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Grace drags his knees up to his chest as he tries to work. Guilt sits heavy in his stomach. He needs to be working harder and making more progress. He is well aware that he is literally Earth’s saving grace: humanity’s last chance. And yet he can’t force any more understanding into his squishy, inefficient, human brain from the microscope slides resting in front of him. He stares once again at the astrophage contained in its glass round of sterility. He forced himself to take a deep breath and rubs at his face, trying to pull some more feeling into his body.
The rumbling hum of the Hail Mary’s life support suddenly feels oppressing. It’s making the same almost subsonic grinding and whirring that it always does, but it reminds Grace of just how far away he is from home. Floating through space in an alien planet’s orbit, in what feels like nothing but a tin can. He knows logically that Mary is one of humanity’s single greatest achievements: Earth’s first interstellar spacecraft. That doesn’t make him feel better. The occasional small clinks of space debris feel closer than usual, completely juxtaposed by the vast expanse of nothingness just beyond the aluminum alloy of the hull. He feels simultaneously more exposed and more isolated than he had ever imagined possible.
Grace can feel his emotions bubbling up into his chest. He tries to swallow them back down. He pops his head up from his work station, peering over at Rocky’s side of the ship. He tries to make out the outline of his unexpected coworker (roommate. friend?) through the clear, slightly warped panels of xenonite. Rocky had fallen asleep a few hours ago, with the ever-present request for Grace to watch over him. He’s eerily still in Mary's cold light.
Someone so close, yet so far away. Grace realizes with a start how much he misses casual contact. High-fives and fist-bumps with his favorite students in the hallway, Carl’s joyous slaps to his shoulder whenever they figured out something new, even the cordial handshakes from when he was meeting the other scientists working on the mission. He missed the support. He wasn’t supposed to be alone all the way out here. He was meant to have Yao and Ilyukhina. He wasn’t meant to do everything by himself. A pilot and an engineer. Missing. Dead. He isn’t enough to make up for their loss.
At least he has an engineer? Rocky has proved to be a whiz at making anything and everything the two of them could ever need. Grace wonders what it would have been like if Ilyukhina had been here to explain human engineering concepts to Rocky. What they could have managed together, in another universe.
Grace’s eyes unfocus during a lull of thought. Time trickles by slowly, no progress being made on his research.
Grace is never going to see another human being again. The fact hits him like a truck. What little semblance of composure he had comes crashing down around him and his vision begins to get blurry. Grace mentally kicks himself for not being able to keep it together. He sinks off of his chair, further collapsing in on himself. He’s meant to be Earth’s greatest hero, and here he is, slumped on the unforgiving, hard floor.
Everything is riding on him and his ability to figure this out. His glasses are skewed on his head and press against the floor awkwardly. Their arms dig into his temples. The light that makes its way through his glasses bends at strange angles. One of the few things that are still clear through his narrow pinhole of corrected sight is Rocky’s silhouette.
Not just Earth is depending on him. Not just one sapient species or solar system. Erid and Earth. Humans and Eridians. Every other scrap of life on their two planets combined. Panic grips his heart as the weight of their stars settles more harshly on his shoulders. It weighs in as a death sentence for every single life he has ever known, and plenty more he never got the opportunity to. Coils of hurt and self-loathing wind themselves more tightly. No way was he meant for this.
I’m a middle school science teacher. What am I doing here? Why did they trust me of all people to save the universe? Send me into space? I ride a bike to work, and it’s not for exercise… I’m a laughingstock. A failure of an astrobiologist. Grace wraps his arms around his stomach, hoping to hold himself together a bit longer. Tears streak down his face in hot, wet rivulets. He runs his fingers over the hem of his shirt as roughly as he can, the threads and seams not giving nearly enough of a bite to keep him tethered.
His breaths come quickly, barely squeezing through his closing throat. I don’t want to waste the faith of the world, but if I can’t even make it through a day of research without breaking down like this, I don’t know how I’m going to make it through.
Grace’s mind fills with static, barely letting any of his specific worries slip through the haze. He tries to block everything out, pick himself back up and get back to work, but he can’t force his limbs to move. His tears come faster, and a stilted, half-hearted cry breaks through his lips. He can’t tell how long he lies there and weeps for all his attempts to just get up and figure out how to save the universe. Just do it, he scolds himself.
It doesn’t work. His spiral worsens as his brain tracks the same path over and over again, because he has no idea how to even begin unraveling the secrets of Tau Ceti.
Grace lies in fetal position, now-dry sobs shaking their way through his lungs. Exhaustion begins to creep along the edges of his consciousness as the salt is just beginning to dry on his cheeks. His breath comes in stutters as the sharp pangs of fear and hurt and loneliness are replaced with a dull ache and worrying emptiness. His limbs feel disconnected, his body feels like it's full of cotton, and his mind feels as though it were riding away on a loose balloon.
<Grace leaking more than usual. Statement.>
“R-rocky? You’re awake?” Grace croaks.
<Woke up, tap on xenonite to get Grace attention. Grace not hear. Grace hearing terrible. Human ears bad bad bad. Eridian auricles much better.>
“Ah, sorry Rock. I didn’t mean to get so caught up in everything. It’s just… a lot…” Grace says, wiping at his nose with his sleeve, wallowing in his numbness. He lifts his head a little off the ground to look at Rocky better. He hopes his weak explanation is enough.
<Grace experience big emotion? Hm. Need better word.>
“Emotional breakdown? Stress? Anxiety about saving the universe?” Grace offers. He pauses, his mind lingering on the more serious, slightly more clinical terms he could probably use, but didn’t feel ready for. “…I’m really not equipped for this.”
<...Rocky not equipped either. Other Eridians on Blip-A much more suited to save Erid.>
Grace and Rocky sit quietly for a moment, mourning for their lost teammates and their own shortcomings, letting Mary eat up the silence. It almost sends Grace over the edge again, tumbling back into fear and seclusion and responsibility and inadequacy, but Rocky taps gently at his xenonite dome, presumably to get a better look at how Grace is faring.
<Rocky trust Grace. Human scientist doing so much for good of stars. Cannot expect solution right away. Rocky alone 46 human years, make no progress alone. Remember, question?>
“Yeah, I remember...”
<Grace smart. Rocky here to help. We do big science together!>
A tentative little spark of hope flickers in Grace’s chest, like a firefly landing on a bobbing leaf in the hot breeze of a summer night. “Yeah, you’re right, Rock. We have each other.” I just have to keep reminding myself of that, Grace continues in his mind. Keep saying it over and over until I believe that this will be enough for now. And ignore the fact that it will have to be enough forever. That I won’t ever be able to get home. Back to Earth. The ember of hope extinguishes.
After a pause, Rocky continues melodically, <Rocky read on portable earth thinking machine that physical touch help with human emotion. Grace stay here; Rocky go get ball.> Rocky scurries out of view, his small claws scrabbling a pattern of percussion along the xenonite panels.
When Rocky returns in his Eridian hamster-ball he stops short, tilting his carapace back and forth. <Grace go get quilt-blanket.>
“Rock, that’s not necessary. I’m fine,” Grace protests. The numbness was manageable, at least. Much easier than facing… all that again.
<No. Grace go get quilt-blanket and Rocky Grace snuggle to help fix Grace emotion,> he chirps with a slightly more strict bossy tone than he normally uses. Grace feels the stubbornness radiating off of the alien and gives in. He pulls himself to his feet hesitantly, and wobbles over to where he left his quilt draped over a chair. Rocky follows him at his ankles, rolling gently, almost like Grace imagines a service dog would. He quickly shuts down that lane of thought as he reminds himself that Rocky is a person, not an animal. No matter how cute he is when he's accomplishing a task with pride.
Grace pulls his heavy quilt off the back of the chair, and Rocky herds him toward a soft padded part of the sleeping chambers on the Mary, since Rocky’s ball wouldn’t fit well on his bed. Grace pulls his quilt onto his head and shoulders, hiding under it as if it were some sort of cloak.
<Grace lie here,> intones Rocky. Grace lets his legs collapse under him, and Rocky presses his hamster ball into the nook created by his chest and legs. Rocky pulls his limbs inward, loafing much like a cat would, as close as he can physically get to Grace. The heat of Rocky’s atmosphere radiates through his ball, and is captured by the earthy rainbow of fabrics and threads, creating a little pocket far removed from the stress of saving the universe. Rocky gently reaches through the stretchy xenonite panel currently toward the bottom of his sphere, and rests one of his claws against Grace’s hand.
The feeling of safety washes over him, and all at once, Grace is crying again. Rocky nuzzles closer and begins humming a wordless melody. Twin souls, despite all odds, from opposite ends of the universe, finally together. Born under different suns, brought together by tragedy, held in this moment by friendship. Grace finally allows himself to weep out all the emotions he’d been pushing away and promising himself that he’d deal with later, but never did. Rocky lets his claws drift across Grace’s knuckles in a display of comfort, as close as they can ever touch.
౦⁀ᯓ⟢ˎˊ˗
Rocky stays with Grace until they fall asleep, continuing their tuneless lullaby as if Grace were a pebble.
Rocky listens with fascination as Grace’s heartbeat and breathing slow, their muscles relaxing. Grace turns into a putty at Rocky’s side as their nervous system regulates itself. Grace is so loud and alive, especially being so close to Rocky, with such little atmosphere between the two of them.
Everything sounds crisper, Grace’s outlines steady and pulsing with the inner workings of their body. Rocky watches the rise and fall of Grace’s chest, much calmer than it was even minutes ago. So many disgusting noises filtered through such a fleshy casing. But even this was a million times better than the unforgiving silence that surrounded them during their seemingly infinite time on the Blip-A. Every slight rush of blood through a vein, every little grumble as Grace repositioned themself was a symphony of life and company. It created the most beautiful song Rocky could imagine, since it meant that they were no longer alone. That they had each other. That they could finally find a solution to the astrophage eating away at their stars.
Grace’s long body cradles Rocky, giving a comforting chill to their carapace through the xenonite. Despite everything, Rocky cannot think of a better beacon of hope than this strange, leaky, alien blob, so inexorably tied to their own fate. Rocky selfishly wishes that they could stay cuddled up on the floor of the Hail Mary for a million years, but they know the moment will end when Grace’s nap does. The two of them will get back to work, and soon, they will find the solution they’re looking for. They will save the universe together, Rocky knows it.