuffling in place. “Rocky,” he sings, beautifully soft, and abruptly turns to skitter down the tunnel—far, far, far away from Rocky.
Rocky stares after him before flopping down onto his mattress with a groan. He presses a hand against his hot face and wonders how the fuck he got to the point of being so far gone on his small, alien friend.
Adrian will definitely make fun of me for this, Rocky thinks, peering at the ring on his right hand. He brushes a thumb over the yellow inlay before rolling off the bed with a heavy sigh. Rocky then goes through his little morning routine, hearing Grace humming at some spot deeper in his ship. Even though it’s clearly some fucking My Chemical Romance song, Rocky can move past his dislike of the genre to listen to the Eridian that so easily captured his heart.
Rocky remains focused on Grace even as he searches for his coveralls. If he’s going to do work, he’ll need them to protect himself—Grace gets worried about him being so exposed, especially after he burned his hand, and he’d rather not make the pretty little thing panic. It took him a while to talk him down the last time it happened, and although Rocky quite enjoyed having Grace pressed up against his front while in the xenonite ball, seeing him so scared hurt him more.
As he goes off in search of Grace, Rocky reminds himself to listen to the song later.
❦ ❦
“What the fuck,” Rocky says during Grace’s sleep cycle, pressing his hands against his face. “does that mean?”
He has the song paused while he stares at the lyrics he pulled up, the words bright pink and glittery on the random My Chemical Romance fansite he came across. It’s eerily reminiscent of MySpace:
Still, seeing those words fills him with so many complex feelings that Rocky has to press his hands against his face and scream.
Is this a sign? Or is Rocky reading too deep into things? Is the depth of his infatuation for the little Eridian making him see things that aren’t truly there? Wait, fuck—is he so obvious that Grace has an inkling about them? Does he need to throw himself out of the airlock and into the void of space?
“Okay, stop acting like Gracie,” Rocky tells himself, ignoring the Grace-like voice in his head that shouts, IT’S GRACE, ROCKY!!!! “Focus up and think, idiot.”
He reaches out to resume the song, curling in on himself with a wheeze when stupid Gerard Way continuously repeats, “The only hope for me is you, the only hope for me is you, the only hope for me is you, the only hope for me is you…”
“Is that what I am, honey?” Rocky whispers, brushing his fingers over the clear xenonite separating them. Grace doesn’t hear him, nor does he move, and the ghosts of his dead crewmates provide no answers, either. “Am I your hope?”
Then, while still staring at Grace’s still form, Rocky slowly leans forward to press his lips to the wall. He rests his forehead against it afterward, keeping his eyes fixed on his favorite thing to come out of this adventure while the song continues to play in the background.
If Grace is bold enough to announce that this song is about them, then maybe…
“We’re going to talk about this,” Rocky promises. Although the thought makes his stomach writhe with anxiety, it also makes his heart full, because clearly there’s something here. He’s not crazy. “And I’m going to tell you exactly how I feel, Gracie.”
Grace, the Grace-voice in his head scolds, and Rocky can’t help but smile.
❦ ❦
“Ta-da!” Rocky says, doing Eridian jazz hands as he presents the finished suit for his (maybe more) friend. “Should work perfectly fine in my atmosphere!”
(It took him hours and hours, with Grace’s observation and occasional, if unsure, guidance on the tiny xenonite panels he connected. Rocky also had to reach through the mesh portion of the ball to measure Grace, and being able to wrap a hand around one of Grace’s legs made Rocky so ridiculously wired that he stopped the ship to go out and pretend to do work on the hull.)
“Should,” Grace repeats, notes coming out lower.
“It will,” Rocky replies firmly. He drops his hands so he can reach out to rest one against the xenonite wall, his heart flipping in his chest when Grace reaches out to do the same on his end—hand to claw, separated by the wall that keeps them alive. “I’d rather die than let you get hurt, Gracie.”
“Grace,” the Eridian corrects, still subdued. He tips his carapace toward Rocky, his other claw tapping against the floor. “But Rocky can’t die. Is not allowed.”
“Oh, yeah?” Rocky says, lips twitching. “Are you forbidding me from dying, Grace?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Grace says, bouncing a little. “Rocky has to stay with Grace forever. Rocky promised!”
“That’s right,” Rocky replies softly. He taps his fingers against the xenonite again and waits for Grace to do the same before continuing, reciting the words he said after their adventure at Adrian, “For as long as I breathe, I’ll stay with you, sweetheart.”
“Good,” Grace trills, tapping once more before skittering away from Rocky and toward their little airlock tunnel. “Give suit! I will put it on!” A pause. “Rocky can’t watch Grace change.”
“What?!” Rocky frowns. “Why not?”
“Human thing,” Grace says with one of his mischievous whistles. This side of him seems to come out more and more every day. Rocky loves it. “Social boundaries! Discomfort! What else did Rocky say, question? Hmm… Taboo!”
“Such a tease,” Rocky says with a sigh.
He moves over to the airlock to place the suit inside, shutting the door to let it cycle through. Rocky watches as Grace taps his claws together nervously and pretends he’s not feeling the same way when Grace finally opens it on his end. Grace takes the suit Rocky lovingly made for him, lets out a warbling sound, and bounces down one of the tunnels—hidden from Rocky’s gaze.
Rocky busies himself by cleaning up his workstation, tucking all the extra xenonite pieces in a box for future use. He then changes the wrap around his hand and goes through some hand exercises to ease the stiffness that often occurs from working for too long. It’s worth it because soon, they’ll be as close as Rocky wants.
The hiss of the airlock makes him whirl around, fast enough that he nearly slips, and he sees Grace standing there on his side of the ship, wearing the suit Rocky made for him. Safe, and not burning in his atmosphere.
“Rocky,” Grace sings, beautiful and bright.
“Grace,” Rocky chokes out.
He doesn’t know who moves first.
One second, Rocky’s standing there, staring at the Eridian who has his heart, and in the next, Rocky has his arms wrapped around Grace, trying to press as close as possible. He thinks Grace might be doing the same thing, and God, it soothes something in him to feel Grace’s claws grasping the back of his shirt while he makes these cute snuffling sounds.
Rocky thinks he might be crying a little, but luckily, he’s not embarrassingly loud about it.
“So close,” Grace is saying. “So close to Rocky.”
Rocky shudders when he feels the vibrations of Grace’s voice sweep through him, sliding his fingers over every curve and seam of the suit that he can reach. He knows his handiwork won’t fail, but he has to check and make sure everything’s alright. Grace pushes up into every touch, trembling beneath his palm. The Eridian even squeaks something out, too high for Rocky to understand, and Rocky wonders if he can make this moment last forever.
“You fit so well in my arms,” Rocky marvels. “Just as I thought.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Grace says. “Love being close!!”
“I love you,” Rocky says, and freezes.
It’s far too honest, and he can feel Grace stiffen in his embrace. Rocky’s shoulders climb up to his ears as it falls silent. All he hears is the hum of the ship, and the sound of his heartbeat, loud in his ears. He opens and shuts his mouth, feeling a click in his jaw, and prepares to try and play it off as something more platonic when Grace suddenly chirrups and speaks,
“I love Rocky, too.”
Rocky almost misses it, what with how low it comes out, but the moment the words register, he leans back to stare at his friend with wide eyes.
“You—” Fuck, if Rocky were Eridian, there’d definitely be steam leaving his head. He thinks he spies some coming out the top of Grace’s carapace, fogging up the xenonite suit, and boy, isn’t that a lovely sight. “You love me, Grace?”
“Yes,” Grace says, tucking one of his claws into Rocky’s hand. It’s so unlike the mesh portion of Grace’s ball—a different texture altogether, but the suit allows him to feel him better. He exudes so much comforting warmth, even through this simple touch, and Rocky knows he won’t be able to go a day without it. “To make it clearer: Grace loves Rocky the same way Rocky loves Grace. Understand, question?”
“Understand,” Rocky says, dazed. His heart swells, and he can’t keep the stupid grin off his face. “Wow. I can’t believe you love me.”
“Can’t believe Rocky loves Grace.”
“Yeah,” Rocky says dopily. “I do.”
“Took you long enough to say it,” Grace grumbles.
“I’m sorry for lamenting my feelings for my very best friend,” Rocky replies, grinning despite himself. He curls his fingers around Grace, marveling at the size difference—and his handiwork on Grace’s new suit. Damn, he’s good. “Can you ever forgive me for making you wait, sweetheart?”
“Only if Rocky keeps touching Grace,” Grace chirps. Rocky feels him tap the tip of his claw against several points on his palm before slowly tracing the lines. A shiver races down Rocky’s spine, and he prays he doesn’t react to Grace’s exploratory touch. “Blood vessels here carry blood all the way to Rocky’s heart. Can hear it traveling now. Very nice.”
Rocky swallows. “Yeah?”
“Yes. Grace always listens to Rocky’s body-song. Many, many, many things to hear. All so different, but working to keep Rocky alive.” Grace slides his claw upward, the tips of them twitching against Rocky’s fingers. “But Grace loves to hear Rocky work. Always moving, touching—careful and kind, my Rocky.”
“Is that really why you like my hands so much?” Rocky asks, bemused. “I feel like you’re always listening to them… and touching them, now.”
“Rocky has good hands,” Grace replies, like it’s that simple. Hell, maybe it is, and Rocky’s the one thinking too deeply about things. “I’m also mentally mapping out the size of it to carve into myself later.”
Rocky chokes on his own spit.