Chapter Text
Consciousness came to Grace slowly. His body felt like gelatin, muscles aching but unable to respond to the neurons fighting against the syrupy current of sleep.
What is two plus two? He thought to himself in Armando’s place. Shouldn’t Armando already be bothering him? He was at Tau Ceti now, he was sacrificed for the good of the world, he was waking up after Rocky dragged his limp body to the medbay after Adrian’s gravity broke the fuel tanks, he was—
No. That wasn’t right. Something was missing, something—
Rocky.
With a gasp, he opened his eyes.
The room he was lying down in was clinical and sparse, lit by the faint glow of LED lights turned down to a low setting. There was a desk in the corner to his left that seemed to hold a few different monitors connected to the cuff around his arm, a curtain that was pulled open surrounding his bed, and a few different white cabinets for storage. Across the room was a small bathroom with a shower and a sink. There was an IV going into his left arm, leading to a bag of fluids hanging off a moveable rack. His right wrist was in a cast, and his head was bandaged. He was dressed in a light blue hospital gown, luckily one of the ones with slightly thicker fabric, tied in the front.
Most notably, everything in the room was distinctly human. The Eridian hospital rooms that had been adjusted for Grace’s atmosphere were very, very different, with angular, clear xenonite panels and warm lighting, walls coated with a mixture of colors since the Eridians didn’t concern themselves with that aspect of design. This room had sterile, monocolored white walls.
“What…?” He shook his head in disbelief. Was this some sort of fever dream? Why was he dreaming of a place on Earth he’d never been before? Was this another one of his forgotten memories? But why now?
…What had he been doing before he got here? It was important, that was for sure, but—
Rocky. The anomaly. He’d fallen unconscious as the Hail Mary had shuddered around him, and had woken up…here. But where was here? It looked like Earth, that was for sure, but that was impossible. Earth was roughly sixteen light years away from Erid, and they’d only been a few weeks into their trip when Mary had sensed the anomaly.
He couldn’t be on Earth. Unless…
Panic flared inside his ribs, icy cold. How long had he been asleep? How much had he aged, if he really was on Earth? Where was Rocky?
He twisted his head to the desk on his left. The monitors there were turned off, and he was able to see his faint reflection in the glass of the screen.
He looked exactly the same as he had when he and Rocky had left Erid.
Grace let out a shaky breath of relief. He hadn’t spent years in a coma again. He glanced down at his wrist, judging himself for jumping to conclusions. If he really had been in a coma, his wrist would’ve healed by now, though probably poorly.
His realization still didn’t lead him anywhere closer to figuring out where the heck he was, though. Had Rocky piloted Mary back to Erid? Had they been working on replicating a typical human hospital room? But for what purpose? The ones the Eridians had were perfectly fine.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a door opening. He tensed, sitting up straighter, until a man came through the door.
A man. A human man. A Homosapien of the Hominidae family. A real, living, Earthling. What the heck was going on?
The man wore a long black trench coat and an eyepatch. He looked kind of like a pirate, and held himself in a severe manner, a frown on his face that betrayed nothing of his inner world.
“Dr. Ryland Grace?” The man asked.
Ryland Grace. Dr. Ryland Grace. It was the first time he’d heard his name come through the lips of a human being in nearly nine years.
“...That’s me,” Grace said, trying (and probably failing) to keep his voice steady, “where are we? And who are you?”
Grace instinctively tapped the bed twice to indicate a question, an Eridian quirk he’d picked up. The man seemed to note this down, raising an eyebrow in response but not deigning to comment on it.
“I’m Nick Fury, with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, better known as SHIELD,” the man—Fury—said, his voice even, “you’re in New York state.”
Grace froze, not even bothering to ask what SHIELD was.
“That’s impossible,” Grace said, his voice shaky. Fury arched an eyebrow.
“And why’s that?” From the tone of his voice, Grace could tell he already had an idea of what Grace was going to say.
“Because before I woke up, I was in the Eridani system, roughly sixteen lightyears away from Earth. So either you’re lying, or I’m dead, or I’m still asleep and this is a coma dream or something!” Grace wasn’t a fan of raising his voice, but he felt completely out of his depth.
Fury looked unimpressed, and Grace’s hackles raised in response. He hated being in the dark, and he was so, so, completely in the dark right now. Ironic, considering that when he was on Erid, where there was barely any natural light, he felt more at ease than ever.
“About thirty-two hours ago, an unidentified space craft suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the middle of a field in upstate New York. There was damage to the hull and systems, but the ship itself was mostly intact. When my people looked inside, we found you and an unknown alien lifeform unconscious—”
“Rocky!” Grace cut Fury off. Fury narrowed his eyes, though Grace didn’t know if his expression was caused by the interruption or if something else was running through the other man’s brain.
“Is he okay? Is he injured?” Grace looked desperate, his hand tapping on the bed repeatedly. His heart beat quickly in his chest. What if Rocky was hurt, what if Rocky was dead—
“The alien is fine,” Fury said, not sounding impressed with Grace’s poorly disguised breakdown. The scientist slumped in relief.
“Where is he? I need to see him.” Being separated from Rocky like this felt like ants were crawling under his skin. His head was still pounding after waking up, but he would crawl on his hands and knees to see Rocky if it was necessary. Had Rocky woken up first? How had he been treated? He was buzzing to ask, but before he could, Fury steered him away from that line of inquiry.
“We’ll let you see the alien soon if you answer some basic questions for us,” Fury said, his tone uncompromising.
Grace furrowed his brows. He hadn’t exactly expected a red carpet if he ever returned to Earth, but the way Fury was treating him was…a little harsh. Didn’t saving the world get you some favors? He wasn’t expecting special treatment, but having his friend being dangled in front of him in return for information was sketchy to say the least. Something wasn’t right here. Well, besides the ‘somehow travelling sixteen light years in a few seconds’ situation.
Actually, a lot of things were off. Grace had been so focused on Rocky that he hadn’t registered the fact that Fury had called the Hail Mary an ‘unidentified spacecraft’. But that wasn’t possible: everyone knew what the Hail Mary was. It was more famous than Michael Jackson by the time of the launch, considering it was the last hope to, well, prevent the apocalypse. And he’d called Rocky an ‘unknown alien lifeform’. But he’d sent videos and information about Rocky back with the Beetles and had made sure to make it extremely clear that Rocky was just as responsible for saving the Earth as he was. How did Fury not know about Rocky? Did the Beetles not make it back? Panic started to rush through him, before Fury asked another question.
“What’s your date and location of birth?” Fury asked. Grace furrowed his brows. He was being denied access to his clustermate over a basic verification question?
“...San Francisco, July 8th, 1991.” He carefully didn’t mention that he’d had to google himself to figure that out because of the amnesia. Speaking of, why was Fury asking him that, when his date of birth was public information? Was this a cognitive check?
“And what year did the Hail Mary launch?” Ah, so this was definitely a cognitive check. Fury’s face didn’t give anything away, but there would be no other reason to ask that question otherwise.
Grace supposed it made sense. His amnesia wasn’t exactly a secret; the logs had been chalk full of moments when he was trying to figure out who he was, where he was, and what was going on. They probably wanted to assess the extent of his memory issues.
“2023,” Grace replied.
Fury’s expression didn’t change, but Grace saw a strange glint enter his eye before it was quickly wiped away. Weird.
“Are we done with the cognitive check now?” Grace asked, sitting up straighter and pulling the sheets of the medical bed off himself. Fury furrowed his brows.
“Not quite. Tell me about the events leading up to the launch,” Fury said.
Grace froze. The launch. Shapiro and Dubois. Eva Stratt’s pale face fighting back tears as she gently led him to his death. The cell, where he’d threatened to sabotage the mission to save his own skin, a bluff that caused him to lose his memory to the amnesia drug. Why had he forced her to do that? Why hadn’t he just gone? He was so afraid. Was that an excuse? Could she forgive him? Could he forgive her?
(He knew the answer to that. He’d forgiven her a long time ago. The one he hadn’t let off the hook was himself.)
The familiar feeling of self-loathing crept in. Why did Fury want to know? Why was this part of the cognitive check at all? Did they know that he’d refused? Was this an attempt to get him to admit it? Stratt had promised that he’d be remembered as a hero, and he’d never really thought much about it, but now, as he looked into Fury’s unforgiving eyes, he was thankful if she really had managed to hide it. He didn’t want to have returned to Earth by some miracle but have to deal with people whispering about his selfishness behind his back.
“Dr. Grace?” Fury’s voice forced him out of his spiral.
How should he play this? What should he say?
“Say nothing,” Stratt said. They were alone in the conference room for now, but more legislators would be entering in only a few minutes.
“What? But they’re on our side, aren’t they?” Grace asked, flipping through some reports from the Sahara. Stratt rolled her eyes.
“Only financially. Some people aren’t willing to put aside their petty grudges to unite against a common enemy, and this group has enough dissenters to be cautious. The only people truly on our side is the Petrova Taskforce.” She leaned back, pinching the bridge of her nose as she fought back what Grace could only assume was a sleep deprivation induced migraine.
“I’ll try to keep it tight lipped,” he said, handing her an aspirin, which she downed without even looking.
“You should always be tight lipped. You know more about Astrophage than anyone aside from me. There are groups that are plotting against us in the background and considering your reputation as more…easygoing…they’ll see you as an easy target. If someone asks you to give out information that I haven’t explicitly approved, tell them it’s classified and move on,” Stratt said. Her posture immediately straightened as they both heard footsteps outside the door. Exchanging a glance, they readied themselves to talk to the legislators of—
“Dr. Grace?” Fury asked once again, looking significantly more annoyed this time. Grace was pulled from the memory abruptly, and felt himself resenting that. Whenever he’d get back a memory on the Hail Mary, or in the biodome, Rocky would immediately notice and let him ride it out. This man had no qualms about ripping him away from his own recollections.
Well, at least this memory was useful. He knew what to do now.
“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that,” Grace said, giving himself a mental high-five when his voice didn’t waver.
“Excuse me?” Fury looked unamused, narrowing his eyes.
“I’m not authorized to give that information to anyone not a part of the Petrova Taskforce,” Grace reiterated, more confidently this time.
“And why’s that?” Fury’s voice was deceptively calm, but Grace could tell that this man was not one to be messed with. He probably wasn’t used to people going against whatever authority he held.
“Because some people aren’t willing to put aside their petty grudges to unite against a common enemy,” Grace said, Stratt’s voice echoing in his head alongside him.
“So you’re not willing to share anything pertaining to the Hail Mary?” Fury’s tone was colder now. Grace resisted the urge to squirm.
“Not until I get approval from Stratt.”
In truth, Grace had no idea if Stratt was even leading the taskforce anymore. She’d been certain that after the Hail Mary left the atmosphere, she’d be sentenced to life in prison, or even possibly death. Grace had tried many times to get her to put together a legal team in her defense, but she’d refused him each time. It had been the inciting factor of many an argument.
Even so, he had absolutely no idea who or what SHIELD stood for. The fact was, he was now in a different world than the one he’d left—Earth had suffered in the cold for twenty-six years before they’d received the Beetles (which he was assuming they did considering he hadn’t been immediately accosted with questions about Taumoeba)—he had no idea about the current geopolitical situation. Stratt had said there would be resource wars. He didn't doubt it. He was completely in the dark, and because of that, he couldn’t trust a thing SHIELD was saying.
Fury crossed his arms, his stare digging into Grace’s soul. Grace dug his finger into his palm in a poor attempt to calm his nerves.
“We have other ways of getting information.” Fury stated, as if he was talking about the weather. Either way, the implication was clear.
Grace paled, his vision going dizzy in shock as his nails almost started to draw blood from where they pierced the skin of his palms. Nausea swept over him.
He’d imagined returning to earth a million times over, fantasies of getting to show Rocky and Adrian San Fransisco, of getting to teach human children again before he went back to the pebbles in his classroom on Erid. He’d imagined making up with Stratt, asking her to forgive him for forcing her to make an impossible choice, and telling her that she had his forgiveness too. He’d imagined eating real meat again, of lounging under the sun, of being welcomed back with a smile.
This was nothing like that. This was cruel. Whoever these people were, they weren’t good news.
Was Fury really willing to torture him? Was it a bluff?
If it wasn’t, then what kind of information did Fury really want? And would Grace even be able to resist? Should he resist? Grace had always been bad with pain.
He’d been in many painful situations. He’d starved, he’d been burned, he’d been knocked unconscious, concussed, gotten Scurvy and Beriberi and been sure he was going to die.
But none of those things had come at the hand of another human.
(Not directly, anyway.)
Was he willing to resist torture for the Petrova Taskforce? For Stratt? What was the protocol here? He had no idea what to—
Grace chewed on a half eaten twizzler, humming to himself at his lab station as he looked over his team’s notes. His phone rang and he absentmindedly picked it up.
“Dr. Grace speaking,” he said, marking down another equation.
“Grace, I need you in my office now. It’s urgent,” Stratt’s voice came through the line. Grace arched an eyebrow, yawning as he stood up. It was late, and he’d been looking forward to going to bed after he’d finished up, but the end of the world waited for no one.
“Be there in a sec,” he said, ending the call.
Stratt’s office was near the other end of the ship, so at least he’d get a walk out of it. His legs had been cramping anyway.
Despite the sun having already gone down hours ago, the Vat was still just as busy as ever. Having a consistent sleep schedule around here was impossible.
He eventually made it to the hallway where Stratt’s office was, when he heard a commotion from behind him. He jumped, making a very undignified squeaking sound, and whipped his head around to see Carl holding down a maintenance worker Grace didn’t recognize. Steve, another security officer on the Vat, was training a gun on the worker’s head. The worker thrashed as Carl reached into his coat and pulled out a gun.
“Grace?” Stratt’s voice called from the other direction. He turned around, still in a state of shock. Stratt gestured for him to follow her into her office.
They sat down by her coffee table, a fresh cup already waiting for him. Next to it were four sugar packets and two creams. Stratt thought the way Grace took his coffee was abominable, and refused to make it for him, but she always had the exact number of sugars and milks he liked.
“What was that?” He asked, his voice high-pitched and shaky.
“An intruder. We got a tip ten minutes ago that a weapons company from America was intending to take you to a blacksite and interrogate you about Astrophage. We didn’t want him to open fire near the lab, so we had you come here so that security could ambush him.” Stratt’s voice was measured and unrevealing, as always, but Grace knew her well enough to tell that she was spooked and angry.
“And by interrogate, you mean…” He trailed off, unwilling to think about what would’ve happened if Stratt hadn’t been tipped off.
“Torture, yes,” she confirmed, refusing to sugarcoat the situation.
He was quiet for a few moments, processing what had happened in the last fifteen minutes.
“If, one day, someone does manage to capture me…what should I do?” He asked her, as if she was some sort of expert in resisting interrogations and not a historian who’d previously worked for the ESA.
“You mean if you’re being tortured,” she stated, taking a sip of her coffee. She set the paper cup down gently, taking a shaky breath. He internally raised his eyebrows. The situation must have rattled her more than he’d thought.
“...yeah,” he said
“...I don’t expect you to be able to resist a trained interrogator for long. But ideally, you’d stay quiet for as long as possible until you were rescued.” She grimaced, aware that answer wasn’t helpful in the least.
He nodded anyway, inhaling shakily, then slowly let the breath out to try to soothe himself. Stratt seemed pensive, looking down at her coffee as if it would give her an answer. A moment of silence passed, before she broke it by saying:
“Three days.”
Grace to her in confusion.
“What?”
“If, and only if, something like that ever occurs, do everything in your power to hold out for three days. If three days pass and we haven’t rescued you by then, it will be a personal failure on my part and you should give them whatever information they require to keep yourself safe and alive.” Her words were more confident now.
He looked at her, took a deep breath in, and gave a sharp nod.
“Three days.”
The memory broke away as quickly as it came. He grit his teeth, already regretting what he was going to say, but knowing it was necessary.
Three days. Did that rule even apply over thirty years later?
He guessed he’d find out.
With false-bravado, he grit his teeth, glaring at Fury.
“I’m not giving you anything.” His voice was steady, but he could already feel the cold sweat beading on his forehead. His whole body felt like a livewire, as if every nerve was preparing for danger, danger, danger.
Fury’s expression gave nothing away at his terrified declaration. The man simply stood there, letting Grace’s words hang over them. The longer the silence stretched, the longer Grace wanted to take back what he’d said, to apologize, if only to avoid the pain that was surely coming. It was a torture in it’s own right, the stew of fear and sweat and inner turmoil that Fury was creating by refusing to answer.
“Not even to see your friend?” Fury asked mildly, breaking the silence.
Grace’s blood ran cold, colder than it already was, if that was even possible. Was this man seriously leveraging Rocky over him in order to get information? Who were these people? Was Rocky really safe? Were they already dissecting him for information?
His previous fear was replaced by burning anger. Screw this. He clenched his fists and grit his teeth.
“I won’t tell you anything until you bring both Eva Stratt and Rocky to me in person. I don’t know what kind of sick pleasure you get out of separating and threatening the people who saved this godforsaken planet but I’m not going to capitulate, you staggering waste of ammonia!” Grace yelled, thoroughly pissed off. He met Fury’s gaze head on.
Fury stood still for a minute, still wearing that icy, faux-casual expression that had started to really get on Grace’s nerves. They stayed in silence for a moment, before Fury seemed to accept that Grace wasn’t going to give him anything.
Then, with a sigh, he uncrossed his arms, and blew air out of his nose in what sounded like amusement. His expression relaxed, and he arched a vaguely impressed eyebrow in Grace’s direction, chuckling to himself. The tension that had been building felt like it disappeared in an instant, but Grace was still on guard.
“For a civilian, you’ve got some balls. I mean, you’re clearly about to shit yourself, but you’ve got some balls,” Fury said, his tone betraying something close to begrudging respect.
“What?” Grace asked, bewildered and slightly dizzy at the complete change in atmosphere. He felt like he’d been whipped around on one of those shoddy carnival rides he’d refused to go on past the age of seven.
“What year do you think it is, Dr. Grace?” Fury asked. Grace tried and failed to wrap his head around the non-sequiter.
“...2051,” Grace responded, not even attempting to keep the confusion out of his tone.
“Not quite,” Fury shook his head.
“2052 then? 2050?” Grace had no idea why the man was bringing the year up so suddenly. Maybe he’d done some of the math wrong? Time dilation was complicated, but even if he was a year or two off, going from threatening torture to asking about the year felt like two separate realms of conversation.
“It’s 2016, Dr. Grace,” Fury told him, unsympathetic to the bombshell he was unloading on the scientist in front of him.
Grace opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.
“You’ve travelled in time,” Fury finished.
Grace’s ears rang, his heart beginning to beat faster and faster in his chest. The heart monitor connected to his arm began to screech as his vision became dark around the edges. His head pounded. The nausea that had been swelling in his gut since he’d first awoken amplified tenfold, and his mouth became dry.
That’s…not possible, he wanted to say, but he was rendered unconscious before the words could leave his lips.