Chapter Text
Things had gone so wrong, wrong, wrong.
Rocky knew that it was a complicated plan—go "fishing" over Tau Ceti E(Or Adrian, as he and Grace so affectionately referred to it), and hope that there was a chance that things wouldn't go wrong.
Maybe it was the hope that, finally, after so alone in space before Grace came along—that the universe would have mercy on Rocky and let this go smoothly.
The universe did not have mercy.
The pressure was too much—the gravity was too much. Rocky knew the moment that they were floating that all of this had gone so blastedly sideways—
No, correction.
This had gone wrong since Grace, the only one of them that was able to walk out on the hull of The Hail Mary had been knocked over by the thing that nearly took his life in space—
And Rocky would have no way to get to him.
It drove Rocky "up a wall", as Grace would say, that there was nothing that he could do to fix. Should be fixing, too. If Rocky couldn't fix this, after he couldn't fix anything that happened to the crew on the Blip-A…
Rocky would very likely hurl himself out of the Hail Mary, he thinks. It wasn't a new thought to him in the least; it was an especially common occurrence when he was alone with nothing but his own thoughts—
And stepping over his crewmate's bodies, still and inert, legs splayed as if they were simply asleep, but Rocky knew better. They would never awake again.
And neither would Grace—Grace. There's a sickening crunch that echoes throughout the Hail Mary, as Grace is thrown forward after ejecting one of the fuel bays, slamming against the screens in front of him, chair following suit.
Now, Rocky liked the noises that Grace made. It meant that Grace was Grace, that everything was right and nothing needed to be fixed. Even if that was… his… ugh, even thinking about it made his carapace crawl.
But when Grace made no noise? That was even worse.
"Grace?" Rocky calls, as he strains to hear his friend, his Grace—and all he gets in return is a crackling, straining wheeze—his lungs are failing to inflate completely.
No no no no… Rocky can see all of it. The sacs of air that would whoosh and keep him breathing, keep him alive, weren't working, and worst of all, there was nothing that he could do to fix.
Rocky fix. Rocky couldn't fix.
"Grace!" The harmonious yell had risen into a shrieking whistle, bouncing off the walls of the Hail Mary. "Grace! Grace!" Was he acting like a pebble? Maybe.
But that didn't matter now. It was this forsaken fucking mess again.
Just once, Rocky wanted to hear whatever it was that Grace wanted to say. Anything. Even if it made no sense to Rocky. He wanted to know he wasn't too… late? Why is there more cracking, question?
Alarms shrieked around them, as the Hail Mary warbles that the fuel was failing, the ship was failing—and if Rocky did not do something now, he'd die, and worse, Grace would die.
Again and again until Rocky could hear his last breath fade out into nothing.
No. No, no.
But there was a way, wasn't there?
Rocky could get through the Xenonite Ball, punch a hole through the barrier and get that fucking chair off of Grace—but he'd be lit on fire. An Eridian could not survive in Grace's oxygenated atmosphere.
Before Rocky could consider the idea, the ship's thrown for another spin, as Rocky shrieks out concern for Grace, still pinned. I need to get to him, now, statement!
Radiation has gotten into the ship. Please remain calm.
"Oh, not now!" Rocky yells in full Eridian, though something in his voice made everything feel… cold, seeping into his carapace.
Why did it suddenly lose a layer of harmony?
Warning! Eject Fuel Bay! Eject Fuel Bay!
But the screams of the alarms were drowned out when Rocky tries to stretch across and break a hole in the Xenonite Bubble—the sound of cracking erupting from his carapace.
"Not now! No, no no!" Rocky yelps, but it seems it is for naught. There's a horrific feeling of stretching in his gut, as loud cracks snapped from his legs, and—he couldn't fit inside the ball. Could he?
Pieces of his carapace flake off, and Rocky watches in horror as they snap like they're moving when he's not controlling them, feat forming instead of his claws—and something so unsturdy that it made Rocky shudder.
Bownes, Grace had called them. Why was he forming bownes?
Worst of all, there's a feeling of… well. His senses drawing into him—and Grace disappears from what Rocky can sense.
"Grace! Grace, not die, not die, no, no, no!" Rocky's shriek is hysterical, but the damn cracking won't stop, as if his carapace is being removed piece by piece. He's bigger than the ball now, as the Xenonite shifts to hold his enlarged form.
Whatever doesn't flake or piece of dissolves, and Rocky has to stop himself from letting out a whine of pain when the bownes in him form little hinges and something unstable, which wobble precariously inside the Xenonite Ball. It was like molting, but worse!
Was Rocky going to need to find an even bigger ball? And ugh, the feeling of other things forming inside Rocky was enough to make him want to rip everything back out—or find a way to piece his carapace back together. But—
Where was Grace?
It doesn't matter now; where's Grace? Grace die if I don't get chair off of him—oh.
I… I can see him again? But Rocky could see him. See all of Grace, and not a hazy outline that he'd come to know too well. He's in his suit, his fase squished against the screens—
And the blood. All of that blood that Grace had described to him, red and awful, leaking out of his nose, his head—and Grace would die.
No. No, fuck what happens to me, I'm not letting Grace die! If whatever's happening to me can help, then do it!
Rocky never would have considered being hooman to be of a benefit, but he'd always been told that his Eridian logic went out the window when his loved ones were involved.
Adrian, his egg-layers, Grace. If Rocky had to become hooman to save Grace?
So be it!
The cracks erupt louder, as a… haand was freed from the carapace, then a second, a third—and Rocky fully erupts from what was left of his carapace, driving a fist through the Xenonite as he climbs through to the other side.
I'm only glad I kept the aarm strength!
It's so cold, but Rocky's newfound skeen doesn't blister or burn, and it should scare Rocky. It really should, but a hand snakes to the switch, flicking it down.
The fuel bay rockets off, as Rocky throws the chair aside, biting back a snarl as it clatters against the side of the ship. It would have killed his Grace, and feeling all of this squishy, leaky blobbiness now?
Oh, Rocky was never going to let him go like this again.
Despite Rocky's legs being shaky from getting used to the bone structure, his arms are still functional—phenomenally so. All five of them deftly pry Grace from the screens, and Rocky bites back the emotion that floods him when he scoops Grace into all of his arms, flush against his chest.
It's been forty-six years since Rocky had touched anyone—and now here he was, skin to skin with Grace, curled protectively in all of his arms.
I can't dwell on it now; where is… Armando, yes! Rocky adjusts his grip on Grace before hurrying down the tunnel to the medical bay, murmuring in Grace's ear as they run—and Rocky's own skin seems to radiate heat.
"I've got you, Grace, I've got you, just come back to me, starshine. Please." Rocky swipes his haairr out of his eyes—grey, apparently, trying to bite back the leak that threatened to flow.
The sound of Grace's skin sizzling is lost on him now, as Rocky's hearing is considerably less—but the touch makes more heat ignite under his skin, a dribble of mercury coming out of his nose.
But there's light, there's hope—Armando's in the distance, and with still-shaking legs, Rocky climbs onto the bed with Grace, using his third and fourth hands to make up for the undignified flailing he has to do to make sure they're both on the bed.
Rocky, you have been turned into a human? Mary's voice filters through, sounding almost confused, as he nods, helping guide Armando's mask onto Grace's face.
"I am, but I'll figure this out later, Grace first." Rocky insists, and to his surprise, he sounds a lot lighter than he did as an Eridian—though with a bit of an edge. It was no wonder that he was edgy; Grace was—
Still dying, still hurt.
"How much time will it take to heal him, question?" Rocky asks, as Armando warbles.
"Lungs have experienced damage. Doctor Grace has a severe concussion, and he will need extensive treatment. You will need to stand aside—" Armando's cut off with a very Eridian-like rumble of warning from Rocky, whose hands tighten around Grace, though not enough to hurt him.
"I suppose you can help." Armando relents. "I am not leaving Grace, statement. He needs someone to watch him sleep." Rocky explains, but—how to actually explain what he felt at the moment was… hard without Eridian words.
Like my heart will burst if I am not with him.
"I am not saying you have to. Though I will need you to hold him during treatment, just go on your knees." Armando instructs, as Rocky goes to his knees, wincing as the hinges wobble with Grace sprawled across his lap.
Grace does not move, instead scrunching his face in pain. Rocky immediately curses, before moving Grace's hair out of his eyes, running a hand across his forehead. He didn't feel hot, but he was still—out.
"Come back, starshine." Rocky murmurs, as Armando begins his treatment, poking and prodding at Grace the best he could—though wrong moves warranted even more warning growls from Rocky.
"You can't work on Grace without hurting him?" Rocky would snap, though it didn't seem to faze Armando. "I help fix; we do this right!"
Fixing. Because Rocky was here now, and Grace would be fixed.
"He is stable," Armando announces, as Rocky, still holding onto Grace, looks up in relief. The procedure took a while, way too long for Rocky's tastes, but it was at least done.
Grace's wounds have been healed; his lungs were whooshing on their own… but he still wasn't awake. Not yet, at least.
"But he might not wake for a while yet." Armando cautions, as Rocky nods, one of his hands curled around Grace's forehead to check for any temperature differences. The others are holding him across Rocky's lap, one raking through his hair for comfort, the fifth assisting Armando how he could.
We're even more soft than before. Rocky muses—and wasn't that a vulnerable thing? Here he was, with one hart in his chest, beating in time surely with Grace's, his life cradled in his hands.
Oh, how Rocky was going to cherish this. Armando had helped Rocky dress after stabilizing Grace, a dark green sweater stretched across his chest so that he wouldn't be naked in front of Grace, and he was given Yao's half of track pants after Armando had dug them out of his bags.
Never mind the fact that I was already naked prior!
"What will you do with Grace, Rocky?" Mary asks, as Rocky glances up at the ship walls—so many colors and lights, so many things to see.
It still did not wake Grace up. And Rocky could not sleep without knowing Grace would wake up.
But there was a way, wasn't there?
"I will take him with me." Rocky states, as Armando warbles in concern. "Rocky, you haven't slept in—" Rocky ignores the medical directive, sliding off of the bed as he somehow, swings Grace around gently enough to where he's nestled against Rocky's back—three of his arms holding Grace against him, while the other two remained free.
It looked like some approximation of a fireman's carry—if said person was half-buried against the other's neck, still unconscious, but breathing.
Finally.
Rocky considered it a small miracle that exhaustion hadn't seeped into his bownes yet. There was so much to do, so much to consider—and he was carrying his Grace around on his back with three arms, to boot.
Not that he minded at all.
He'd finished in Grace's restroom with bathing the unconscious schoolteacher—wiping the sweat that had formed on his faice from the mask, and taking the sweet smelling liquid to rub through Grace's hair to make sure it was clean, at least.
"There was blood in your hair." Rocky explains to Grace as he walks out of the restroom with Grace secure on his back again, ducking under the Xenonite tunnel he'd built. "I've learned that word at least, starshine—though you're going to have to teach me more when you're up."
Would Rocky ever be normal again? Here he was, with skin, hands, hair, legs, and all human things, but would he be able to return to… Rocky?
Another frisson of fear shudders through him—When I get back to Erid, will Adrian recognize me?
Would Rocky recognize Rocky?
At least Rocky wasn't bad to look at… at the moment. He had quite a lot of hair, smooth skin, and there was a sparkle in his eyyess that seemed intriguing.
I hope I do not scare Grace when he awakes… if he does. Rocky shakes his head to clear it of the traitorous thought, instead making his way over to where they'd secured the predator—and it was there.
"It needs to work, right?" Rocky asks Grace, as his gaze flicks to the microscope off to one side of the ship. "Life… Life is reason that Astrophage die, so we have to see it works, right?"
But then there was the matter of making sure it could work. And then making sure it lasted for the journey to Erid and Earth… it'd have to resist some things. Rocky may have been an engineer, but he at least knew that much.
"Grace Rocky big science." Rocky murmurs, as he reaches with his free hand to grab some of the gloves off of Grace's workstation.
If Grace was awake… he'd be able to help. If Rocky was faster, he'd be okay. But Rocky was not faster, and Grace was not awake.
"I do big science, but you're going to have to wake up, starshine." Rocky says instead, hating the warble in his voice. "I'll watch you sleep… but you… wake. Please." He gets out—
And for the first time, Rocky leaks. The leak is heavy, as it slides down his face stickily.
I finally understand why Grace leaks so much. This is… a lot to take!
But Rocky did not surrender to just leaking. He tried everything to help, he truly did. In between caring for Grace, feeding him—changing what he wore so the clothes wouldn't be dirty upon waking up—and the predator, of course.
Rocky had managed to keep the predator contained, but how to make it resistant was something different entirely.
"And now, I have to wait." Rocky's taken to sitting in front of Grace's cameraas, the thing that he'd heard Grace talking to—and Rocky supposed that this is something he should do for Grace in his stead, as well.
"If we breed the predator successfully, then it means it's all over, and…" Rocky cuts off, running a hand through his hair. "I will return to Erid, and Grace to Earth."
The words feel empty. Would Rocky be able to return to Erid like he was? Human and squishy and leaky?
…Would they throw him out?
"I do not want to think about this right now." Rocky adds, glancing over his shoulder to where Grace lay in the distance, having been put down for a rest cycle. "Armando says Grace has yet to wake, and I will not stop here."
Because that was his Grace. And if his Grace could pull Rocky out of forty-six years of solitude? Rocky could handle this.