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“How’s the heat lamp workin’ out for ya, bud?” Grace asks, turned away and adding droplets of some sort to a petri dish of taumeoba.
Rocky regards Grace’s homemade device, clicking a few times to get a more detailed view of the “lamp,” though he can spy nothing special about the cone and bulb and doesn’t feel like running to grab his viewing crystal and tablet.
[Is good,] Rocky answers, the human translation of his whistles coming in a bit stuttered thanks to the damage the translator had sustained in the aftermath of their fishing trip. So long as they could still understand each other, properly fixing it could wait until later. Pressing himself against the xenonite barrier to soak up as much comfort as the heat lamp would allow, Rocky adds, [Is helpful.]
“Well that’s a relief,” Grace says, closing up another successful batch of taumeoba. “I mean, you waking up at all was the biggest relief I’ve ever felt in my life, but it’s an extra relief to know I can help a little bit with your recovery. I might be able to build you a second one so you can heat up both sides at once if I can remember where I found those spare infrared bulbs…”
Rocky pays less and less attention to Grace’s rambling as his friend rises and makes his way to the cot beside Armando’s main station, a timed event also caused by their fishing expedition.
Armando helps Grace to take off his shirt, revealing a series of malformed ridges and bumps. Rocky can of course always sort of see the newfound markings, but without Grace’s clothes to muffle their sound, he can’t pretend to ignore them.
Burn scars, Grace calls them. Fragile human skin crafting mountains out of itself in response to being exposed to Rocky’s atmosphere, running all the way from the tips of his fingers to the breadside of his shoulder, the liquid underneath still angrily pulsing. Grace says the salve Armando applies to the scarring helps, but it doesn’t stop him from wincing, from handling tools differently, from resting more frequently.
[Grace is OK, question?] Rocky interrupts once Armando is nearly finished applying a fresh layer of burn cream to Grace’s arm.
“Hm?” Grace asks, the features on his head twisting into what Rocky knows another human would call confusion.
The lack of a confident answer is enough to send a surge of worry through Rocky, spurring him to his feet. [Rocky can check, question?] he asks, though he’s already scuttling towards his ball, ignoring how much his damaged carapace misses the warmth of the heat lamp. [Rocky can check if Grace is OK, question?]
“I mean, I’m alright, bud,” Grace says, still with that confusion in his tone, though he still stands to meet Rocky as he pulls his shirt back on.
[Lies lies lies,] Rocky says, abandoning any remaining pretense he had for simple concern as he rolls to a stop in front of Grace, pointing up at him. [Grace is still lumpy lumpy lumpy.]
“Hey! By Earth standards I’m—Oh,” Grace says, finally figuring out where exactly Rocky is pointing. “Yeah, that’s, uh… that’s gonna be lumpy forever, pal.”
[Rocky check, question?] Rocky asks again, reaching up to press two claws to the flexible panel but not yet pushing through.
Grace hesitates, shifting from foot to foot. But Rocky knows how to tilt his carapace at just the right angle in order to ensure Grace had no choice but to kneel down, even if it was with a huff. “Alright, but just… be careful,” he says, reaching out the arm.
[Yes yes yes,] Rocky confirms, slowly distending the xenonite barrier and gently, ever so gently, brushing a claw over Grace’s open palm.
And still with such a light touch, Grace winces, flinching, causing Rocky to recoil his limb back into the ball. [Rocky will fix,] he quickly says, all five of his legs tapping arrhythmic patterns as he wracked his brain for ideas. [Grace help fix Rocky, Rocky will help fix Grace, promise!]
“Woah, Rocky, slow down. Rocky,” Grace says, pressing his uninjured hand against the ball. “Look at me for a second.”
Rocky neglects to remind Grace he can’t stop “looking” anywhere, instead forcing his limbs to keep still while inclining his carapace to show he was listening.
“I’m alright, alright?” Grace assures, patting the xenonite. “Just like you’re alright. We’re both still kinda hurt, sure, but we’re both gonna be fine. A little burning in each other’s atmospheres isn’t going to stop us from saving the stars, OK?”
Rocky twiddles two of his claws together, whistling to himself. [Grace OK, question?]
Grace smiles at him. “Grace OK, promise.”