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“Hnngh,” Rocky groaned, and Ryland considered this to be one of Rocky’s better starts to the day.
“Good mornin’ to you too,” he greeted mildly. He was a bit tired himself after watching Rocky sleep for the past few hours, but he’d gotten some important work done for preparing the Hail Mary’s landing in Erid in six weeks. Most of the time, it was a generally beneficial agreement, but now Ryland felt like he’s used most of his brainpower for the next several days already.
“Grace quiet,” Rocky ordered, which wasn’t that unusual in the grand scheme of things. Rocky was bossy on a good day as it was, but with the way he kept his limbs tucked tightly around his carapace, Ryland could tell it was at least going to be a rough start. “Shut orifices.”
Ryland nodded silently, mouth pressed awkwardly into a thin line. Great conversation, he thought. Great, great. He clacked noisily against the keyboard, electing to let Rocky figure himself out and do his own thing getting up.
“Quiet, statement,” Rocky repeated, with slightly more frustration in his cadence than before. He rolled onto another one of his sides, and curled into a little ball with his limbs still wrapped tightly around him. Not for the first time, Ryland likened him to a cat.
“I didn’t say anything?” Ryland said, in parts amused and annoyed. The long flight home in close quarters was getting to both of them these days, it seemed. They’ve both snapped at each other more often than either cared to admit, but Nanny Bot said it was to be expected and would likely improve once Rocky was back home.
“Grace keyboard and body loud,” Rocky whined. It was a little pathetic. “All soft and gross and loud. Rocky can’t focus. Grace’s heart goes badum, badum, badum, all day, all night. Annoying and distracting.”
Ryland frowned. Rocky complaining about his ‘leaky space blob body’ wasn’t anything new—his alien companion had a field day every time he hit his funny bone on the counter—but he can count the number of times Rocky complained about his body being too loud on one hand, only ever when Rocky was already miserable for one reason or another. Dare he say, he thought Rocky found his heartbeat comforting given the devastating silence aboard the Blip A.
Rocky had lived in that silence for years—had worked through it, had slept in it, had woken to it. Ryland shouldn’t be surprised when sound inevitably gets too much for him; Rocky had grown used to his own silent company, only.
“You good, Rock?” Ryland questioned, and shifted his body slightly to face the Eridian. “You’re, uh… sounding a little under the weather there.”
“How can I be under weather, question? There is no weather here, we are in space,” Rocky huffed. Ryland thought it sounded more like a bumbling drone than Rocky’s usual confident, self-assured, slightly-anxious cadence. “Human idioms make no sense. All thought, all silly.”
“It means you look unwell,” Ryland explained in stride. “Sick. If I remember right, it’s an old sailor saying, since anyone seasick would go below decks to take shelter during rough weather.”
Honestly, Ryland didn’t even know if Rocky could get sick in the first place, much less in the vacuum of space, still weeks out from arriving at Erid and without any contact from anyone besides him. He wasn’t sure what he would do if the alien was sick. Was it something bad? Something treatable? He couldn’t do much to help Rocky unless he stuck his arm against the flexible section of the clear xenonite separating them.
“Odd,” Rocky hummed, effectively cutting Ryland off from his racing thoughts. “Seasickness happens on Erid, too. Uncommon, but manageable. No sayings like that.”
“You guys have sailors?” Ryland inquired, more than a little curious. “Huh. I should’ve realized that. Of course you’d have them, you have oceans…”
“Grace thought connections are lacking,” Rocky poked, sounding the slightest bit amused. Ryland was, admittedly, a little happy to see his friend’s usual sass. “Now quiet. Heart loud enough, no more annoying human language.”
Ryland rolled his eyes. Rocky tapped the xenonite beside him, because he was a freakish arse that probably heard him roll his eyes and got annoyed.
Instead of dealing with Rocky’s snobbish attitude this morning, Ryland sighed and stood up, stretching his arms high above his head and standing on his tiptoes. With a yawn, he leaned back down to retrieve his laptop, fixing his T-shirt from where it rode up his stomach along the way, and trudged slowly back to the lab, before finally settling heavily into a stiff plastic chair.
He got all of maybe five minutes alone—minutes mostly spent nearly falling asleep over a desk—before a crash startled him back into the present.
“Shoot.” Ryland raced to the sound, leaving chaos in his wake as he prepared for the worst. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the xenonite panels broke or an unluckily-placed tool or container toppled to the floor, but if it was something endangering Rocky or the taumoeba, he had to be fast.
What was waiting for him was, blessedly, not another taumoeba breakout or terrifying accident with any xenonite breaking. Instead, it was Rocky, who looked like he’d fallen down in one of the downwards sections of his network of an enclosure.
“Rock, bud,” Ryland said. “You good? Sounded like a pretty big fall from the lab.”
“Hnnnghh,” Rocky informed, followed by a sound Ryland had avoided translating to any human words to yet. The teacher in him wasn’t that eager to hear Rocky swear, especially given how privy he seemed to call Ryland… stuff. Long-winded phrases that sounded similar enough in structure to be insults but said often enough that Ryland was pretty sure he was being called a slur. He hoped he wouldn’t have to give Rocky an inclusivity and hate speech lecture one day.
“Okay,” Ryland agreed, nodding slowly. “Anything broke? Nothing damaged?”
“Loud,” Rocky complained. “Go away. Rocky fine, just need quiet.”
“You sure, bud?” Ryland prodded. “Anything hurting, or, uh…” He didn’t know what Eridians would physically feel when down or sick or hurt; the closest he’d ever come to understanding was when Rocky nearly died saving him after the disaster that was getting taumoeba from Adrian, and where Ryland didn’t remember much from it, Rocky’d been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about all that went down after Ryland dragged him back to the enclosure. They both still had the burns to show for it.
“Yes,” Rocky insisted. “Fine. Fine, fine, fine, statement. Do all humans worry like Grace, question? All think and worry, no rest.” Now Rocky just sounded like he was babbling to divert the conversation.
“Rocky,” Ryland chided. Sometimes he forgot that Rocky was just as, if not more self-sacrificial than he was. “If something’s going on with you, I need to know. We don’t have a lot of your stuff from the Blip A, so if there’s anything you need—“
“Rocky is fine,” interrupted Rocky, apparently reaching the end of his already short line. He leapt up and to his limbs to meaningfully tap the xenonite to get his point across, but wobbled and collapsed right back down the moment his claws got under him.
“Rocky!” Ryland yelped. He pressed himself against the glass of the xenonite, wishing not for the first time that he and Rocky breathed the same air. “Rocky, talk to me. What’s wrong? Are you okay? Did you hurt something?”
“Mmmmhhhuuugghh,” Rocky helpfully answered. “Stop. Stop. Grace too loud.” He said something more that Ryland couldn’t fully catch, but he figured it had to be a more complex phrase. Rocky had been sheepish when he admitted he’d basically been baby-talking him since they met, and Ryland, in a deep, instinctual need not to embarrass himself (fueled by decades working in a middle school), vowed he would learn Eridian without use of a translator by the time they landed in Erid.
It was a lot harder than he thought.
“Okay,” Ryland soothed, forcing himself to quiet his voice despite the panic ebbing through his veins. He forced his voice down from the frantic, loud questions. “Okay, quiet, got it. Are you—can you tell me what’s going on with you? Are you sick? Hurt?”
Rocky didn’t answer. He didn’t answer for nearly three minutes, in which Ryland nearly ordered Nanny Bot to get some kind of health monitor hooked up to Rocky and make sure his best friend didn’t die suddenly.
The thought—the reality was both closer and more likely to happen than it rightfully should’ve been.
“Rocky may be… under weather,” Rocky conceded finally. He curled up a little more comfortably, with two of his five limbs stretched out to one side. Ryland breathed a long sigh of relief, blinking away the worried tears. “Many apologies.”
“Rocky,” Ryland sighed. He bit his lip, chewing over the peeling skin and rolling the flesh between his teeth. “Rocky, how are you sick? Describe it to me.”
Whatever Rocky had, it could be serious. Without protection other than the Blip A’s astrophage engine for the first few decades Rocky was out here, it was possible that he could finally be feeling the effects of radiation sickness. Rocky could be dying in front of him, and Ryland was wasting time trying to get Rocky to just talk to him.
Rocky was rarely ever this closed off. He was awkward sometimes and more than a little apprehensive and shy when in a bad mood, but he valued open communication as much as Ryland did, more so after Ryland hid that the Hail Mary was supposed to be a one-way trip for so long. It was worrying to see Rocky this way.
“Rocky, please,” begged Ryland. He sat on his knees next to the xenonite enclosure, thighs uncomfortably pressing up against the material. It was warm to the touch from Rocky’s atmosphere.
Rocky shifted minutely, like he was fidgeting but too tired to do so in his usual anxious way, where he needed his hands busy to talk.
“… Sick,” Rocky finally landed on. “Nauseous. Dizzy. Faint.”
Ryland didn’t really know what else he expected. He wasn’t an expert on Eridian immunology, no matter how much he and Rocky asked (sometimes rather invasive) questions about each other’s biology or occasionally self-conducted biopsies to show each other. Rocky was still an alien, and Ryland had no clue if Eridians could get sick with anything other than serious ailments. Rocky couldn’t even get hurt easily unless exposed to a different atmosphere or caught in some awful accident, like what happened with that split limb of his, but—
“Is this, like, normal?” Ryland asked frantically. Maybe a little desperate. “Do you think it’s something unusual? Anything you haven’t experienced before?”
“What is Grace talking about, question?” Rocky croaked. He seemed somewhere between confused and tired, his cadence landing on annoyed. “Just sick.”
“So you do get sick?” Ryland clarified, and the feeling of dread left his body as quickly as it came.
“Yes,” Rocky confirmed. “Of course. Grace saw Rocky cells, of course Eridians get sick!”
“I didn’t know that,” Ryland choked, sagging completely over the xenonite enclosure. He felt like he ran a mile, now uncomfortably wet and cold from the anxiety-induced sweat. He trembled slightly as he breathed through the steadying rollercoaster of emotions. He pressed the balls of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars. “I’m sorry. Sorry, Rock. I was just—just worried.”
“Ew,” Rocky whined, but it was a testament to both his exhaustion and general care for his companion that he didn’t immediately push himself further away from where Ryland was pressed up against the xenonite. “Grace leaky again. Disgust.”
“Sorry, bud,” Ryland repeated, sniffling as he blinked the remaining tears away from his eyes. He huffed a laugh. “God, okay. You’re just sick. Is it—is it anything bad? Treatable? Did you bring any medicine over from the Blip A?”
“Common sickness,” Rocky hummed. “Will be better later. Heal quickly.”
Rocky didn’t heal quickly, at least compared to how humans bounced back, but Ryland wasn’t going to tell him that. He was just happy how certain Rocky was that it was normal and common.
“I’m surprised neither of us got sick earlier,” Ryland admitted, pulling back from the enclosure finally. “I mean, it does make sense why, being here alone for so long. Makes me wonder where you caught it from.”
“Hmm,” Rocky wondered. Ryland watched as he did this weird thing with his carapace and limbs where he shifted two of his five limbs up and then back down again lazily.
Aw, Ryland realized. He’s copying my shrugs! An alien is adopting human behavior!
He wondered if he’s adopted any Eridian behaviors since they met. He hoped it didn’t show too much in any of the videos sent back to Earth; he wasn’t sure how much he’d like Stratt to see him spinning and doing jazz hands unironically.
“Is there anything you need from me?” Ryland asked, soothing his own jittery nerves that told him to wrap Rocky up in a blanket and give him some soup. “I can get you a blanket, or your laptop, or… well, just let me know.”
“Okay,” Rocky acknowledged. “I will let Grace know. Now leave. Please.”
Ryland was hesitant. He knew Rocky didn’t do well alone for long periods, even when fine and well and in his best mood. Then again, Rocky was deeply resilient (far more than Ryland would ever be) and was an adult and could make his own choices.
It was fine. It would be fine, eventually, and both he and Rocky had to get used to not being around each other all day, every day, anyway. He just—
It was hard to let go.
“Okay,” Ryland finally acquiesced, shifting up to his feet and standing. “Yeah. Got it. Holler if you need anything.”
He dragged his feet as he left the room, covering his mouth as he yawned. He might as well take the presented opportunity and climb into the bed calling his sweet name.
(Ryland couldn’t sleep, too worried about Rocky. His companion said it was nothing to worry about, just a simple cold-like ailment, sure, but how could either of them know for certain? There was no certainty in space.
Ryland rolled onto his left side. He closed his eyes, wishing he could trick his anxious thoughts into believing it was nothing to worry about. He thought about sleep. Then he thought about thinking about sleep, and how he should be sleeping instead of just thinking about it. Then he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, and downed four melatonin gummies thrown in with the medical supplies on the Hail Mary. That conked him out, anxiety or not.)
***
Ryland woke up face-first into the floor. Nanny Bot loomed over him, its claw twisting in what Ryland hoped was some semblance of guilt.
“Armando,” Ryland groaned. He rolled onto his back, biting his tongue at the uncomfortable pull his shoulder gave. “What the heck, man?”
Nanny Bot predictably did not answer. Ryland held a staring contest with it for all of five seconds before a yawn escaped him, forcing him to close his eyes and look away.
“Wha’s going on?” he asked Nanny Bot. “i needed to catch up on—Rocky. Rocky, shoot!”
Gracefully, Ryland tripped over his tangled blanket in his haste to get out of the room and to the ports where he last saw Rocky hunker down. Quickly, he ran back to Rocky, nearly running into several xenonite tunnels before finally reaching his destination.
Rocky was right where Ryland left him, but unlike with his usual unmovable sleep, Rocky looked like he’d been trying and failing to find a comfortable position to rest in. Currently, he was getting dangerously close to being fully upside down by pushing the top of his carapace against the side of the xenonite tunnel.
“Hey,” Ryland whispered. Rocky brought one heavy limb up and dropped it back down in greeting. Great. “You feeling any better? Need anything?”
“Tired,” Rocky replied. “Exhausted. Rocky body hot and stiff, too much steam building up in veins. Too much feeling, too little space. Grace understand, question?”
That sounded bad. That sounded like the Rocky-was-about-to-explode-any-minute-and-Ryland-was-going-to-spend-the-next-several-hours-sobbing-and-cleaning-Rocky-bits kind of bad.
“What?” Ryland said, tactfully choosing not to voice these thoughts. “No. Uh, is it like a fever? Humans get those where our body will heat up to kill a virus, but it usually causes things like stuffiness and body aches too.”
Had they really never talked about disease before? Ryland remembered the one big talk on radiation sickness and comorbid conditions, but he couldn’t remember asking Rocky anything like do you ever get sick for two days because you got a little cold and it weakened your immune system?
“Grace will explain human sickness later,” Rocky demanded tiredly. Not even being ill could stop the scientist in him.
“I will,” Ryland promised. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you. On Earth, we usually do things when someone’s sick based on the symptoms and severity. Are you sure it’s not…”
Rocky made a sound oddly reminiscent of an exasperated sigh. Ryland wondered if he picked up a sound like that from hearing him do it so often, or if Rocky’s always been able to make that sound.
“I am fine,” Rocky said. “Grace worry much. Common sickness, eases with rest.”
“Right. Right, okay. So it’s like a common cold?” Ryland wondered. “Err, the flu, maybe. If you’re saying you’re too hot.”
Rocky chittered and thunked a limb down on the ground once more. If he had eyes, he’d probably be glaring at Ryland for wondering aloud about something Rocky had no clue of.
“Message received,” Ryland grunted. “The cold and flu are just two really common sicknesses on earth. Usually, we end up congested or nauseous or feverish. It gets better with rest, but meds help.”
“Like flu,” Rocky hummed. “What humans do when companions sick, question?”
Ryland softened, his mouth quirking into a smile.
“Depends on who you ask,” Ryland said as he made himself more comfortable sitting against the enclosure. “When one of my students had the cold but weren’t sick enough to call home, I let them rest during class and nap in my room during lunch. My mom used to give me meds and make me something warm to eat, and watch movies when she wasn’t working.”
“Eridians very similar,” Rocky murmured. “Mostly rest. Parents watch pebbles and cobbles, later friends and mates watch each other. Some medication if badly sick, and mild entertainment when bored.”
“Uh-huh.” Ryland nodded slowly. He bit his lip, rolling a question around in his head. “Did Adrian usually watch you?” Take care of you?
Rocky hummed his general agreement. “Adrian is good and kind,” he said, not one to miss a chance to sing Adrian’s praises. “Would even stay with me while eating, clean up messes, stay by my side.”
Ryland smiled to himself. The more he heard about Adrian, the more hopelessly in love Rocky seemed. He wondered if Rocky would introduce him to Adrian once they arrived on Erid.
“Lovebirds,” he mumbled. He could hear Rocky shift in place again, the stone creaking against the xenonite.
“Rocky is not a bird,” Rocky admonished. “Grace is sick like me to think of birds.”
“It’s an expression, Rock,” Ryland assured, reaching a hand behind him to pat the xenonite enclosure. “You want me to stay here with you? I know you said you wanted to be alone earlier, but…”
But you’re sick and I care about you, he did not say. But I can’t stand being away from you, he did not say. But I’m afraid I’ll leave again and come back to you dead, he did not say.
“But Grace is worried,” Rocky finished. At Ryland’s hesitant nod, Rocky made an uncertain tone and slowly pressed himself closer to where Ryland sat. “Is fine. Rocky was… irritated at wake-up. Human body very loud, very distracting. Grace fine now, after my rest.”
Ryland winced. Okay, yeah, he could see that being grating on Rocky’s way-more-sensitive hearing when sick.
“You sure it’s okay if I stay, bud?” Ryland asked.
“Yes,” Rocky said. “Rocky promises.”
“Right. Thanks, Rock.”
***
As it turned out, caretaking a sick Rocky was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad experience. Ryland, too, was suddenly singing Adrian’s praises, for they had apparently managed to deal with the whiny runt that is Rocky Sick With Minor Flu before.
“You just told me how important rest is to you getting better,” Ryland reminded, deeply exasperated. This must be hell—trapped on a small, confined ship with a mildly sick alien bossing him around for all that is holy.
“Grace misunderstand!” Rocky declared. His cadence was wrought with little shivers, which made Ryland soften, just a little. “Rest does not mean no work.”
“It quite literally means no work,” Ryland groaned. “I never work when I’m sick!” That was a lie, but Rocky didn’t need to know that.
“Humans fleshy and leaky,” Rocky hummed. “Eridians do not get fluid everywhere like humans when sick.”
“Rocky,” Ryland tried. “Bud, you said it yourself that Eridians rested with their mates or parents or friends when they’re sick. As in, they weren’t doing work. Why is that any different now when it’s us up here?”
Rocky did not reply, opting to curl tighter into a ball as if he could drown out his questions. Ryland, somehow, knew the answer without his companion saying anything at all.
“Rocky,” Ryland said gently. “The world’s not going to end if you take a day or two off. I can hold it down and take care of you.”
“There is still work I have to do,” Rocky said. “Preparation. Logs. Instructions. Reports. Have to prepare Grace for Erid.”
“And there will be time for that,” Ryland soothed. “We don’t arrive at Erid for several more weeks. We can spare a few days.”
Rocky shifted uncomfortably. Ryland imagined that, if he was doing better, Rocky would be fidgeting with some sort of xenonite netting. Maybe he’d be building another figure.
Ryland sighed. He couldn’t be mad at Rocky when he himself had the same self-destructive tendencies on Earth.
“Okay, how about this,” he said. “You tell me what you’re so worried about getting done right this instant, and you can boss me around while I do the actual tasks. That’s the best compromise you’re gonna get.”
Ryland held his breath for an answer. Rocky relaxed minutely, and finally acquiesced to his plan.
“Grace will follow Rocky instructions,” Rocky declared, his cadence slightly more confident. “Grace get portable earth-speaking machine. Quickly, statement!”
Ryland couldn’t help the twitch of his lips, but made a show of groaning as he got up and trudged toward the lab. He didn’t make Rocky wait too long, coming back before the alien could reasonably get upset.
“Okay,” Ryland said, settling back against the xenonite tunnels. “What’cha need?”
“Grace open new spreadsheet and flight path script,” Rocky ordered. “Now type…”
***
Ryland was regretting his decision to be at Rocky’s beck and call. Like, really, really regretting it. If he thought Rocky was a tyrant before, Rocky was a downright dictator once Ryland had given his permission to be bossed around. He was wondering how long Rocky had been holding some of these orders in.
“Get me a blanket!” Rocky demanded. They’d long since strayed from the work Rocky had wanted to get done, and now Ryland was playing caretaker. His carapace chittered and shook with what Ryland assumed must be delighted giggles. He was having way too much fun bossing his crewmate around—not that he’d ever had shame in doing so when completely well.
“You don’t even need a blanket,” Ryland groaned. “And you said you were too hot 320 seconds ago! Which is it?”
“Grace argue so much!” Rocky whined. “When Rocky ask for blanket, Grace say I am contradicting, when Rocky ask for ice, Grace say it will melt.”
“Ughhh,” Ryland groaned miserably, collapsing heavily into a criss-cross and holding his head in his hands. “You were so shy this morning, what happened to that?”
“I not know what Grace talk about,” Rocky huffed.
Ryland covered his nose and mouth, rubbing at the inner corners of his eyes with the pads of his pointer fingers. His glasses rode up as he breathed in deeply and noisily sighed out.
“Grace is so lazy!” Rocky continued, his carapace rumbling with frustrated indignation. “I ask for simple things, and Grace is too busy. Rocky could be dying! And Grace ignores my requests. Grace terrible human, statement!”
“Great. Great, really great,” Ryland muttered into the palms of his hands. “Fine. Fine! Whatever. Blanket. I can get a blanket.”
He stood up, joints creaking and popping with the movement. With one final scathing look at Rocky, Ryland turned away and stomped the whole walk to the storage room just to prove that he was mad.
Bossy! he thought.
By the time he had returned, Rocky was leaning against the side of the xenonite, doing his weird little jazz hands at the sight of the thermal blanket Ryland had grabbed from storage.
“Here you are,” Ryland said, and tossed the blanket over the top of the enclosure. “Is that all, your highness?” He forced a grin for each word, hoping Rocky would pick up on his chagrin. If he did, Rocky didn’t seem to mind.
Rocky hummed some musical notes in agreement, then seemingly settled down. Ryland breathed a sigh of relief. If he could remember them more clearly, he was pretty sure Rocky would fit right in with his middle school classes.
He took the moment of silence at its face. After running around the ship for Rocky (he was sure that Rocky only did it to see him run in the first place; Ryland never did use the exercise equipment enough), he was more than happy to take a quiet break.
Of course, all good things must come to an end.
“Rocky want puppet show,” Rocky said, breaking the silence just as Ryland was beginning to relax.
“No,” Ryland vetoed.
“Yes.”
“I’m not doing another puppet show for you.”
“Grace said mother watches movies and entertains Grace when sick,” Rocky countered. “Grace won’t entertain Rocky, question? I am bored and dying, what is wrong with Grace, question?”
“You said you’re not dying,” Ryland grunted. The idea in the back of his mind that Rocky could be, though, tickled at Rocky’s words. Maybe this was just the beginning symptoms of something bigger. Maybe this was something Rocky had hid from Ryland right under his nose. Maybe—Ryland shook his head, refocusing. No need to turn Rocky into a liar. “Can’t we just go to the projection room? They downloaded movies to watch, you know. Way better than a puppet show.”
Rocky considered this long and hard. Ryland pulled the blanket to the side to properly see Rocky, and maybe inspire some sympathy in him.
“Hmm,” rumbled Rocky. Ryland gave him his best puppy dog eyes, but he could sort-of remember being told by his students it wouldn’t work on anyone. “… okay. But Grace must consider a puppet show later.”
“Great! Awesome, let’s go,” Ryland said, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. He’ll take it! Maybe he can even weasel his way out of the later promised puppet show, too.
For now, though, what mattered was finding a movie that Rocky could make sarcastic jabs at while not interrupting too much. Hopefully, it’d just be a quiet night aboard the Hail Mary.
Ryland followed Rocky’s slow trudge through all his tunnels in the ship, finally arriving at the large, unlit LED screens.
“Get yourself comfortable, Rock,” Ryland called as he hooked his laptop up. Even in space, he couldn’t escape HDMI cables it seemed. He scrolled through the downloaded titles, vaguely assuming that Stratt had just downloaded the entire Amazon library. He wondered if it came out of the government budgets. “You have your sound projection thing? I think you’ll like this one.”
After he finished setting the laptop and the sound and the LED projection up, Ryland made his way back over to Rocky. He leaned his back against the tunnel, and grabbed a spare blanket they’d kept in here after Ryland kept falling asleep during their rare movie nights.
“What movie, question?” Rocky asked, huddling into his own little comfortable ball with his own tactile screen beside him.
“The Martian,” Ryland said. “It’s a sci-fi about one of the planets in my solar system. I think you’ll like the main character’s improv engineering.”
Rocky hummed, satisfied with the explanation. Ryland smiled and let the movie play.
Within the hour, Rocky had stopped his frustrated commentary about Mark Watney, peacefully asleep.
***
At the sound of Nanny Bot making coffee, Ryland woke up and stretched his arms high above his head. With a yawn, he put his feet on the ground and forced himself up, only for his head to achingly pound in time with his pulse.
“Ow, ow, ow,” Ryland said—well, tried to. His throat was scratchy and dry to the point that it came out as a deflated whisper. He swallowed his own spit down in a painful attempt to better it. Great. He probably caught Rocky germs, or something.
Ryland stumbled vaguely toward the lab where Rocky was sure to be if he wasn’t actively watching him—probably just left to grab something, reassured by the sound of Ryland’s heartbeat that it was safe to leave for a moment—and slumped heavily against a stool.
“Grace is awake,” Rocky greeted at the sound of Ryland’s footsteps, and waved his claws. “How was sleep, question?”
“Fine,” Ryland wheezed. “Armando, coffee. Please.”
“Grace does not sound fine,” Rocky chided. Nanny Bot was swift in making Ryland coffee, and the entire mug was downed within thirty seconds of it being placed in front of him, hot and steaming.
“Just a cold, bud,” Ryland muttered. He sniffled, a tickle in his nose, and sneezed. Then he sneezed again, and then a third time for good measure.
Rocky stopped moving toward Ryland in the xenonite enclosure. Slowly, he dragged his claws in the opposite direction.
“Wha’s up?” Ryland said intelligently.
“Grace is leaking,” Rocky informed, and hid the front of his carapace behind his arms. “Disgust, disgust, disgust.”
“Rude!”