Chapter Text
“Grace.”
“Graaaace.”
Rocky rolled back and forth in his ball aboard the Hail Mary. It had been 142 days since they’d met, and at the moment Grace was supposed to wake, Rocky was unusually persistent.
“Grace wake now. Statement. Too long sleep.”
Light stabbed into Grace’s eyes as they fluttered open. He groaned, dragging in a shallow breath. Something was wrong. His body felt… heavy. Wrong.
He tried to lift an arm to shield his face.
It barely moved.
A flicker of panic crept in.
“Hnmmm…”
He shifted, slower than he should have been, every muscle stiff and aching. The light through the viewport felt harsher than usual, almost unbearable.
Rocky tapped the floor.
“Grace act stupid.”
Rocky angled his ball, nudging against Grace’s side, trying to push him upright.
“Why sleep long? Question?”
Grace swallowed and forced his head up. Through blurry vision, he saw Rocky tilt his carapace.
“Awake! Awake! Awake!”
“Yeah, bud…” Grace croaked, stretching weakly. “I’m awake.”
“Grace different. Statement.”
Grace rubbed his eyes, breathing hard. He was still on the ground. His limbs trembled with the effort of just… existing.
He knew what this felt like. But that wasn’t possible.
“I think…” he swallowed again, throat dry, “I might be sick.”
“New word.”
“It means our bodies are fighting a virus. Everyone gets sick sometimes. Sometimes it’s minor, sometimes- ”
A wave of nausea hit him. He doubled over, dry-heaving, his whole body shaking. “Sometimes it’s… bad.”
“GRACE DIE? Question?!” Rocky struck the floor rapidly with his legs.
“No- no!” Grace forced a weak laugh. “I won’t die, Rock…”
Rocky rolled closer, pressing gently against him. “Grace weak. Evidence: sickness.”
“I’m fine,” Grace muttered, sniffling. “Probably just a cold- ”
“But you are not cold. You are very, very warm. One hundred two degrees.”
Grace closed his eyes. Yeah.
That was not good.
“Oh… wow. You can read my temperature?” he murmured. “Also… yeah. ‘Cold’ is a dumb name.”
“Yes. Grace rest now.”
“But… I just got up… the Taumoeba needs testing again…”
“Can wait,” Rocky said firmly. “Grace cannot die.”
”I‘m- rock…listen”
”sit. now.”
———-
A few hours went by. The air was so cold on Grace’s skin, but it didn’t matter. He ran calculations every once in a while, if rocky was busy. It seemed rather impossible for a illness from earth to infect him.. so how could this happen? After all, he had been in space for about 17 years, and he definitely wasn’t sick when he woke up from his coma.
Of course he thought this could be a very delayed motion sickness, but motion sickness doesn’t make you cough up blood. There had to be something on the ship that was causing him this much pain.
“It’s.. it’s the taomeba” Grace whispered to himself.
The only living organism to enter the Hail Mary. The one thing that would save humanity, and Erid.
and it was killing him.
“No…”
He couldn’t tell rocky, he just couldn’t. All the possibilities. Rocky would try and alter the samples to make them safe for grace. which would kill them. Or perhaps he couldn’t tell rocky because it was just one more thing to get in the way of the mission.
Grace knew he was going to die in space anyway. Maybe this was just the alternative from the starving death. Quicker, definitely. He would just send the samples back to Earth, and die shortly after.
But he can’t die before he determines if the taomeba is even the solution at all. He needed to test and calculate all of the variables. Right now it’s so hard…
He let out a deep breath.
——
The Hail Mary was quiet in a way that only deep space allowed, no hum of distant cities, no wind, no life beyond the thin shell of engineered metal keeping two very different beings alive. The constant, low vibration of the ship’s systems had become background noise long ago, a kind of mechanical heartbeat that Grace barely noticed anymore. But now, lying on the floor with sweat cooling against his skin, it felt louder. Closer. Like the ship itself was watching him struggle.
The overhead lights were still set to “day,” harsh and white, reflecting off smooth panels and the narrow viewport that showed nothing but the endless black. No stars visible from this angle, just absence. It made the room feel smaller than it was.
Rocky stayed close, his spherical body making small, restless adjustments as he rolled in short arcs around Grace’s head and shoulders. Every few seconds, a tap, light, then sharper, then light again, like he was running calculations he didn’t like the results of.
“Grace,” he said again, more insistent. “Explain your full condition. Do not simplify. I need accuracy.”
Grace exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling. “Full condition…” he repeated. “Okay. Uh… head feels like it’s full of pressure. Like it’s gonna pop. My joints ache, like I ran a marathon, except I didn’t. My throat’s wrecked. And I’m… really, really tired.”
Rocky tapped twice, faster. “Tired same as before long sleep? Or different- worse?”
“No,” Grace said immediately. “Different. That was like… normal tired. This is…” He trailed off, searching for the words. “This is like my body’s shutting down non-essential stuff to fight something.”
Rocky went still for a beat.
“Define non-essential,” he said, quieter, but more focused.
Grace gave a weak huff. “Apparently everything that makes me feel like a functioning human.”
Rocky didn’t respond right away.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The ship continued its steady, indifferent operation. Somewhere deeper in the structure, a system cycled. Grace could hear the faint shift in pitch, something he’d learned to recognize over the past months. Under normal circumstances, he might have commented on it, made a note, done a check.
That had been their routine.
Wake up. Run diagnostics. Compare data. Eat. Argue about science. Teach Rocky human idioms. Let Rocky correct his math. Repeat.
Days had blurred together, but not in a bad way. Structured. Purposeful. Safe, in its own strange, isolated sense.
Now the structure felt fragile.
“Grace, you did not perform morning tasks,” Rocky said. “This is not normal. This is… wrong.”
“Yeah,” Grace murmured. “Picked up on that, huh?”
“Morning tasks include Taumoeba observation, system verification, and nutrient intake at scheduled time,” Rocky continued, more quickly now. “Grace has not completed any. This increases mission risk.”
“Gold star again,” Grace said weakly.
Rocky rolled in a tight circle, then stopped hard.
“Explain the risk of incomplete tasks,” he said. “I want full assessment.”
Grace closed his eyes. “High,” he admitted. “If we don’t monitor the Taumoeba, we don’t know if it’s adapting. If systems go unchecked, something could fail without us noticing. If I don’t eat…” He swallowed. “I get weaker.”
“Grace is already weaker,” Rocky said, more quietly. “I can measure this. It is… significant.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Another silence stretched, heavier this time.
Rocky broke it.
“On Erid, when an individual is impaired, others assist,” he said. “Many individuals. The load is shared. No one is left… nonfunctional.”
Grace opened his eyes slightly. “Yeah… we do that too. Usually.”
“But here,” Rocky continued, a strain creeping in, “there are only two individuals. One is impaired. Load distribution is not just inefficient, is dangerous.”
Grace let out a quiet laugh that turned into a cough. “That’s one way to put it.”
Rocky shifted closer again, almost pressing against him now.
“I will assist,” he said. Then, more firmly: “I will assist more than before. I must. I need correct data to do this.”
Grace turned his head slightly to look at him. “What kind of data?”
“Progression,” Rocky said immediately. “Is the condition worsening, stabilizing, or improving? You must answer precisely.”
Grace hesitated.
“…Worsening,” he admitted.
Rocky struck the floor sharply.
“Worsening confirmed,” he said quickly. “Then time to critical failure must be estimated. I do not like unknown variables.”
Grace winced. “You always go straight to worst-case scenario, huh?”
“Worst-case scenario is death,” Rocky said bluntly. Then, lower: “I am attempting to prevent that.”
“Comforting,” Grace muttered.
He shifted slightly, grimacing as the movement sent another wave of aches through his body. His gaze drifted again toward the panel where the pills had scattered.
Rocky noticed immediately.
“Grace, your attention is diverted,” he said quickly. “To the medication. I see this.”
“…Yeah.”
“Reassess your decision,” Rocky said, more urgent now. “Use correct dosage only. Do not guess. Do not compensate emotionally.”
Grace didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at the ceiling again, watching the light reflect faintly off a seam in the paneling. He remembered installing that section. Remembered arguing with Rocky about material tolerances and thermal expansion. It had felt like such a big deal at the time.
Now it seemed… small.
“I just don’t want to feel like this,” he said quietly.
Rocky was still for a moment.
“Clarify ‘this,’” he said, softer now. “I need to understand what you are trying to escape.”
Grace swallowed. “Weak. Useless. Like I’m a liability instead of… you know. The guy who’s supposed to save Earth.”
The words hung in the air.
Rocky moved closer, deliberately placing himself in Grace’s line of sight.
“Incorrect,” he said immediately. Then, stronger: “That conclusion is incorrect, and I reject it.”
Grace blinked. “What?”
“Grace is not useless,” Rocky said. “Evidence: all prior days. You solve problems. You teach. You adapt. You survive.” A brief pause. “Current impairment does not erase that. It does not reduce you to zero.”
Grace let out a breath, something tight in his chest loosening just a little.
“Wow,” he murmured. “That was almost… inspirational.”
“Not my intent,” Rocky said. Then, more quietly: “But I am… concerned with your accuracy.”
Grace smiled faintly.
Then another wave of heat rolled through him, and the smile faded into a grimace.
His breath hitched.
It wasn’t just pain anymore, it was pressure. Crushing, everywhere at once. His skin felt too tight, his bones too heavy, his thoughts too slow to keep up with the way his body was spiraling.
Rocky’s tapping started again, faster now… erratic.
“Temperature is still elevated,” he said. “Condition has not improved. This is unacceptable. Action is required now.”
Grace didn’t answer.
His eyes had already drifted, locked onto the pills scattered across the floor.
“Grace,” Rocky said sharply. “Do not ignore instruction. We calculate correct dosage- ”
“I know the dosage,” Grace muttered.
“You stated earlier you would exceed recommended, this is not logical- ”
“I know what I’m doing!” Grace snapped, louder than he meant to.
The effort alone made his head spin.
Rocky froze for half a second, but that was all the time Grace needed.
With a sudden, clumsy motion, he reached past him, fingers scraping across the metal floor until they closed around the pills. Before Rocky could reposition, Grace shoved them into his mouth.
“Grace- !”
Dry swallow. No water. It hurt going down.
Rocky rammed into his arm, too late.
“Grace, that was incorrect action!” he said, his taps sharp and rapid now. “You did not measure! You did not verify!”
Grace leaned back against the wall, breathing hard, eyes squeezed shut.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s kinda the point.”
“Explain!” Rocky demanded. “This reduces reliability! This increases risk of organ failure!”
Grace let out a weak, humorless laugh. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Then why do it?!”
Grace opened his eyes slowly, staring past Rocky, past the walls, like he could see something farther away.
“Because I can’t do this,” he said. The words came out quieter now. Heavier.
“I can’t think. I can’t move. I can’t… be useful.” He swallowed hard. “And if I’m not useful, then what am I even doing here?”
Rocky didn’t interrupt. For once.
Grace’s gaze drifted toward the viewport again, the endless black pressing in from all sides.
“No one’s coming,” he said. “No backup. No rescue. No ‘hey, you look like crap, let me take over for a bit.’ It’s just…” He gestured weakly around them. “This.”
The ship. The mission. The silence.
“And you,” he added, glancing at Rocky. “Which - don’t get me wrong- is great. Love the company. Ten out of ten alien roommate.”
Rocky stayed very still.
“But you’re not human,” Grace said. “You don’t… get it.”
”Rocky understand grace is hurting… I detected sarcasm in statement. Did rocky… do something to hurt grace?”
His voice cracked slightly.
“oh god.. oh no no no I’m sorry. I-“ he swallowed
“No- I- rock you’re everything. This… you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m hurting you.”
A few seconds of silence pass
“I’m supposed to save Earth,” he whispered. “And I can’t even handle a fever without falling apart.”
The pills sat heavy in his stomach. Already, he could feel something shifting, edges softening, the sharpest points of pain dulling just a fraction.
Not enough. Not yet.
“I just needed it to stop,” he said. “Just for a little while.” Silence filled the space again.
Rocky finally spoke, slower now.
“Grace… you chose temporary relief over optimal function,” he said. “I do not agree with this decision.”
“Yeah,” Grace murmured. “Join the club.”
He punched himself for his attitude towards rocky.
——
Time blurred.
The steady hum of the ship stretched and warped, rising and falling in a way that didn’t quite match reality anymore. The lights seemed too bright, then too dim, then somehow both at once.
Grace was aware of his body again, but only in fragments. His hands didn’t feel like his hands. His limbs floated somewhere a few seconds behind his thoughts.
The pain was… distant now.
Not gone.
Just… irrelevant.
He let out a quiet laugh, staring at nothing. “Okay,” he slurred slightly. “That’s… better.”
Rocky was directly in front of him. Too close.
“Grace,” he said. “Your speech patterns are altered. Coordination degraded. This is consistent with overdose effects.”
“Not overdose,” Grace said, waving a hand loosely. “Just… advanced coping strategy.”
“Incorrect,” Rocky snapped. “You are impaired beyond acceptable parameters.”
Grace grinned faintly. “Wow. You sound mad.”
“am mad,” Rocky said, clear, direct, and unmistakably emotional despite the structure. His tapping hit the floor harder now. “You made a decision that increases probability of your death. That is unacceptable.”
Grace blinked at him, slow.
“Huh,” he said. “You don’t usually say stuff like that.”
“saying it now.”
Grace leaned his head back against the wall, smiling in a way that didn’t quite match the situation.
“Relax, Rock,” he murmured. “I’m fine. See? Talking. Thinking. Probably even smarter now.”
“Your cognitive function is degraded,” Rocky said immediately. “You are not ‘smarter.’ You are less accurate, less stable, and more at risk. Stupid.”
Grace frowned slightly, like that took effort to process.
“…You’re being kind of a buzzkill.”
“Rocky must keep you alive!”
The words echoed.
For a moment, the room felt very, very small. Grace’s expression shifted, something defensive creeping in.
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” he said.
Rocky went completely still.
“You did not need to ask,” he said, quieter now. “It is required.”
“Required for what?” Grace shot back, a sudden edge in his voice. “The mission? The numbers? Your ‘load distribution efficiency’?”
“For you,” Rocky said, sharper again. “For Grace.”
Grace laughed, but there was something off about it now. Hollow.
“Yeah, well,” he said, turning his head away, “maybe Grace doesn’t want to feel everything all the time.”
Rocky didn’t move.
“Pain is information,” he said, more controlled now. “You are choosing to ignore critical information.”
“And you,” Grace muttered, eyes half-lidded, “are choosing to be really annoying about it.”
The words hung there. Rocky’s legs shifted slightly against the floor, uncertain, restrained.
“Grace…” he said, slower now. “You are not thinking.”
Grace didn’t respond.
He just stared out toward the viewport again, the blackness now strangely distant, almost unreal.
”It hurts…”