Archive of Our Own

1.

The first thing Simon notices is the faint flickering of his consciousness, in and out, gently coaxing him back into his body. 

It was a light, floating silently, and it shouldn’t be there. That was Simon’s next thought—distant as it was—because he knows he’s dead. He knows he died in that submarine long ago, fused with that poisonous blood and rendered inseparable to the monsters inhabiting it. He’d been half drowning in it at that point. 

What else could possibly be meant for him? He died like all the ones who came before him and that was wholly expected. 

Then what is this light? It couldn’t possibly be heaven; Simon would sooner see to it he’s torn limb from limb by the Eel than believe he’d ever see the pearly gates. 

Regardless, he follows it. He lets it grow larger, brighter, until it takes up most of his vision, dimming in and out as his eyes adjust to the light. It noticeably hurts to do so, a faint pounding in his head from somewhere far away that slowly begins to become more pronounced as he returns to his body. A dull, rhythmic ache; it spreads from his head to his eyes, his cheeks, his neck and shoulders, as though infecting every inch of him like a plague. So he isn’t dead. 

Of course he isn’t. That would’ve been too easy. 

If he’s in pain, he’s alive, and that means this light is an illusion. He wills his body to move, and when he does, he hears a faint beeping that almost sounds muffled. Like he’s been submerged underwater. 

The headache worsens. He blinks, sucking in a sharp breath that feels more like a staggering gasp of air; his eyes, hazy from death tugging at their lids, shoot open with a sudden intensity and dart around to see where the hell he is. His veins thrum with pure survival. The beeping gets faster, but he doesn’t register it. 

Because he’s not in the submarine at all. 

Instead of bloody walls and near pitch darkness, he’s face to face with sterile gray walls and a bright fluorescent light shining directly on him. The COI? Did they find him somehow and care enough to revitalize him? For what? 

He needs to get out of here. 

He glances downward, dark matted hair sticking uncomfortably to his face and obscuring part of his vision; these clothes aren’t his. He’s got bandages. He’s just now realizing he’s got bandages on his face, too. His arm—the only one he has left—has an IV stuck in it, and there’s several other wires and tubes attached to him. He’s got a heart monitor to the left of him that’s making that incessant beeping noise, and a bunch of other machinery recording vitals. 

He feels a wave of nausea wash over him. 

Why couldn’t he have just been left for dead? Why did the COI have to stick their filthy hands into every corner of his life? He at least thought the fact he’d die one day would be the one thing they couldn’t touch. 

“Eye movement detected.” 

Simon flinches at the jarring sound of a voice; the source is the robotic claw extending toward him and hovering in midair. 

“What is 2+2?” 

What the fuck was this? 

Simon snarls at it and jerks his arm to try and forcefully yank the IV out. 

“Incorrect. What is 2+2?” 

His heart begins to race as a rush of adrenaline helps to wake him up the rest of the way; a mixture of fear and despair that makes him desperate. He’s weak. Injured, malnourished, and without any knowledge of where he is or how he got here—wait. No, there was a voice. Over the radio, wasn’t there? 

Fuck, he can’t remember. 

He looks for something he can defend himself with. He may be weak, but if he can get hold of something preferably blunt, though sharp works too, he may be able to hold off long enough to attempt an escape. At the very least buy himself time he may desperately need. 

But if this really is the COI, maybe it’s futile. 

He gives another forceful jerk of his arm, gritting his teeth, and then the sound of knocking in front of him opening has him snapping his head in its direction. 

The robotic claw clicks once and then swivels to the side. 

Simon expects COI soldiers. Guards with masks. Security to apprehend him. 

Instead, what greets him is a middle aged man with his hair sticking up on one side. 

For a second they both just stare at each other; Simon’s paused because he’s taken entirely off guard, but this guy seems like he’s caught between flight or frozen solid. Bright, wide blue eyes are staring back at him with a frankly odd amount of panic considering he was the one who brought Simon here, wasn’t he? 

Yes, he remembers now. There had been a voice over the radio. It must’ve belonged to this man. 

The third time he tries, the IV is successfully ripped out. Simon uses his free arm to his advantage and quickly grabs hold of whatever’s closest, which happened to be a needle of some sort. Had he been injected with drugs? The thought gives him immense dread. 

The sudden action is apparently enough to snap the other man out of his momentary trance, because he immediately puts his hands up placatingly. “W-Woah! Don’t- I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice treads the fine line between panicked and worried, eyes darting between Simon’s and the needle he grips tightly. 

“Where the hell am I?” Simon grits out, not trusting what he says in the slightest. Why would he? He doesn’t know this man’s motivations; why he’d save someone half-dead, what he could possibly want from him. 

He’s looking at the guy, and really, Simon thinks he could probably take him down if it came down to confrontation. He may be injured and weaker than normal, but he’s still decently strong and has fighting experience. However, he won’t make the mistake of underestimating this man either. 

Blonde swallows, taking a hesitant step forward. “W-Well,” he gestures vaguely around him, a bit of an awkward hand motion that makes Simon tense up further, “You’re, uh, on my ship. The Hail Mary. We- I was the one that intercepted your transmission. If you remember. It’s okay if you don’t.”

Hail Mary? We? 

Right, yes, he… Well, Simon doesn’t recognize the name. But this man isn’t lying, either, in fact, he recognizes him vaguely from when he’d first found him in the submarine. His memory of that moment isn’t great; he’d been kind of in a daze, half conscious and dying from a number of different things, probably. At one point he thought he was hallucinating an angel before death finally came to take him. 

“You were in really bad shape.” The man continues, carefully watching Simon in a way he doesn’t particularly like. “I mean, I still can’t wrap my head around what exactly… what was even going on there. But Armando and I—that’s this one here—“ he taps the metal of the robotic claw, “We did the best we could to clean the blood and bandage you up, and, ah, make sure you wouldn’t die.” 

He speaks in a way that comes across as mildly awkward, casual yet clearly anxious, and it’s almost more off-putting than if a group of COI soldiers just ran into the room to sedate him and throw him in a cell. 

Simon narrows his eyes at the new information, still subconsciously holding his weapon of choice in a death grip. His head pounds something fierce, and there’s not enough oxygen in his lungs, and he feels phantom aches all over his body and he doesn’t know what to make of this. Because he truly thought that the voice he’d heard respond to him over the radio was the hallucinations of a dying man. And it wasn’t. 

It wasn’t. 

“…You drugged me?” Simon asks next, his voice low and ragged and full of wariness. 

“Painkillers, yeah. Antioxidants.” Answers Blonde, “And some mild sedatives, but those should be wearing off soon if they…y’know, haven’t already.” 

Simon so badly wants to ask if any of this is even real. 

Instead, he just forces down his nausea and tries desperately to make sense of the situation. “Are you with the COI?” It’s a question that only worsens the pit in his stomach but he can’t put it off; he can’t get his hopes up, though, he knows that. 

“CO… What?” 

“The COI. Everyone-“ Simon feels a pang of frustration from the confused expression on the other's face, his tone sharpening, “Everyone knows who the COI are.” 

Maybe this guy wasn’t the most mentally sound. It wouldn’t be a surprise to Simon if he’s simply going off appearances and initial impressions. 

He continues regardless, a bit more desperately now. “A different station then? Eden?”  

“Station? Like- like space stations?” The other responds incredulously, confusion giving way to disbelief. “No! It’s just me and- it’s just me and one other dude. Wait, are you from a space station?” 

Now it’s Simon’s turn to just stare at this guy in bewilderment. 

Which seems to make Blonde uncomfortable. “O-Okay, you know what? Put that can of worms on hold for now.” He takes another step forward, “My name is Ryland Grace. Is it… uh, is it okay if Armando puts your IV back in your arm..?” 

Simon wants to be more defensive, feeling as though letting his guard down in any way at all would be a detrimental mistake… However, if ‘Ryland’ really is telling the truth here, Simon’s not stupid enough to attack the only person ensuring his survival. Even if he doesn’t yet know the ulterior motive for such. 

So, gingerly, he loosens his grip on the needle in his hand and watches intently as the robot, ‘Armando’, carefully picks up the IV with its claw. 

Meanwhile, Ryland’s paused to peer out into the hallway, very obviously whispering to something—whoever was behind it. Simon feels his distrust increase the longer he sits in this infirmary bed and notices just how much power over him this man has. He saved Simon’s life after all, at the cost of time and surely valuable resources if this ship is really their only one. Why, rather, for what purpose is completely beyond him. 

“No, not yet. Stop it.” Ryland clears his throat, redirecting his attention to study Simon for a moment. He seems to be considering something, and it’s then Simon really takes a look at the man in front of him. 

He’s mentioned that his hair, blonde and messy, sticks up on one side like he just got out of bed. He’s also wearing a shirt that says ‘Ah!’ and then, ‘The element of surprise’ in smaller font below it, parodying the periodic table in a way Simon… suppose he understands. But he’s also confused as to why anyone would wear that. There’s random writing on the palm of his hand and down his wrist in blue marker. 

“How do you feel? Again, I did the best I could. I’m, ah, not a doctor. Molecular biologist. In case I didn’t mention that.” 

So, a scientist. A peculiar one at that. 

“…Like shit.” Simon answers honestly, still half-waiting for the tone switch or for delusion to give way to reality. “I should be dead.” 

Ryland winces. “Right, yeah. I’m gonna level with you, you’re probably gonna be feeling rough for the next few days. Your body’s been through a lot. Extreme atmospheric pressure for one, uh, the radiation, which in of itself should’ve definitely killed you.” Simon notices that he uses hand gestures a lot when he talks. “Amputation, malnourishment, um… the…” he gestures to his face, not really sure how to put it lightly, “…set of teeth growing out of your face. Which are really interesting, actually-“  

“Why are you telling me this?” Simon doesn’t want to beat around the bush anymore. He feels dread and suspicion mix together into a foul cocktail that fails to settle in his stomach. “What do you- What do you want from me?” 

Ryland falters, not expecting the question. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s a simple question.” Simon retorts, hoping it masks his unease. 

A pause. “…For you to not die?” 

“Why?” Simon scowls, sitting up a bit straighter. “Why would you willingly sacrifice so much of your resources to save me if it really is just you and ‘one other dude’?” He just doesn’t buy it. It doesn’t make sense. 

“I mean, you called for help. I couldn’t just ignore that.” Ryland answers with a huff as though it’s obvious; as though Simon’s being ridiculous for wondering such a thing. It makes anger and confusion flare up like a storm. 

Before he can respond, though, a series of strange noises cut off the conversation—it almost sounds like little chirps or warbles. It immediately alerts Simon. 

Ryland’s face pales a bit—an abrupt change of mood—and he turns behind him to the door, “No, hey. Not yet. I told you to stop-“ 

The sound of something hitting the wall behind the door, and a few more warbles. Ryland attempts to placate whatever Simon can’t see, but what scampers out from the entrance into the infirmary is completely unexpected regardless. It’s in a transparent, geometric shell like it was caged, yet it moves freely on several legs, and… 

…It’s a rock with legs. It’s chirping at him. 

Simon honestly wants to start crying. He’s so unbelievably confused, he’s alone, he’s lost, he’s probably dead, and if not he should be. And the last thing his miserable brain could conjure up for him is a strange blonde man and his pet fucking rock. 

Ryland steps forward as though he was gonna stop the thing, panic flashing across his face. “Rocky! Oh my… gosh.”

“What the fuck is that?” Simon all but snaps, instinctively bringing his legs in to put more distance from it. He’s glaring at Ryland now, not bothering to play nice. Yeah, now he’s panicking a bit. “What is this? What are you gonna do to me?” 

“N-No, please just-“ Ryland’s still denying it and playing innocent, his eyes darting between the rock ball and Simon. He grimaces like the interaction is physically painful to him. “He’s harmless, I promise. He doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body. I swear.” 

That is if it has bones at all. 

“God, I’m so sorry. This must be really weird for you. I was gonna- I was gonna get you situated and then introduce you to Rocky way later. Really, I didn’t want to overwhelm you when so much has already happened, which is why I turned off the translator and- could you, uh, give me a minute? Just gonna- Rocky!”

The thing is chirping loudly and without pause. Little fucker’s got a lot to say. 

Ryland goes over and steps in front of Rocky, trying to usher it out with more strained reprimanding. He seems truly embarrassed, which is… almost too genuine of a display for Simon to feel comfortable with. Especially considering this man was his alleged savior and has his fate in the palm of his hand. 

The man has an alien as a pet. That was undeniably bizarre.  

“None of this is making any fucking sense.” Simon whispers, half to himself, starting to get overwhelmed again. He’s still got adrenaline racing through him, but at the same time his body thrums with an awful exhaustion and there’s pain too, dull and throbbing and just everywhere. He can’t hear his own voice over the sound of it. 

Ryland’s shoving the thing out the door, acting like it could understand him while he does. Oh god. He’s crazy, isn’t he? Simon’s life is in the hands of a crazy person. 

“Again, I’m so sorry.” He says after pressing the button that closes the door, trying to reorient himself. “I’m just gonna check your vitals and make sure Armando did a good job. Is that okay?” He carefully approaches the left side of the bed where several machines Simon doesn’t recognize were calibrated. 

He’s close. Simon could probably take him out if he needs to. It would be quick, too. He pictures it so vividly his breath hitches. 

But Simon can’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he finds himself speaking around a lump in his throat, deciding to try something else. “Please.” 

Ryland pauses, glancing over. Simon knows he must look like a monster; half-human with teeth jutting out of him, broken and a dead thing breathing. His voice is low and desperate, raspy from how it strains. “I just want to live.” He explains himself as calmly as possible, not able to look away. “I just want to live. That’s all I want. I’ll do whatever you ask, just please. Please don’t-“ 

His voice cracks without his permission. “Don’t send me down there. Don’t make me go back.”

“Hey-“ Ryland stiffens, his brow furrowing as he looks at him. The level of concern on his face must be mockery. “I’m not, I won’t. You don’t need to- to do that. It’s okay. You’re okay now, I promise.” 

It feels like mockery to him. It is, isn’t it? Always empty promises, always lies. 

“Why can’t you all just leave me alone?!” Simon shouts, feeling his vision blur from the stinging in his eyes and the pounding in his skull. He shoots out to grab Ryland’s arm, gripping it strongly. “Don’t fucking lie to me! I did what you- I did everything you fucking asked of me, go tell whatever bullshit leader you work for that I’m done! I’m done, I-“ 

“What leader?!” Ryland shouts back, though instead of anger or desperation it’s sheer panic and disbelief. He tries to yank his arm away, a couple random items falling from the table where Simon had grabbed the needle as he hits the side of it. “There’s no leader!” 

Simon recognizes fear in his voice. 

He was either a coward or telling the truth. 

Simon can’t bring himself to let go yet, feeling the need to cling to the one ounce of control he’s had since coming back to life. “You’re a rogue? Were you COI?” 

“Seriously, what is the COI?!” Ryland squawks, the second yank letting his arm free. He immediately steps back and rubs his wrist where Simon had likely bruised him. “Ow. Okay. You’re really strong.” 

Simon just stares at him for a moment, swallowing. He practically just attacked him, and that was all he had to say? 

“I’m done.” He mutters through his nausea, his heart feeling physically heavy in his chest. He’s not even speaking to Ryland anymore; he doesn’t know who it’s for. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry.” 

Ryland is a lot more hesitant to get closer this time. He silently checks Simon’s vitals and whatever other readings are on the screens. Simon doesn’t care. He doesn’t care anymore. 

It’s only after a few moments of that silence Ryland actually speaks again. “I… I swear to you, I don’t know what that is. I didn’t mean to- to make you think otherwise. But please do not do that again.” A pause. “Um… also I realized, like, two seconds ago, that I forgot to ask you if you needed anything.” 

Simon stares straight ahead at the open hallway in front of him. He barely hears Ryland, and it takes a minute for what he says to process. “…Need?” He repeats uselessly, his eyes focusing back on Ryland with a fresh caution. 

“Yeah, like.” Ryland clears his throat, “Water, painkillers? An extra blanket maybe?” 

What? 

Simon feels his eyes begin to water again; he’s so, so confused. He feels utterly helpless. “I… Water?” He asks like he’s not quite sure what Ryland is asking. He’s just giving Simon these things? Was it a code for something else? 

“Water, okay. I can do that.” Ryland breathes out, almost like a sigh of relief. “Just stay there for a second. I’ll be right back with water. Please?” 

Simon has never met a man so openly uncertain. He just stares as Ryland slowly backs away and then heads off down the hall, sparing another glance and then turning left. 

And then there’s dead silence. 

Simon sits in that silence for a moment, staring at that door. His vision blurs further, and a few tears escape his eyes to trail silently down his cheeks. They’re probably the same crimson as the blood ocean. He doesn't even notice them at first, too busy not understanding what the hell just happened. 

His breaths don’t come easy to him. 

He hears the gurgling of the Eel in that silence. 

…

So, as far as first impressions go, Grace knows that hadn't gone great. 

In his defense, he wasn’t expecting the man he pulled out of that submarine to be nearly as hostile; nor did he expect Rocky to completely ignore his precautionary command to please wait until he’s sure everything’s okay before barging in and scaring the daylights out of their guest, but it was fine. Both of those things were okay, and Grace will make do.

He did make do, as best as he could. He’d certainly given Rocky a firm talking to after making sure his guest—Simon, apparently—had water and was situated enough. Which was about as effective as you’d expect, but maybe the little alien will at least think twice next time. Poor Simon looked like he’d been seconds from fainting with how pale his face had gotten; a scenario Grace does not want to repeat again, thank you very much. 

With how difficult it had been to actually get Simon out of the submarine and stabilized, he’s recovering miraculously well. There’s plenty of eccentricities that Grace has to tackle at some point—among them the remarkable biological feat of an entirely new set of teeth growing out of the other man’s face!—but he’ll cross that bridge when he can. He really, really doesn’t want to overwhelm him. 

He hasn’t been doing a great job at that, but, well. Grace is who Simon lucked out with, unfortunately. Not an actually qualified doctor who can assist him. 

Simon had tentatively taken the water Grace offered him, still with that air of innate suspicion like he was certain the other had bad intentions. After a brief silence Grace had told him to get as much rest as he can and… chickened out. ‘I’m gonna go check on some stuff, just holler if you need anything. Unless it hurts your throat too much, uh, I should be nearby anyway. Rocky will hear you for sure and he’ll let me know, so don’t worry about it.’ 

…Man, he’s an idiot. 

It’s been a few hours since then. Grace is putting off going in there and speaking to him again, and he feels guilty about it for sure. He’s nervous, he’s realizing with a healthy dose of mortification. 

Nervous about what? That this random guy who might be a little scary is the first human he’s interacted with in nine years and some change? That they’re both the only humans for several light years, probably? That this guy is from a freaking space station? 

And the teeth- 

Stop. Grace takes a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face. Elbows on the table, sweat beading at his forehead. This is fine. You’re fine, he’s alive, and there’s nothing you can do about him being here now. Or the cool-but-scary teeth. 

He’s just… gonna be a variable now. 

It complicates things a little, definitely. Grace still has to save the universe and all. And he also now has to figure out who the hell this guy is, how he got here, where he came from, why he was in a submarine in space, how he got here. And what kind of universe has humans on space stations! 

With that attempt at courage, Grace takes the short hike back to the infirmary where his guest sits like a prisoner awaiting a death sentence; silent, staring blankly at his own heart monitor, hand in his lap. His face is hard to read, but Grace has always been pretty subpar at reading expressions. Especially adult ones; kids tend to be easy. 

…From what he remembers of teaching. 

The first thing Grace’s gaze had settled on when looking at Simon were his eyes because they were like a dead man’s; he really didn’t want to make such a comparison after having seen his dead companions, but he can’t help his frame of reference. Simon doesn’t look like he’s seeing much of anything. And his hair is in the way, curly and matted and sticky with some blood still. 

Grace didn’t want to be too invasive, so he didn’t really do all that much to fix his hair. Imagine if you woke up on a random spaceship with some guy hands deep in your hair? 

But he does feel a little bad. 

More than a little. He actually feels very bad for Simon. He still has no idea what led this poor man into the situation Grace found him in, but he’s going to find out now. 

“Hey.” Grace clears his throat for lack of a better greeting, his eyes subconsciously lingering on the vitals to make sure they were still okay. He’s a bit paranoid, sue him! “Just wanted to check in on you since last time. See if you needed anything else. I should probably change your bandages too. The ones on your… arm.” 

Simon’s staring at him. With a level of intensity Grace isn’t all that used to. 

He feels his skin pricking at the back of his neck. “Those are the main ones, anyway. The other- the other ones I can change tomorrow. If that’s okay. I just wanna keep an eye on your shoulder, since when I bandaged it up earlier it seemed pretty bad. Is that okay?” 

Grace can see Simon’s gaze visibly darken as he speaks, something grave and defeated muddying the brown of his eyes. 

“…Do what you want.” He mutters, swallowing harshly. His hand clenches in his lap. “There’s no point in asking me.” 

That… is a disheartening response. Grace tries not to feel too concerned, taking a few careful steps closer and then awkwardly grabbing a nearby stool and putting it at the bedside. “Like I said earlier, uh, I am not a doctor. But I think I did an okay job with what we have, so we’re just gonna… try this. Uh.” He’s going to screw this up so badly. “Just stay still and let me know if you want me to stop or anything. Seriously, let me know. I won’t be offended.” 

“…Okay.” Comes Simon’s begrudging reply. Definitely still distrustful.

That’s okay. Trust takes time. Time and patience. 

Grace carefully removes the bandages covering the point of amputation, trying not to outwardly show in his expression how gnarly it looks. He reminds himself that the pain Simon’s probably feeling, even medicated, can’t be enjoyable, so it’s only basic decency to steel himself. 

“What signal? Rocky, are you picking up something?” Grace had been surprised and a bit skeptical at first, obviously not expecting the radio to pick up another organism when they both were supposedly the only ones for several light years. 

A series of warbles in response that Grace can translate to be, “Hear noises. Human like Grace!”  

“What?” Grace nearly trips over his feet as he stumbles toward the ship’s cockpit, where garbled static is interrupting itself. “Like a voice? What do you hear?”

Grace swallows, trying to be as careful as he can with checking for infection; it’s honestly not as bad as he was expecting, but the situation is still far from good. He hadn’t really tried cleaning the wound, mostly because he didn’t want the poor guy to keel over from stress and he was, admittedly, in pretty awful shape. But he’s got no excuses now. It would be hazardous to leave the open flesh like this, not to mention that it was probably infected due to all the radiation poisoning they’re also gonna have to deal with- 

“Uh, okay. So, you definitely have a little bit of leftover radiation poisoning from the submarine.” Grace muses with a deep breath, still studying the bloody stump. “Which is… not great, considering our lack of supplies, and I’m really hoping it’s not too serious. I think we have some antibiotics? Hopefully we do. That’s a good start. I want to try fixing the rest of your… all this.” He gestures to Simon’s shoulder, ignoring his scrutinizing gaze (or at least trying to). “You should also probably shower to get rid of the rest of the radiation particles. I can show you where that is. I’ll show you the whole ship, actually.” 

Simon’s critical gaze shifts to an uncertain glare. “You don’t need to waste so much resources.” He bites, with a surprising amount of resentment in his voice. “I don’t take up enough space to warrant that.” 

“Oh my- You speak English?!” Grace had shouted, his glasses crooked and nearly falling off his face as he jerks in surprise. Rocky chirps next to him, but Grace is too busy staring at the radio with eyes wider than saucers. “Wh- Yes, we can hear you! We hear you loud and clear!” 

“Rocky check for detected vessel, question?” 

Grace nods vigorously, speaking again. “Do you need help? Are you- how are you here?!” 

The voice that responds is low and heaving, like it struggled to breathe at all. “Wh… what? Hello?” 

“How are you here?! Did they send- did they send another mission?” Grace is more than bewildered; his heart thunders in his chest, uncertainty and fear and confusion burning in his lungs. 

“…Are you… oh my god. A-Are you real?” 

Grace lifts his gaze from Simon’s shoulder to his eyes, and both of their befuddled gazes meet like twin reflections over water. “Huh? No, it’s fine, really. We have plenty of resources, so you’re more than good to use whatever you want.” 

It wasn’t entirely a lie, although Grace does internally cringe after saying that because he hadn’t actually considered how they’d reimagine their limited supplies. There’s plenty for him, and Rocky doesn’t require much, but Simon’s a whole other human and a recovering one at that. Hm. 

Simon watches him in a way that could only be described as a cornered animal, entirely untrusting. Skeptical. “Right, until you reveal the catch. I know how this works.” 

He’s sneering at him. When’s the last time he’s been sneered at? 

Grace blinks, genuinely confused. “…I don’t think you do, man. There’s no catch.” He says honestly, his brow furrowing in both concern and a bit of unease. He’s not sure how else to respond to those accusations.

“As long as it’s not-“ Simon shakes his head, not convinced at all, “As long as it’s not the submarine I… I don’t care. I’ll do it.” 

“No, I-“ Grace tries to curb his frustration, feeling more and more out of his depth the longer this conversation continues. “The only thing I want you to do right now is stay still so I can attempt to drain out the fluid in your shoulder. That’s it. Please.” 

After a beat of silence in which they both just stare at each other, Simon eventually relents. “…Fine. Do it.” 

He stills and braces himself in probably the tensest way possible, and it makes guilt thrum like a butterfly beneath Grace’s sternum. 

So, when they first brought Simon here, Armando politely informed Grace that while he was sedated it would be “highly advised” that they surgically remove the remaining infected tissue from the amputation point in order to “prolong Simon’s expected life span”, which already sounded pretty bleak. It basically meant he’d die where he laid if they didn’t. After doing that, they wrapped it as best as they could and gave Simon as many painkillers as they could, which is probably why he woke up very confused, but now that he’s awake they’ll have to continue with the part Grace is dreading: 

Actually draining the infection out. 

Stratt made certain to provide as many medical supplies as possible on the ship to slim down the chances of mission failure as best as she could. That doesn’t mean Grace is confident at all in his ability to properly use them. 

But for Simon he’s going to try. They’ve gotten this far, haven’t they? 

“I don’t care who you are! I don’t care where you come from, please, please just HELP ME!” 

“O-Okay, we’ve detected your ship- your… wh… is that a submarine floating in the middle of space? Rocky, tell me right now that is not a submarine floating in the middle of space!” 

“What is submarine, question?” 

“Oh my- you know what, yeah, okay. We’re on our way, okay? Stay on the line please! Just keep talking! We’re gonna get you out of there.” 

“O-Okay. I can… I can do that. Hurry. Please. I don’t know how much longer I- how much longer I can do this. I just want to live.” 

“Sorry.” Grace finds himself apologizing afterwards, as he finishes wrapping up the wound in some sort of… specialized wound dressing. He doesn’t know any of this stuff. Seriously, he’s so out of his depth here; his hands were shaking that entire time. “Your… shoulder had a lot of infected tissue when you got here that Armando and I had to cut- to cut out. We’re gonna have to drain it every few hours, probably. Um. And then we luckily do have antibiotics, which is- man, just a huge effing relief. So… yeah. Again, I’m not any kind of doctor, I just understand the basic premise, I guess.” 

That and Armando has been a massive help. 

Simon doesn’t really say much to that. He had been very tense, even a bit distressed during the whole draining process, which made Grace feel even more guilty about not knowing what he’s doing, but now he’s just… oddly blank. Grace can’t say he likes it. Being unable to read him. 

And then, like a switch had been flipped, Simon nods once, finding his voice. It’s softer now. “Thank you. That’s… all of that's fine.” 

Oh, relief. Grace exhales softly, feeling a small smile creep into his expression. “Yeah, of course. You should really be thanking Armando, I’d be completely lost without her.” He gets to his feet, cleaning up any trash from unwrapping the bandages. “I’ll leave you alone after this, I just wanna check up on your… extra set of teeth there.” He gestures lamely to Simon’s face, internally cringing at himself. 

Simon’s initially careful expression turns a little more guarded. “Right.” 

“Yeah, I’m just… really curious as to how that happened.” Grace pulls up a stool, his eyes already following the shape of the maw jutting out from the other’s skin. Is that not painful? Look at the size of those teeth! “And concerned. But you don’t have to share if you don’t want to.” 

Simon squints at him. “Because you don’t want to experiment on me for whatever weird science shit you’re doing.” 

Grace frowns. “No.” 

“You just genuinely care about my well-being, is that it?” 

“Is that hard to believe?” Grace asks with a tilted head; he’s beginning to get a better picture of the situation the longer Simon talks, and it’s not a pretty one. Simon must’ve been treated really badly if he’s this apprehensive—not that being distrustful is a bad thing! Especially in a new and strange situation. But Grace also just really wants him to know that he’s not a bad guy. It’s vital to him that he isn’t seen as a threat. “I mean, I went out of my way to rescue you because you needed help, right? I couldn’t just leave you there to die, man.” 

“You absolutely could’ve.” Simon shoots back with a scoff, like it’s obvious. Grace subconsciously watches the way the mutant teeth shift as he speaks, as he moves. Jutting out harshly, curving out and then inward. Simon’s voice is cool-toned, firm and not particularly kind, but not hostile either. “People don’t just do that, especially a one man army with finite resources.” 

“Well, I did.” Grace shoots back, unable to help the slight retort. He doesn’t like Simon assuming he knows everything about him. Sue him. “And I promise we have enough resources to accommodate you.” Stratt made sure of that. “You don’t have to trust me. I know it’s a lot to ask. But please just consider what I’m saying.” 

A beat of silence. Grace sighs, taking that as a good indicator to take a break. “Okay. I’m just gonna leave you alone for a little bit. Your arm is good to where you can shower with the bandages on and not worry about anything. Again, I’d recommend it, since you probably still have some leftover radiation that needs to come off.” He stands to his feet, running a hand through his hair and avoiding Simon’s gaze. “Let me know if you need anything… and I’ll be back regardless in a little bit to check up on you, so. Yeah.” 

With that, he gives a thumbs up and sees himself out. 

Once he’s out, he’s hit with an immediate wave of fatigue. He’s going to have to talk with Rocky and recalibrate the entire mission; they’re still on route to Tau Ceti, aren’t they? How long until they get there?

“Rocky heard conversation with new human.”

Speak of the devil. 

“Yep.” Grace sighs, not slowing his stride as he makes his way to the front of the ship. “You’re still not speaking to him for at least another day or two, sorry bud.” 

An annoyed warble, and then, “Why is new human rude, rude, rude, question? Don’t like-“

“His name’s Simon.” Grace corrects him, already feeling a bit exasperated. “And he’s not rude, he’s scared, there’s a difference. And confused, and in pain. Just give him a bit of time.” 

“Grace scared too when he first met Rocky.”

“Yes, but some humans cope differently than others. And I think his situation’s more than a little different to mine.” Understatement of the century. “Let’s just focus on the mission for now, okay?” 

Rocky perks up. “Yes. Now Grace, Rocky, Simon save stars question?” 

Grace pauses, his steps halting for a moment at the question. He… really has no idea. It was far too big of an ask, and there was no doubt the poor guy wouldn’t want to immediately put himself into another death trip after narrowly escaping the last one. 

“…I don’t know.” He glances at Rocky over his shoulder, his expression a little more grim. “I honestly have no idea.” 

…

Recovery has gone surprisingly well, all things considered. 

Having one arm is still taking a bit of getting used to. He’s been having persistent headaches. Nausea, random bouts of fatigue, dizziness, a strange inability to walk normally. But considering he’d be dead right now otherwise, Simon would say he’s recovering well. 

It’s been a few days since his great “salvation”. He’s still not sure what to make of it. He doesn’t know what else to make of it other than Ryland having secret intentions for him. Don’t even get him started on the… rock thing. It still makes him stiffen up when he sees it crawling about on the floor, or hears it scampering around in the distance. 

It becomes more and more apparent to Simon as the days pass that Ryland Grace is the strangest human he’s ever met. 

Simon genuinely thought he was crazy when he first woke up in the infirmary bed, but after being around him for several hours a day it occurred to him that Ryland isn’t mentally insane. Mentally unstable, perhaps. He always carries himself with a sort of anxious energy that puts Simon on edge, though he doesn’t seem aware of it. There’s always a crease between his brows when he’s in the same room with Simon, whether that’s because of him or why he’s in the middle of space with an alien rock or a combination of the two. 

Simon can’t say he trusts him. He’s thankful for being saved, God, of course he is. He owes his life to Ryland, undoubtedly. They both know that much. 

But Ryland hasn’t briefed him at all on what he needs him for. And that was unnerving to Simon. He’s not dead on his feet, he can be useful; so why isn’t Ryland letting him do anything? 

After four days he’s grown restless. Ryland keeps trying to placate him like a cornered animal, with a new excuse every time he asks to leave. He has incredible patience, Simon will give him that; he almost wants to push a little more, see how much leeway he’d be given before Ryland snaps. He doesn’t indulge in that temptation, though, because he’s not stupid. 

Ryland also talks… a lot. He just fills the void with random drabble whenever things get too quiet and it’s… honestly just bizarre to listen to. Simon doesn’t dislike it. He just can’t help staring at Ryland while he looks elsewhere and, always cautiously at first, starts running his mouth; thinking to himself, how the hell did this guy survive all these years? 

Eden would’ve eaten him alive. COI isn’t even worth debating. And Simon’s pretty certain the same goes for any other neighboring space stations. There’s no way Ryland was always alone, though maybe he’s been alone long enough to become a bit unstable. Simon can certainly understand that. 

Still, something just doesn’t make sense. 

On the morning of day five, Ryland comes in for a “morning check-up”, as he calls it, and also brings a small cup of noodles. Simon can’t help the slight anticipation at the sight of the noodles; they’re really fucking good, he can’t lie. 

“Hey.” The scientist greets him, raising his hand in a gesture of greeting. As if they haven’t done this several times a day, for five of them straight. He’s not wearing his crooked glasses today, his hair a bit greasy and his shirt also noticeably wrinkled. This one is white with two checkered flags and… a bunch of words that mean absolutely nothing when put together in that order. “Anything feeling weird?” 

“No.” Simon replies as he always does. He decides to be a bit risky today, asking straight away. “Can I leave the infirmary?” 

Ryland blinks, seemingly a bit caught off guard, before shrugging. “Uh… I’ll have to make sure it wouldn’t be too risky to have you walking around for long periods of time. Don’t want you falling over.” 

Simon feels a spike of irritation at the words. He doesn’t feel that bad. “…If I’m about to fall over I’d tell you.” He points out dryly. “Shouldn’t I be the judge of that, anyway? You’re not a doctor. You’ve said so.” 

This is just common sense to him.  

“I… well, okay, yeah.” Ryland huffs, sounding a little defensive. He does that a lot. “I did say that.” He stops himself, thinking it over. 

Simon continues, a bit uneasy now. “You said I'm not a prisoner here.” 

“Of course you’re not.” Ryland quickly reassures him. “I just like being cautious is all. But… I guess it’s probably fine if you walk around for a little bit. Yeah.” 

…Really? Simon’s a bit surprised; he wasn’t expecting his boldness to actually pay off. 

“You’re overdue for a little tour anyway.” Ryland says with a small smile, as though trying to convince himself this would be fine. “Oh, and I guess you’ll get to properly meet Rocky this time. He’s really fun once you get to know him.” 

Meeting “Rocky” isn’t the top priority on Simon’s list, but he won’t say that. 

Instead, he begrudgingly lets Ryland help him out of bed like he’s a struggling elder despite the slight urge to swat him away, still not entirely sure how he should take the man’s constant meddling. Well, meddling may be a strong word; maybe hovering. He just seemed really determined to make sure Simon was okay, and that was a bit worrying. 

Because again, if someone needs you to be in good condition that badly, and you owe them your life, you’re guaranteed to be in deep shit. 

“I can walk.” Simon murmurs, trying not to be rude, because he doesn’t think he’s earned that privilege. He doesn’t owe Ryland his immediate trust though. He pointedly ignores the ache in his legs when he stands, trying to reorient himself; he’d always felt a bit dizzy when standing up, and that—annoyingly—hasn’t magically cured itself. He’d really hate to immediately contradict his own declaration by being unable to stand properly and then look even more pathetic than he probably does. 

Ryland steps back, thankfully, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Oh. Yeah.” He seems a bit embarrassed. Simon really doesn’t understand him. 

If this is all an act, it was a damn good job.

“Just follow me then. Let me know if you need a minute or if anything feels weird.” 

Ryland takes the lead, showing him around the spaceship. He glances back quite often, just to make eye contact or make sure Simon’s listening. 

“Oh, and then over here is the actual cockpit of the Hail Mary.” Ryland gives the wall a good knock with his fist, and Simon’s eyes widen at the sight of it. All of the technology piloting this ship looks ancient. Like, pre-mars ancient. “Mary’s just got this thing on autopilot, but I’ve been trying to learn. It’s a bit of an adventure. Rocky can attest to that, can’t you bud?” Ryland adds, glancing behind him. 

Simon hadn’t even heard the little fucker scrambling over here, but he nearly flinches when the robotic translator voice sounds right next to him. “Yes, Grace is terrible pilot.” 

Ryland makes a face, giving Rocky a glance from the side. “I’m inexperienced and there’s a difference.” 

“Bad, bad, awful-“ 

“Okay, enough.” Ryland holds a hand up and then points to Simon, which makes Simon narrow his eyes a little. “Rocky, meet Simon. Simon, meet Rocky.” 

Rocky does a… weird shuffle thing with his… legs? And then the translator goes, “Yes, hello Simon. Rocky, Grace, Simon save stars!” 

What? Simon had been honestly trying to tune out this entire experience as just some odd, mentally draining clusterfuck, but damn if that didn’t get his attention. “What did you say?” He asks with a new layer of disbelief, glancing between the rock and Ryland. 

Save the stars? As in, bring them back? That can’t be possible. Maybe he did get stuck with crazed individuals after all. 

Ryland sighs, almost as if frustrated, and gives Rocky a pointed look. “Okay, not now, bud, we talked about this. You can ignore him, Simon, alright?” 

“No, what?” Simon scoffs, squinting at him. “What is this? You’re both out here to ‘save the stars’?”

“Well-“ Ryland presses his lips together, then bites the inside of his cheek. “I guess we’re talking about this now.” 

Rocky chimes in. “Yes. All stars in the universe dimming except Tau Ceti for unknown reason-“

“What?!” Simon can’t help his own squawk, a sudden surge of frustration spiking his blood pressure and making him feel worse. “What do you mean dimming? Tau Ceti? Is there a- what?” 

“You said you’re from a space station?” Ryland’s staring at him intently, his tone turning confused himself. “Did you… not know about the stars dying out?” 

“Of course I know the stars are dead.” Simon shoots back, glaring at him. “They’ve been dead for ages!” 

“Ages?” Now Ryland’s squawking in disbelief himself. “What do you mean ages?!” 

…

Safe to say, it took all three of them a while to understand each other. 

Simon honestly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He told them all about the Quiet Rapture and Ryland just stared at him in such purely befuddled disbelief that you’d think Simon grew another set of teeth out his face while talking to him. Ryland’s response was that, no, actually, the stars aren’t all dead yet and that there’s literally a whole galaxy of them outside if you want to look, and then pointed out the window. 

Simon looks. And he sees. 

Stars everywhere. 

“This… this isn’t a trick?” Simon murmurs, already feeling tears welling up in his eyes. His throat burns when he speaks. His heart pounds like he’s got a gun to his head. He can’t look away, not for a second. 

“No tricks.” Ryland murmurs back beside him, voice softening to match his. He looks out too. “But they’re all going to die much faster than they should. Scarily fast. Except…” Blue eyes shift to meet his in Simon’s peripheral, and Simon swallows, feeling he should meet it. “…The one we’re approaching.” 

Simon forces himself to tear his gaze away for a moment, and he doesn’t regret it, because when he looks at Ryland the stars are all there in the blue of his irises. “The one we’re approaching?” He tries to blink back the tears, forgetting they were falling down his face. 

Ryland doesn’t comment on it; he’s a kinder man than most. “Yeah. Tau Ceti. That’s… our mission, Rocky and I.” 

“How are-“ Simon shakes his head, “How are there still stars here?” He must be really far away from Eden, from all of it. 

Ryland’s soft gaze is pensive now, and he steps back. “I really don’t know. I’m sorry. I mean, there’s still so much we just don’t know.” He glances toward Rocky, who is watching them both silently, then back to Simon. “But I’ll tell you this.” He holds up a finger. “We’re gonna figure this out.” 

Simon huffs. He just watches this guy and cannot fathom how he’s alive. He wipes at his face, ignoring how his heart still aches, and he can’t tell if it’s relief or despair or fear or sickness. “Yeah, sure.” 

It’s a bit dismissive, but he’s honestly exhausted after this conversation and half of him wants to lay back down. 

The other half of him can’t help looking at the way the navigation system lights up. 

“You said you’re trying to fly this thing?” Simon changes the subject, still a bit emotional from seeing an entire galaxy of stars but pushing past it. He takes a few steps toward the cockpit, peering at all the switches and buttons on the interface. Yeah, this is all oddly primitive. Basically a prototype.

“I mean, I can. I’m not good at it.” Ryland says a bit sheepishly from behind him. “I don’t know what most of these buttons do, honestly.” 

Simon stands straight again, clenching and then unclenching his fist as he stares at the cockpit. “…I can fly it.” 

“…What?” Ryland steps forward so he’s in Simon’s line of vision, his eyes wide as saucers. “You’re a pilot?!” 

Simon scowls at Ryland’s raised voice. “I have piloting experience. I’ve flown space crafts.” He replies sharply. 

“That’s-“ Ryland glances down at Rocky, who seems to be looking at him too, and then they both simultaneously get excited and Simon tenses. 

“Pilot, yay, yay, yay-“ 

“That’s great, wow, okay!” Ryland clasps his hands together, holds it for a second and then seems to regret his enthusiasm and pauses. “Okay. This might be a really, really big ask, and it’s totally fine if you say no or need time to think about it or-“ 

“You need me to pilot your ship.” Simon deadpans. 

Ryland keeps his hands clasped together. “Not if you don’t want to. Completely optional. The absolute opposite of mandatory.” 

“You saved my life.” Simon points out blankly. “So I owe you whatever I can offer. I’ll pilot it.” 

Ryland hesitates. Simon doesn't really get what for; this is very straightforward. Still he concedes anyway. “…Okay. Thank you, Simon. That makes things… way easier.” 

He seems relieved; tired too. Simon nods, finding his gaze drifting back to the window full of stars. He still can’t believe it. 

All things considered, it’s not a bad deal at all; with the amount of debt he owes Ryland, he could’ve had to do far worse to make it even. But he can certainly pilot a ship, even if it’s a bit older. 

“Wanna see the rest of the ship..?” Ryland asks patiently. 

Simon doesn’t want to look away from the stars. Maybe if he’s on his best behavior he’ll be able to look at them again. He nods. 

Ryland shows him the lab area of the ship, which is the biggest area and very intricate. “And yeah, that’s everything to do with… uh, you probably don’t care, sorry. Actually… Can I just? Do you-“ He snaps his fingers like it’ll force his brain or his social skills to work. “Does it hurt at all? The teeth. I’m sorry, I’m just really curious.”

This again. Simon feels a tinge of that familiar wariness that has him wanting to snarl back. He doesn’t, but he’s sure Ryland can sense his apprehension nonetheless. “Why do you care so much?” 

“It’s just not something you see everyday.” Ryland replies under Simon’s glare. “Sorry. That’s probably the last thing you want to think about.” 

Then why ask him? God, Simon wants to have trust and not think the absolute worst but his inability to do so must be a mutation just as bad and just as unsightly. “It hurts a bit, I guess. I don’t need anything for it.” He offers. 

“That’s good.” Ryland clears his throat, silent for a moment, and then just goes back to giving him the rest of the tour of the ship. And he doesn’t bring it up again. 

Strange man. 

Simon hopes it isn’t too good to be true. 

…

They arrive at Tau Ceti tomorrow, and Grace is honestly… completely terrified. He’s scared out of his mind. He’s still gone over the plan several times over in his head, on the whiteboard, with Rocky, and he’s still not at all ready. 

So, to attempt to calm down his nerves he’d sat down in the virtual landscape—aka the Don’t Go Crazy Room—and watched the waves crash over the rocks; not long before Rocky came to join him, the coolness of his atmospheric hamster ball pressed against Grace’s side. 

“…Which one do you like more?” Grace finds himself asking, not looking away from the ocean. What a massive and powerful thing that they know just as little about as the universe; Grace will never know what else they discover on Earth. What new species they’ll find. “Beach or mountains?” 

“…Beach. Mountain is too much effort.” A beat of silence, and then, “Adrien would say mountains.” 

Grace smiles a little, the thought of Adrien fueling his pensiveness. 

Rocky shifts so he’s sitting down with his legs folded inward. “Adrien also would like Grace.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes. And Simon. Easy for Adrien to talk to anyone.” 

Grace glances at Rocky. “They sound amazing.” 

Rocky warbles softly, something the translator doesn’t pick up. “Yes, they are.” 

They fall into a momentary silence save from the sound of the waves against the shore. Then, “Grace sad, question?” 

Which makes Grace pause, not expecting that. “Huh? No, not sad, bud. Nothing like that.” 

“Grace lonely.” 

Grace scoffs, nudging the side of the ball. “You physically won’t let me.” 

“No, but Grace still lonely. Lonely, lonely, sad-“ 

“Okay, sheesh. Quit it.” 

“But Grace have Simon, so is stupid.”

Grace raises an eyebrow, giving Rocky an odd look. “Simon is- okay, well he literally almost died ten days ago and to thank him we’re dragging him with us on a mission he didn’t ask for. I can’t put that any better, we are literally… I mean, where else could he go?” A bit of anxiety creeps into his voice now, his palms getting clammy. “He doesn’t have a home even though he’s from a freaking space station. Said he didn’t want me to waste the fuel to take him, but- god, Rocky, I’m no better than Stratt, am I?” 

“But Simon would be dead if not for Rocky and Grace.” 

“He’s still going to die!” Grace shouts suddenly. Rocky flinches, and he immediately feels so bad, but he can’t bring himself to apologize. 

“He’s still going to die.” Grace mutters, feeling his eyes welling with tears he’d been fighting all goddamn day. He just buries his head in his hands to hide them. “There isn’t enough fuel for a trip home, Rocky. After Tau Ceti, that’s… that’s it. It’s a suicide mission.” He swallows thickly, bringing his knees closer to his chest. “We’re both going to die. But it was… it was just supposed to be me.”  

Rocky is dead silent, and Grace can’t help the sob that tears itself from his throat. He shakes his head, not wanting to just start crying now and in front of him like an idiot. 

“…Grace not going back to Earth.”

“No.” He gets out weakly, wiping at his face even though it’s not doing anything. “No. I’m not, Simon isn’t, a-and-“ 

“You didn’t tell me.” 

“I’m sorry. I just- it slipped my mind, stuff just kept happening and- and god, how do I tell him? Why didn’t I tell him sooner?” Grace says around the lump in his throat. Idiot, idiot, coward coward coward-

Rocky doesn’t respond right away, shrinking in on himself. But he thinks about it for a good few minutes, and then, weakly, 

“…How much fuel Grace need to get back, question?” 

Grace pauses. “…What?” 

“How much fuel-“ 

“Two million kilograms.” He gets out, sniffling. God, he hates crying. “Two million… kilograms.” 

“Rocky give fuel. Journey back to Erid six years slower.” 

“No, no, that’s way too big of an ask.” Grace shakes his head, hugging himself a little tighter. “I can’t ask that of you-“

“Rocky watch crew die. Could not fix.” The Eridian shuffles a bit closer. “Rocky not want Simon and Grace die when can fix.” 

Man, the translator is so messed up. Grace’ll need to update it. But still, he can’t help the fresh wave of tears in his eyes. “That’s… if you’re sure. O-Okay. Thank you. I-“ He’s sobbing again. The waterworks are back with a vengeance. 

…

After hugging it out and watching the beach for a while, Grace not only feels way better but also realizes 1. he should make sure Simon’s okay and 2. he hasn’t yet actually shown Simon the “Don’t Go Crazy Room”. So that’s his new plan of action. Luckily, Rocky doesn’t volunteer to come with when Grace tells him. 

Simon’s in the infirmary with his arm crossed to hug his shoulder and his eyes closed, dutifully resting. After showing him the little makeshift greenhouse full of baby plants, Simon got all teary again; Grace hadn’t pried, but he had transplanted one of the little fellas in a plastic cup and then given it to Simon so he could have one in the infirmary with him. 

He’d looked at Grace like he’d given him the world. Like he’d given him a last bastion of hope.

And it’s kind of hard for such a look to leave your head. 

The soil is freshly watered and it's climbing toward the plant light above it. A basil plant, he’s pretty sure. Grace smiles to himself. 

Simon hears him entering and opens his eyes. Grace offers a little wave. “Hey. How are you feeling?” 

“…Peachy.” Simon murmurs, sounding a little tired; probably sarcasm. 

Okay. Grace just nods, exhaling softly. “Well then that’s great, because I want to show you something.” 

Of course, he has to check up on the damages and change a few bandages first, to which Simon is very kindly still the entire time. He’s gotten a lot better at that. Ever since he was given the plant he’s been a lot more subdued, Grace thinks. But just seeing him and knowing he’s not going to be the cause of his death is almost enough to make Grace start crying again, which he will not be doing in front of Simon, thank you very much. 

He leads Simon down the hallway and into the room, which is completely black until it’s calibrated. Grace sits down and glances up, beckoning for Simon to do the same. “You like plants, right?” 

Simon looks at him a bit warily before slowly sitting down, wincing while he does so. He’s careful about it, like he doesn’t want to take up any more space than he absolutely needs to. “…Yeah?” 

Gracie smiles a bit wider. “Okay.” He turns it on, the entire room lighting up white. Simon tenses and squints from the brightness, and Grace feels a pang of guilt. “Sorry. Probably should’ve mentioned that. But prepare to be amazed.” 

When the Don’t Go Crazy Room loads some random part of the Amazon rainforest, Simon goes dead still. Those dark brown eyes widen, looking up at the trees and the bushes and the cover of the leaves with such raw bewilderment at first that Grace wants to laugh. But he doesn’t, because then Simon’s hand grips his bandaged shoulder—a habit he’s taken up—and his lips remain parted in wonder, his wariness leaving his body bit by bit. 

“It’s just, uh, some random part of the amazon I thought would be…” Grace finds his words failing him miserably. “…Thought would be nice.” 

Simon doesn’t respond, still just staring at everything before him. The sound of the leaves rustling and the birds chirping and croaking makes the entire forest feel like it’s one big, living mass. Grace always found that intimidating but it doesn’t seem like Simon finds it like that in the slightest. No, his eyes just slowly sweep across the length of the room, soaking every pixel in like they’re not pixels at all. 

When Grace looks at him he sees everything he’s seeing—every green leaf brushing against the bark, every blade of grass, every berry and flower that ripens and shrivels—lit up in his irises and painted over. All of Earth’s beauty captured and cradled snugly between wet, black eyelashes; escaping in drops like brush strokes down his skin, carving into the teeth that jut out on one side so as to remind him they are not monstrous. 

And Grace is taken aback, feeling his own flusterment, and is hit with an all-consuming urge to look away. Woah. 

He doesn’t. And Simon notices, his gaze meeting Grace’s. 

“Um…” Grace feels even more embarrassed because of how intensely Simon stares at him, certain he looks like an idiot. “…Do you like it? I can change it.” He mumbles awkwardly. 

“No.” Simon exhales, averting his gaze and shaking his head. His voice is so much softer, and Grace hates how immediately that affects him. “No, don’t change it. I… I like it.” 

“Good, yeah. I knew you would.” Grace smiles a bit sheepishly, giving a thumbs up and then deciding to put that away and stop being awkward. “And this room can be pretty much anything, too. Whatever you want, really. You can also calibrate it to move around and zoom in, out, the whole shibang.” 

Simon nods tightly, still looking very much emotional over this. Grace isn’t sure why plants are so important to him but he doesn’t want to pry. His heart is still racing a bit and it’s distracting him, honestly. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, but he knows that he’s overcome with a rather irrational desire to be closer to Simon. 

Maybe because this is the first human he’s seen in technically a decade. He’s always been selfish. Never wanting to admit when he’s wrong, never wanting reality to touch him too deeply. Running away when humanity depended on him. So what difference does it make now? Simon’s right next to him and there’s so little he knows about him. 

God, maybe Rocky was right. 

“I like to come here a lot.” Grace adds for lack of a better way to fill the silence. “Helps when getting a bit homesick, you know? You can also watch TV on it.” 

Simon wipes at his eyes and hums in acknowledgement. Grace taps his fingers against his leg, following the trace of vines along a tree. 

“…Well, glad you’re into it.” He clears his throat and stands up, which makes Simon blink out of the immersion. “I’ll just leave you alone and let you chill here, then. You can always holler if you need anything.” 

“You’re leaving?” Simon sounds a bit surprised. 

“Uh, I mean, I can.” Grace just thought that would be for the best. This was clearly a really important moment, wasn’t it? “If you want me to.”

Simon squints at him, and the look is enough to make Grace second guess himself. “…I don’t care if you stay.” He murmurs, a little quieter. 

“Oh.” He swallows. “Okay then.” 

A beat of silence as he sits back down quietly. And then, 

“Ryland.” 

Grace hasn’t been referred to by his first name in a while, so he’s caught off guard for a minute. “…Yeah?” He asks, feeling oddly vulnerable. “What’s up?” 

Simon sighs, his eyes darkening when he meets Grace’s gaze; gone is the almost innocent amazement that was there moments prior. His voice is low and guarded, as if he dreads the answer. “Be honest with me. What happened to the rest of your crew… it couldn’t have been the Blood Eel. Could it?” 

Grace physically feels his face lose its color. “Wh… What? Blood Eel?” He has to feel the ominous title in his mouth like a bad aftertaste in order to process what Simon just asked him, violently shaking his head. “No, no- they, ah… there were three of us.” He swallows, looking down at his knees by his chest. “They didn’t survive the coma.” 

But he did. The most unqualified and cowardly of the three. 

Hang on, there was something a lot more pressing to clear up. “Wait, why did you- were you attacked by an alien? In the submarine?” Grace sits a bit straighter, his face paling a little further when Simon doesn’t immediately deny it. 

His face could only be described as grim. “I mean, it nearly killed me. Yeah.” Like it was obvious, which okay, maybe it was. 

Was that what gave him those teeth? No, that couldn’t be it. It’s clearly a mutation, something down to the genetic level. Could the radiation have been that intense? 

But Simon adds after a small pause, “…I’m sorry about your crew.” It sounds sincere. Sympathetic. 

Grace offers a faint smile at that, hoping it doesn’t look too sad. “You were alone in that submarine when we found you.” He brings up instead. This is something he’s been concerned about for a while, actually. “That… always the case, or…?” 

“Yeah.” Simon answers with a tinge of bitterness, his shoulders sagging. He’s not looking at Grace anymore. “Only room for one in that thing.” 

He doesn’t really seem like he wants to talk about it, which Grace can understand. He nods and goes back to looking at the rainforest. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Huh?” Grace frowns, wondering where that came from. Is he being too nice? Is he coming on a bit too strongly? “Whaddya mean?” He asks a bit meekly. 

“You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met.” Simon scoffs, not cruelly but not all that nicely either. “You have my life in my hands, don’t you? And all you want from me is to pilot your ship?” 

“Is that bad?” 

“It’s bizarre.” Simon counters. “I don’t understand it. I’d really like to believe you’re just… I don’t know.” 

“…A compassionate guy?” Grace finishes for him with a hopeful incantation. 

An unimpressed look is the response to that, and it definitely doesn’t hurt a little. Grace sighs. “Look, man, I just… heard a distress signal and wanted to help. That’s it. And I’m sorry you got stuck with me. Believe me, I know it’s far from ideal.” 

“Are you kidding?” Simon huffs, and he actually looks like he might crack a smile. Maybe. A bitter one, but still. “God, I could’ve gotten so much worse.” His unimpressed look has turned a little incredulous, his eyes narrowing a bit. “Do you- you realize that, right?” 

“I-I guess? You could’ve gotten better.” Grace feels like he needs to remind Simon. He needs to make his point. “It’s not like I… I know what I’m doing, you know?” 

“See, that is bizarre.” Simon decides to focus his gaze on the trees again, shaking his head a little. “You admitting that so easily.” 

“S… Sorry?” Is all that Grace has got. He isn’t sure what Simon wants from him. 

He isn’t even sure what he wants from Simon. 

“…Don’t apologize.” Simon’s quieter now. He absentmindedly traces his bandages, tilting his head a little at the sight of a red parrot landing on a nearby branch. “If anything, I should… probably be apologizing to you.” 

Grace frowns. There’s a bit of heat in his cheeks. “For what?” 

“Grabbing your arm when I first woke up. And yelling at you.” A shrug, resigned. “M’sorry. You didn’t deserve it, I thought I was… somewhere else.” 

“Oh, Simon. It’s fine, I…” Grace tries to reassure him, finding his own voice a little less confident and grounding than he’d hoped. He wants to reach out so badly. His skin physically burns with the desire to just pat his shoulder or something. “We both were. I still am. We’re both scared and that’s… that’s totally fine.” 

“I just still can’t believe this is real.” Simon continues with such heavy resignation it deeply unsettles Grace. “I wake up and still think, just for a second, that I’m back on that fucking submarine. That this is too good to be true. I’m not stupid.” 

God, that’s awful. “That’s- I know.” 

His tone sharpens at that. “How could you? I’m not stupid, Ryland.” 

“I didn’t say you were!” Grace sputters, feeling both a bit frustrated and a little helpless. He points to himself, “Did I- when did I say that? You are the furthest thing from stupid as possible.” He adds when his voice had grown a little sharper then he meant it to. He puts his hand down, sighing. “You don’t trust me and that’s fine. It’s okay.” 

“It’s not like I don’t want to.” Simon retorts, bristling slightly.

This conversation is helping no one. “Okay.” Grace concedes, clenching his jaw. “Sorry. Let’s just drop it for now. I didn’t mean to yell or anything.” The last thing he wanted was to make the other feel backed into a corner, but it seems he’s succeeded at just that. 

Simon looks at him warily. Grace just feels more embarrassed at it and hopes the heat he senses in his cheeks isn’t terribly visible. “Feel free to call me stupid, though.” He mumbles. 

“…Noted.” Simon hums, though it’s gentler somehow. Or maybe Grace is just sleep deprived and delusional. Likely the latter. “You’ve been nothing but good to me for no good reason. Most would call that stupid.” 

Grace is astounded to hear that. What kind of people has Simon been hanging around all his life, where basic empathy is seen as stupid? 

Simon meets his gaze, something apprehensive swimming in them. “I don’t want to be most people, but I am. So could you just… prove me wrong?” 

Grace smiles, this one not feeling forced at all. His heart pounds and his mind races as he takes in Simon’s guarded wish; rather, sincerity he hopes is not for nothing. “Y-Yeah.” He breathes—swallow properly, Ryland—“Yeah, I can do that. That’s what I’m best at, they say.” No one has ever said that to him in his life. 

“…Though, nowadays it feels like I’m getting proven wrong by everything else.” He scratches the back of his head. “Aliens exist, xenon is a solid, you’ve got shark teeth.” A huff of tired laughter. “Which I still can’t even begin to wonder how that’s scientifically possible, but that is also something I’m going to figure out. Mark my words.” 

Simon doesn’t respond to that declaration directly, just staring at him for a few seconds before averting his gaze and shrugging again. If Grace had properly looked at him, then he may have noticed the tinge of involuntary pink dusting his cheeks. 

…

It truly feels like they’re the only two people in the universe. 

Simon picked up piloting the Hail Mary fairly quickly; it wasn’t difficult, just a different interface than he was necessarily used to. He also had one less arm, so multitasking was a bit challenging. But overall, his hindrances didn’t change much. He still took over when they fell into Adrien’s orbit—the planet orbiting Tau Ceti—and retrieved the samples Ryland needed. The mission went without a hitch. 

Simon can’t help wondering, though, how Ryland and Rocky would’ve been able to safely carry out the mission by themselves. 

Well, it’s fortunate he doesn’t have to consider that. Now it’s been about a week, and they’re remaining in Adrien’s orbit while Ryland takes the samples and studies them. 

Simon’s learning a lot about the other man. One thing is that Ryland’s patience isn’t as endless as he first believed, at least not when it comes to his lab work. He’d been eating noodles one time and watching Ryland work the microscope when all of a sudden he pulled back with a surprising amount of aggression, hissing half-profanities and then hitting his hand on the desk in frustration. Burying his head in his hands and groaning like… an unruly child. It was so, so strange. But Simon had thought something was truly wrong, going tense; ready to get on the receiving end of anger if Ryland decides he’s good to take it out on. That’s how humans are. It’s in their nature. 

But then Rocky, against all self-preservation instincts and basic common sense, rolls up to Ryland in his hamster ball and starts poking at his back. “Stop killing Taumoeba.” 

“I’m not trying to kill- ugh.” Ryland’s initial growl turns a lot more… pathetic, like he’s giving up arguing. He’s not punishing Rocky for provoking him at all, nor is he directing his anger at him. 

It was likely just because they were close. Simon probably wouldn’t be as fortunate. 

But he still feels like he should… try and help a little. This was an important cause and he was just sitting here eating noodles like a fucking idiot—mainly because Ryland told him he doesn’t need to do anything else—but as far as Simon could tell, that’s horseshit. 

“Maybe Simon try. Might not kill instantly.” Rocky continues, clearly teasing… probably. 

“Wha- No, I’m the molecular biologist, just-“ Ryland finally lifts his head and gives Rocky a pointed glare, trying to swat away his hamster ball. “Go finish checking the Beetles!” 

A high chirp. “Already checked!” 

“Go check it again, you probably missed something.” 

Rocky warbles lowly, almost like he’s grumbling, as he crawls away for his area of the lab where he’s working on the prototypes to house the samples. Making sure they’re good to go. 

Simon didn’t think he’d ever see an alien rock spider as an engineer in his life. But here he was. 

“Do you need anything?” He asks Ryland after a moment, feeling a little awkward in breaking the silence but still feeling like he should say something regardless. 

Ryland’s eyes flick across the lab to Simon, and they soften when looking at him in a way they absolutely should not be doing. “Oh, no, don’t…” He sighs, seeming to have calmed down somewhat. “Don’t worry about it. Just me being dumb. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” Simon replies automatically, standing up to throw away his empty noodle cup. While doing so he kind of hovers where Ryland’s working, just out of a mild curiosity. “What exactly are you… trying to do?” 

Ryland blinks, takes his face out the microscope, and then seems to do a 180 in terms of mood. “So you know what I explained about the Petrova Line, in that these little space bacteria are eating all the stars and that’s what’s causing or- caused, I guess, the Quiet Rapture?” 

He totally sprouted up like a dying plant given water. This was another thing Simon’s learning about Ryland, is that he enjoys explaining science. Teaching. He was a teacher before this. Simon just nods, “Yeah. And the Taumeoba are the natural predators for the astrophage.” 

“Yes, well, that’s the hypothesis. I’m trying to breed the Taumoeba right now to sustain itself and actually eat the astrophage, but right now it’s just a hurdle I have to jump through.” 

“Right.” Simon understands. It makes sense, and he actually kind of enjoys learning when he isn’t being actively discouraged from doubting things. He isn’t sure how to continue the conversation though, other than a dry, “That’s… cool.” 

Since when did he say stupid shit? Must be the ship’s air. Turns everyone in it weird. 

Ryland chuckles though, unexpectedly, and gives Simon a rather earnest smile. “It is, isn’t it? You wanna look and see for yourself?” 

Yeah, okay, this is entirely new territory. But it’s not really unwelcome either. Before Simon can protest he’s being walked through how to use the microscope and what he’s looking at, seeing the star eaters and their predators for himself. And seeing life like that, even impossibly tiny, is… undeniably cool. Ryland answers whatever he asks, even stupid questions. 

And Simon realizes too late how much trust he’s putting in the other. When he does, he’s not violently opposed to the thought. Ryland’s made a great effort to gain his trust, and although even now a small part of Simon still worries it’s a ploy—a trap—Ryland disproves it a little more each day. 

One thing he never understood was Ryland’s fascination with his face, but it’s becoming apparent it really interests the scientist. Simon can’t get why other than pure scientific curiosity, because he doesn’t look at himself in the mirror at all; if he does, he’s hit with such loathing and disgust for the stretched maw coming out one side of his face that he wants to punch his own reflection. 

In between working on the Taumoeba, though, Ryland actually sits down to examine it while doing his routine check up on Simon. It still makes Simon uncomfortable, being studied like a lab rat, but he also knows Ryland is truly just passionate about science. He couldn’t not be after how much he's freely taught Simon about how things work. And that was far different than the scientists of the COI—cold, heartless pricks that could torture anything and not feel a shred of remorse as long as it impacts their research—so Ryland’s got that going for him. 

“Wow.” He breathes out, clicking off the flashlight he was using to see inside the extension of Simon’s face. “I can’t believe this isn’t painful to you right now.” 

Simon scoffs, but he tries to stay still and not make eye contact. “Not anymore. All the pain kinda just… blended together, so I didn’t focus too much on one thing hurting. ‘Cept when my arm got ripped off. That hurt.” 

Ryland swallows, looking a little mortified at those words. For some reason it makes Simon feel a little warmer. The concept of someone caring for him is still very novel. “I didn’t mean to bring up anything.”

See? This is what Simon means. “It’s fine, it doesn’t… really bother me anymore.” He says, not sure why he wants to reassure Ryland so badly. He certainly doesn't want Ryland to be suffering in any way, especially because of his own sob story. He mentally notes not to mention some more… brutal parts of that mission, for Ryland’s sake. “You’re allowed to be curious. I just don’t wanna be a science experiment.” 

“No, of course not.” Ryland answers back with sudden seriousness, shaking his head. “That’s not at all what this is. I just like… learning about all of you, I guess. That… sounded weird. And creepy. I meant that this,” meaning Simon’s mutation, “Is a part of you I’m really curious about. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound weird.” 

“And creepy?” Simon adds, raising an eyebrow at him. 

Ryland winces, “Yeah. Do me a favor and tell me to shut up sometimes. I talk a lot when I’m nervous.” 

“Hm.” Simon considers that for a moment, averting his gaze when Ryland turns back on the flashlight to examine his mutation. “Why would you be nervous?” Is Simon putting him on edge? He wouldn’t be surprised, he’s been told he can do that even when he doesn’t try to. Just another reason that Simon is a monstrous thing. 

“Oh. Uh.” Simon’s looking away so he doesn’t notice Ryland’s cheeks warming up. “No reason.” 

Okay? 

“Anyway, I think that-“ The other clears his throat, “This is mainly a combination of things. The pressure of the submarine must’ve been really intense, combined with lower oxygen levels and the radiation from the blood. Actually… wait, the blood itself would’ve been radioactive, and you were covered in it. Damnit, I didn’t-“ Ryland clicks off the flashlight, giving Simon an exasperated look directed at himself. “I didn’t think to sample some of the blood that was literally all over you.” 

“I mean, all of that sounds plausible.” Simon offers. 

“Yeah but I wanna be sure.” Ryland sighs, still a bit annoyed. “Oh well… and you can’t move anything here independently at all?” 

Simon tries, but he doesn’t think there’s actually any muscles there. Or they’re not connected to his brain. “No.” 

“Hm… can I try touching it?” Ryland asks casually. 

Simon tenses, giving him a wary look. He doesn’t really want him to. Can he say that, though, without being punished for disobeying an order. “…Not really?” He tries. 

Ryland flushes further out of pure embarrassment. “Yeah, fair enough. Sorry. Got a bit carried away.” 

That was shockingly easy. Simon relaxes the tension in his shoulders, feeling a bit warmer inside from his word actually being respected for once. He looks away again, a bit embarrassed himself. “…Dunno why you’d wanna touch it.” 

“Genuinely just curious if there were any nerves there at all.” Ryland swears, putting his hands up. “Probably enough poking and prodding for today, though.” 

Yeah, definitely. Simon sighs. “I’d fucking hope not. It’s disgusting enough as it is.” 

“It’s not disgusting.” Ryland declares, and then shrinks a little under Simon’s glare. “I mean, not to me.” 

“You’re crazy, then.” Simon retorts. He looked like a monster. He was disgusting. If he had it his way he’d spare Ryland the trouble and the resources. 

Ryland just frowns at him, though, like he’s caught between concern and pity. Simon isn’t a fan of it. “Can you- Can I just have some space. Please?” 

“Yeah.” Ryland nods quickly, already getting up. “I’ll be out in the lab. And for the record I won’t bother you about your… anymore. Unless you tell me it’s fine. Deal?” 

Simon appreciates that. “…Deal.” I guess? 

…

+1. 

Grace is not having the best day. 

When he got the Taumoeba to sustain itself and saw for himself how it ate the astrophage, that was an awesome day. The highest of his highs. He’d started crying and poor Simon thought something was wrong, then Rocky came over and got all confused and worried, but when Grace told them both the good news the collective relief was like all the weight in the room just lifted. They’d all celebrated by watching fireworks in the Don’t Go Crazy Room. Grace made party hats. Simon said they were ‘nice, kinda itchy’ in his mumbly voice but wore his without any other complaints. 

All that was left to do was breed the nitrogen-resistant Taumeoba so that it would actually survive on Earth. 

And, a week later, he still hasn’t done it. So maybe the celebration was a bit premature if he can’t even manage to make a strain of nitrogen resistant bacteria survive.

He feels kinda bad. He’s been neglecting both himself and everyone else trying to just lock in and get this damn bacteria to work, but he’s made himself feel better by thinking, ‘Well once I’m done here I’ll make it up to the both of them.’ 

‘Done here’ turns into several days. 

He keeps falling asleep at his desk. He’s snapped at Rocky one too many times, mainly because he likes to actively pester him sometimes or suggest the dumbest ideas Grace has ever heard of! And he knows Rocky means well, which is why he immediately feels guilty whenever he gets snappy, but it doesn’t change his frustration. 

He’s even got a bit snappy with Simon, and somehow that’s even worse, because he always feels like a cruel bastard for it. He’d been preparing to try again after allowing himself a ten minute break, which was mostly just staring at the samples with pure spite. Simon had been with the plants, as he likes to do, and came out just when Grace was about to try again. Grace decides ‘ah, this could be a good teaching moment’ and encourages Simon to come over. 

No fault of Simon’s own, he accidentally knocks over one of the petri dishes. 

“Oh sh-“ Grace had honestly wanted to throw a tantrum in that moment but settled for squeezing his eyes shut and exhaling like it physically pained him. “Oh my god. Simon!” He’d called out sharply in despair. “Why does the universe hate me?” 

“I didn’t mean to knock it over.” Simon had responded tightly, on edge and automatically stepping back. 

“I know- I know you didn’t, but-“ Grace had shaken his head, jerking his chair back to move and pick up the sample. “Please be more careful next time. We seriously, seriously do not have a lot of those, man!” 

“Okay.” Had been Simon’s curt, sincere reply. “Sorry.” 

And Grace hadn’t even given him a response, just readjusting his crooked glasses and physically feeling his own frustration stewing like a broken pressure cooker. He had apologized later to Simon, explaining to him that he can just be like that sometimes and he’ll work on it. Simon had been a little wary, as he kind of always is, but he seemed to understand. Hopefully. 

Simon’s been better though. He’s just… a little distant at times, and that was fine. 

Grace on the other hand just feels like he’s gotten worse. The taumeoba are literally eating him alive. They’re consuming him and his sanity and making him want to just throw every remaining sample against the wall. Maybe bang his head against the desk a few times for good measure. 

Anyway, that brings him to the not-bestest-day he’s ever had. First of all, he hasn’t gotten a proper night's sleep all week, and straight up hasn’t slept in at least twenty hours. He decided yesterday that ‘enough was enough’ and he would finish this once and for all. Stupid. He also has been practically driving himself crazy with his note-taking; he’d look absolutely crazy to any onlookers. Whenever he considers taking a break he thinks about how much cooler the Earth is and how much worse it’ll get if he never manages to make these samples. It gets him back on track pretty quickly. 

Obviously Rocky wouldn’t just let him get this bad if Grace hadn’t bargained with him. He just ‘needs a few more hours to figure this out’ and then he promised he’d sleep properly and let Rocky watch him. So what if that was several hours ago? 

When Simon comes by, Grace foolishly thinks the same tactic will work on him. 

He hears footsteps but doesn’t divert his focus from the microscope. “How are the plants doing?” 

A pause, and then a huff, like he was a little annoyed Grace immediately knew where he’d come from. “…They’re alright. I don’t spend all of my time in there.” 

Grace just smiles, adjusting the lens’. “Just most of your time, got it. Did you need something?” 

Simon doesn’t respond for a moment, but he comes a little closer. Grace is still mostly focused on the Taumoeba, swearing to himself this time he’ll finally get it. And then he can finally send them back home and they can go home, and the Earth will be saved and- 

“…Actually, yeah.” Simon voices after a moment, not even sounding all that sure himself. Grace pulls back to properly look at Simon this time, and the other seems to harden his stance on the matter. He speaks with a bit more confidence, if not slightly awkward all the while. “You haven’t… changed my bandages in a while.” 

…No, he hasn’t. 

Grace blinks, “Oh, uh. Didn’t we do that a couple hours ago? Can I just finish up this trial real quick and then I swear I’ll get to it.” He feels a bit bad shooting down Simon but this trial probably won’t take that long at all! 

Simon squints, those deep brown eyes of his flicking from Grace’s tired face to the absolute mess of a lab next to him. “…They’re kinda itchy. The bandages.” 

Itchy? That’s new. Simon has never complained about his bandages itching, and Grace didn’t do anything different, unless… 

Now it’s Grace’s turn to squint suspiciously at him, feeling both amused and surprised. “Is this your way of making me take a break? Did Rocky put you up to this?” 

When Simon doesn’t immediately respond, Grace presses. “Rocky definitely put you up to this. That conniving… conniver.” 

“Rocky didn’t make me do anything.” Simon retorts coolly. “You said we’re equals, right?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Grace responds without hesitation.

“That I’m the pilot, you’re the scientist, Rocky’s the engineer. We’re all a team. We’re equal. That’s what you said.” He reiterates to be certain. 

“Uh huh…?” 

“So if you’re always making me take care of myself, it isn’t fair to then turn around and neglect your own well-being, refusing any help in the process.” 

Grace blanches. “O-Okay, hold on. I am not neglecting anything or refusing help, Simon, this is a really important and final step of the mission. You know that.” He wasn’t hoping to hear such clean cut logic. 

If Simon could cross both arms right now he probably would be. “Yeah. I can’t make you… stop or anything. I don’t want to. But I also don’t want you keeling over or something either.”  

And Grace appreciates the sentiment, really, but he also can’t help feeling a bit defensive when he hears that, too. Which wasn’t a favorable combo with Simon actually trying to help him here. “I’m not going to keel over.” He scoffs, wanting to make that clear. “What even makes you think that?” 

Simon furrows his brow, a mix between concern and irritation. Probably mostly the latter. “You look terrible.” 

“Thank you, I’m starting to feel it!” Grace snaps back automatically, immediately deflating a few seconds later when he gets a good look at the hardened disapproval on the other’s face. He’s setting back a lot of their progress and he knows it. Goddamnit Grace. “I didn’t-“ 

“You know what? Be that way.” Simon steps back and throws his hand up in exaggeration. “I don’t care.” 

Oh, no, Grace has done it now. He resists the urge to groan, his voice a little pleading now, “Be what way? I’m just-“ He swivels his chair in the other’s direction, “Look, I’m sorry for raising my voice at you, okay? It-it wasn’t cool. At all. I didn’t mean to.” 

Simon looks at him long and hard. “…No you aren’t.” 

Grace frowns. Yeah, he’s not really sorry. He’s a bit annoyed, honestly, at Simon barging in here to drag him out his lab, all while telling him he looks awful. But he is sorry for upsetting him; he doesn’t want to do that. “…I am a little?” 

A heavy sigh. Grace feels even more bad and decides to stand up, which wow, that was definitely the first time in a few hours he’s properly done that; he has to mask his initial disorientation. “I’m kidding, kidding. I don’t wanna upset you. I really don’t. Simon.” 

He steps forward and immediately regets it, because he’s hit with a dizzy spell that reminds him just how long he’s gone without sleep, food—crap, even water—and he has to grip the edge of the table for support at the headache he gets from the disorientation. Which definitely didn’t support his case.

Simon sees this and steps forward, glances between him and the table, and then raises his hand hesitantly like he wants to help but isn’t sure if it’s wanted or if he’ll be reprimanded further. Part of him is still so distrustful of Grace, even now. He can’t help it. But it hurts a bit. 

Grace still smiles at the effort, though it’s slightly bitter at his own weakness. “It’s fine. All good.” He gives a thumbs up with his other hand and straightens himself, to which Simon still kind of hovers like he might collapse any second. “Just got up too quickly. I swear. Don’t look at me like that.” 

“What if…” Simon sets his jaw, thinking about it for a second. “…What if after you change the bandages, I let you…” He goes silent, as if hoping Grace will just magically know what he means, and when he doesn’t, he seems to feel the mix of embarrassment and irritation even more. “You know. The thing you wanted to… My face. This.” He points coldly to maw that’s an extension of his mouth, and Grace’s sleep-deprived brain finally draws the connection. “You can… touch it or some shit, I dunno. For science. Just don’t be weird.” 

“Wait, seriously?” Grace asks, genuinely caught off guard by the proposal. He lowers his voice, his gaze turning serious. “Are you sure?” 

Simon shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. You need a break.” He states these things so simply. It must be nice to not overthink every little thing all the time. 

“That’s…” So, the clever bastard takes advantage of what he knows he can exploit to force Grace into not working himself into an early grave. Cheap trick. So why is Grace smiling? “…Okay, fine. You win.”

So, they head back to Simon’s room (once dubbed the infirmary) because he’s made himself cozy and he’s used to sleeping there. The basil plant by the bedside is still thriving, and it’s even grown taller; it’ll probably start flowering soon, and Grace is really excited for that because Simon doesn’t know that will happen yet. 

Along the way there’s a few stumbley moments that have Simon putting his hand on Grace’s back just to make sure he doesn’t eat space dust. And god, it’s embarrassing, but the touch—even something as trivial and stupid as that—is just so nice to have. He must be past touch-starved at this point. Touch-famined. Touch-dying. 

Simon’s just so strong in a way Grace wishes he could be. Simon isn’t a coward. Simon doesn’t run away or throw a fit when things don’t go his way. Simon’s damn smart, too. He could probably pick up everything Grace could teach him about the world and the universe and molecular biology and be a better savior of the stars than Grace would ever be. And that sucks. But it’s true. 

Grace swaps out some bandages and runs Simon’s most recent diagnostics through Armando just to be sure there isn’t any testing that needs to happen super soon. No pressing concerns. 

“I’m sorry again.” Grace feels he should reiterate as he finishes jotting down a few notes. He does feel better, being here with Simon and doing something easier. Something less stressful. “I just… I can’t mess up these samples. We’re so ridiculously close and I just can’t get this last step down.” 

He feels brown eyes flick to his face through his peripheral and does not look up from his paper to meet them. “…Even better reason to not be in a state that worsens your chances, right?” Simon murmurs. His tone isn’t particularly heavy, but his gaze feels grave. 

“Yeah.” Grace nods once, and then again with the click of his pen. “Yeah, you’re right.” He puts his notebook and pen off to the side, putting his hands on his knees and exhaling. “Man, I do feel pretty tired. I thought two crappy cups of coffee would deter that.” He yawns, “Nope.” 

Despite his tiredness, he won’t be sleeping anytime soon, so he focuses on what’s in front of him. Really, it’s like an extension of Simon’s mouth, if a human maw tore into the upper half of your cheek like that. Has Grace mentioned how menacing the teeth are? He holds up a hand and pinches his thumb and pointer finger together, then plays around with the distance between them to try and measure one. 

“…What are you doing?” Simon asks lowly, wariness in his voice. 

“Measuring.” Grace hums noncomitally, writing a rough estimate—one and a half inches, wow—and then pauses when he gets what seems to be quite the judgmental look. Grace offers an innocent look in response, his confidence faltering when Simon looks away again. 

“I really don’t get your fascination.” 

“I mean…” Grace sighs, absentmindedly jotting a few details in his notes; not very efficiently at all. “…It’s the novelty of it, I guess? Not like-“ 

“Not like you see it everyday, I get that. You’ve told me.” Simon interrupts him, a hint of exasperation leaking through. “I know it’s… new and interesting, scientifically, I just- I don’t know how you even stand to look at it.” 

Grace is surprised at just how bitter he sounds. But really, he should’ve realized sooner. He’d thought Simon just really didn’t trust him, and that might be part of it, but maybe the bigger reason he’d always been aloof about his mutation was because to him it wasn’t a really cool science anomaly. It was part of his face. A part he detested. And it was the center of Grace’s attention right now. 

…Man, if he doesn’t feel like a jerk now. “I know you think it’s… rough looking.” He starts, immediately wincing at the uninspiring word choice. 

Simon glares at him, now. “Rough-looking?” He repeats, condescendingly, disbelief in his voice. “I look like a fucking monster, Ryland, I have fangs coming out of my face.” 

“I know.” Grace says a bit helplessly, starting to feel desperate. 

“Do you?” Shoots back Simon, matching his desperation. “Because it really feels like you’re not looking at the same thing I have to. I don’t think you are.”

Grace wants to apologize. He wants to justify himself.

“You wanna know what I see?” Simon continues, his eyes darkening with every second that passes, “I see the result of almost dying from that contaminated blood. I see what I thought would be my final fucking moments down there. You don’t see any of that. How could you?” 

Grace is shaking his head. “Simon, please-“ 

“You don’t care about me, do you?” Simon asks quietly, as though realizing some morbid fact. “You only ever wanted a fucking science experiment.” 

“Can you let me talk?” Grace exclaims, feeling overwhelmed. “Please? Because you’re taking a misunderstanding and blowing it way out of proportion, and I really don’t want the proportions everywhere.” 

Simon scowls at him. But Grace won’t let it deter him. “You’re right, I wasn’t there. I wasn’t. I don’t know what horrible, awful things happened to you in that submarine.” He swallows, forcing his voice to stay even. “But I saw you coated in that blood. I saw you dying.” 

So much blood. It couldn’t all be Simon’s. So much pain and suffering in just one tiny, sealed vessel floating in the void. 

“And it doesn’t change what I see.” 

A pause, and Simon still isn’t looking at him. It doesn’t matter, because Grace is looking, and he’s letting every stroke of human suffering bleed until it dries in his mind. “…I see someone who’s survived it all.” Stay even. “Who woke up begging to live. Who despite the blood, and the isolation and the giant space eel, apparently-“ Still wrapping his head around that one, “-Survived. I mean, god, I woke up in a perfect space ship and was an absolute wreck. I couldn’t have… I wouldn’t have been able to do what you did.” 

Simon finally looks at him then, and Grace nods, letting the hurt of his own words wash over him and sink into his skin in acceptance. “I wouldn’t have. You’re so strong, Simon.” And I admire you for it. I adore it. “And that strength is what I see. More than anything.” 

“I’m not…” Simon starts, at a bit of a loss for words, and then clenches his jaw. “…You don’t understand. You don’t know what I’ve done. You don’t know the sins I’ve committed.” 

“Well then it’s a good thing I don’t believe in God or sins or any of that.” Grace replies with a hint of defiance. He’s standing his ground here. 

Something changes in Simon’s eyes as he studies Grace, the bitterness and defensiveness slowly, carefully beginning to fade. A beat of silence passes between them, heavy. And then, “Plus, we’re the only humans around for… at least ten light years, so. We kinda have to stick together.” Grace tries for a smile, but he’s too sad about Simon for it to reach his eyes. He’s cried enough for one lifetime, he knows, but now he wants to cry for both of their lifetimes. His voice cracks, “I mean, c’mon, man. You think some extra teeth would be enough to deter me..?” 

Simon shakes his head, his expression starting to crumble like Grace’s words are physically paining him. “Stop.” 

“No.” Grace gives him a glare of his own, though it’s not nearly as intimidating as it is just… upset. “I don’t care if you tell me I shouldn’t care about you, or that you don’t deserve it, or anything like that.” The truth is, Grace doesn’t deserve it either; no matter what Simon’s done, at least he wasn’t willing to let the world die to save his own skin. So Grace thinks that balances it out. 

Simon’s eyes are glossy now. “You’re ridiculous. You can’t just…” And there’s so much guilt and shame in there that Grace thinks he’s looking in a mirror when they stare at each other. But Grace has stated his declaration of selfishness, of cowardice, and he’s sticking by it. 

“I’m sorry.” Simon says next, swallowing, fighting for his own face not to break. “I’m sorry for getting angry. I’m sorry for yelling at you. God, I’m sorry.” 

Now Grace is definitely going to break. “I-It’s fine, man, it’s not your fault.” 

“Stop forgiving me so easily.” Simon rasps, covering his eyes with one hand as he slumps over in defeat. 

And Grace lets out a watery laugh, but his shoulders shake a little too long. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize either. Fuck.” 

Two men rubbing at their eyes, feeling the absurdity of it all beating in heartbeats they haven’t realized are already synchronous. And it would take a good, long while to realize.

But Grace could start from here. 

“You mean a lot to me, Simon.” He says after he gathers himself a little better, his heart swelling in his chest with warmth he can’t yet express. It heats his face and the tips of his ears, makes his fingers tingly. “I didn’t… I never want you to think you don’t. So I’m sorry too.” 

When Simon meets his eyes, Grace is actually able to smile this time, and then he chuckles again at the weight of pain and warmth beneath his ribs. It’s absurd, and there’s nowhere to put it. 

He’ll have to hold it, especially the part that’s made room for Simon and all of his pain and warmth too, and curl up into a ball alone, whispering promises that it’ll be alright until he can learn to stand it. 

Simon presses his lips together, warmth blooming in his face—pretty pink dusting his cheeks—and can’t seem to help how he shares the smile. It’s a small, painfully innocent thing to Grace, and he wants to treasure it forever, he thinks. “…Okay. I’ll forgive you, then.” 

Grace decides to act on impulse and hugs him then; Simon tenses up, not at all expecting it, but then after a moment Grace hears him sigh and slowly relax the tension in his shoulders. Grace wants to bawl his eyes out at the contact, but manages not to. At least for now. 

Simon’s a bit of an awkward hugger, but he could not care less. “…Thanks.” Grace gets out when he pulls away, rubbing a bit more furiously at his eyes. 

Simon just nods, still blushing quite a bit. “No problem. You can…” he closes his mouth, just staring at Grace for a second. “…Continue what you were doing, if you want to.” 

Grace considers it. Then he smiles. 

“…Nah. I’ll do it later.”