Work Text:
When I hear the telltale thump of Rocky coming up behind me and absently turn to face him, there’s a split second where my heart just about explodes.
He’s not in his ball. He’s not in his ball and that means he’s dying in my atmosphere—
Except, he’s not. There’s no distressed trilling, no scorching black smoke, no panicked racing back to his side of the barrier. He’s standing there perfectly calm and happy, shuffling a little step closer.
That’s when I realize that just because he’s not in his ball doesn’t mean he isn’t protected. There’s still a barrier around him. Although it’s transparent like all the xenonite barriers, it catches the light and distorts it differently. Shimmers a little. It hugs pretty close to his body, much less obtrusive than his ball, but just as protective, it seems.
I take a second to catch my breath, settling with my hands on my knees. The jittery rush of panic slowly recedes. “Oh, you scared the crap out of me,” I say, glancing sidelong at Rocky.
“Apology,” Rocky says, sounding not all too much like he means it. “I told Grace before. Work on new atmosphere containment suit almost complete.”
I look him up and down then raise a brow. “Almost?”
He makes an excited noise, then does a little spin to show himself and his craftsmanship off. I can’t help but wonder if that’s something he’s picked up from me or my movies, or if that’s somehow an innate gesture across the vast stretches of space.
“Work is now complete!” He’s obviously very pleased with himself. And now that my nervous system has had a chance to reset and realize I’m not about to witness a traumatizing death, I can totally see why. At a glance, it’s impressive work. Way more efficient and streamlined than his ball. I crouch down to get a closer look.
This new suit is made of far more malleable stuff than every other barrier on the ship, and it contours a lot better too. Curiously, I reach out and poke at it. The bulk of the material is almost like a stiff gel, giving under pressure. But woven through it is a more rigid honeycomb frame for structure and support.
The whole thing sits just a few inches off Rocky’s body. That leaves an insulating pocket of his atmosphere inside so he’ll be safe and comfortable.
Really, Rocky’s skills never cease to impress me. And the scientist in me always wants to know how it’s done.
“Is this xenonite like everything else? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it so soft before.”
Rocky straightens up a little, looking proud even while I poke and prod at him, testing that material. “Is compound. Need more give than pure xenonite has.” he explains.
A xenonite compound, huh? That’s a fascinating thought. I’m about to ask him… well, a lot of things. What else goes into the material, how he makes it, if he scavenged anything important off the Hail Mary in the process—it wouldn’t be the first time—if the flexibility comprises durability, and on and on. But the words stop up in my throat when I spread a hand flat against the suit’s surface and Rocky stretches up to meet it.
He’s warm. Really warm. And not only that, but I can actually feel the texture of his carapace, albeit muted some by the barrier.
It still makes my breath hitch, aching in the soft parts of my heart. Because I can actually, genuinely feel him—all of him. His smoothed plates and rough ridges. The cracks that expose his vents. The neat lines of his family crest and mission patch.
It’s like touching the stars after looking up at them my whole life. The same kind of magic.
“Grace approve, question?” Rocky asks. There’s a little wobbling lilt to his voice, like the notes can’t decide whether they want to come out confident and proud or a bit unsure. Rocky always stands stalwart behind his work—and with good reason—until it involves my wellbeing. Then it’s like he always wants to double check, even when he knows he’s done a perfect job.
The care in that makes my chest hurt, but in the best way. It’s a special thing, to be treasured like that. I always hope he knows I feel the same way. I guess turning my ship around for him probably communicates a lot more than words ever could.
In lieu of an answer, I sit down and sprawl my legs out on the floor, arms stretched wide. My hand still thrums with the echo of touching him.“Hug?” I ask, not trusting myself to say anything more. My feelings are brimming over, and pretty soon, they’ll spill.
“Hug,” Rocky confirms.
He comes in close, careful not to step on my legs, then leans in against my chest. I throw my arms around him as soon as I can reach. Resting my cheek against the top of the suit lets me feel his heat. Some deep, instinctual thing curled tight in my chest settles in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time. It’s so different from bundling in cardigans and quilts. This warmth is alive. It’s not just my own body heat reflected back in a lonely mirror. The ache in my skin has quieted since Rocky started making an effort to accommodate the needs I didn’t realize I’d been squashing down for years. But it never really, truly left.
It still doesn’t, exactly. Yet, I’ve never felt it so soothed before.
Then Rocky carefully wraps his arms around my back and I melt. He’s solid and steady enough to take my weight when I slump against him. He doesn’t even rock with it. Just adjusts his hold a little so I don’t slip.
There might be a few tears that bead on my lashes, but I don’t pay them any mind. My focus is fixed on Rocky as he starts up a relaxing hum. There are no words to the song, or at least not that the translator or I recognize, but it’s a pleasant pitch and rhythm. More awe-inspiring, the subtle vibrations of it travel through the suit. I can feel the rumble through Rocky’s carapace.
I breathe deep, molding myself a little tighter to the suit. I could fall asleep listening to this. Maybe I would, if curiosity didn’t stir in my head.
“What is this? The humming, I mean?”
Rocky hesitates for a moment. Hm. That’s usually not a good sign with him. I shift just enough to level some attempt at a what is it now? sort of look at him. I feel so syrupy and content, though, that it probably doesn’t have the intended effect.
Eventually, the noise quiets and he speaks up instead. “Song Eridians sing for pebbles,” he answers. “Before they learn language—good for soothing. Vibration is good for very young pebbles also, before echolocation skill has full function. Helps them know…” he trails off and gently, methodically taps a claw on my back, like he’s considering his words.
“Not alone,” is what he settles on.
Some part of me wants to tell him I’m not a baby. To tease him for treating me like one until he gets suitably flustered and defensive about it. But that part is very small. Because the tenderness in those words is engulfing. It reaches my skin, even through the barrier in ways Rocky’s body can’t. It pushes under my skin, warm like light from a far away sun.
I took my kids outside for experiments sometimes. We sat in the dappled sun-shade of a tree, a fresh breeze blowing through and rustling the leaves. They were always so excited to be out. To make a mess too big and vibrant for the classroom. To chase each other through the courtyard when I grinned and turned a blind eye, letting them play. To not be walled in anymore. Because with science, not even the sky’s the limit.
This feels like that. A little thing and yet the most important thing in the universe. Like freedom and happiness and so much love.
I squish my cheek back to the suit. I really wasn’t going to cry. Or, not much anyway. But Rocky’s care and affection seems destined to knock me out with a one-two punch today. So I lay tangled up in him and cry happy, overwhelmed tears.
He starts humming again.
I’m not alone.
———
“Grace always hug too long,” Rocky huffs, exasperated.
I laugh a little sheepishly, rubbing at the honeycomb patterns indented into my skin. I guess that’s one minor downside to the new suit. Not that it’ll stop me from taking full advantage of my newfound ability to have real hugs. I don’t think anything could stop me.
“Nah, I told you, remember? You just feel it.”
Rocky grumbles, not pleased. “Grace sense of feeling is broken.”
He’s probably not wrong about that. I’m pretty sure my sense of touch, of feeling, of connection and emotion, has been broken a long time. Even before I got on the Hail Mary, more than likely. I just didn’t know what I was missing until I physically couldn’t have it.
I’ve got a pretty close substitute now, though.
“What can I say? I like hugs.”
Rocky knows that, even if he doesn’t necessarily appreciate it. And he always humors me.
As he turns to head back to his side of the barrier, he says, “Will keep making improvements. Materials on ship are limited, but I do much much much better on Erid.”
I like the sound of that.
———
It occurs to me, after spending a few weeks with Rocky intermittently in his new suit, that I may have messed up some neural pathways in my brain. Rewired them.
I thought this would fix all of my touch-starved, connection-starved issues. Being allowed to touch and feel and hug and lounge all over Rocky should be like a dream come true. And it is, in some ways. It genuinely feels like a miracle to be able to ask for a hug when I’m upset and just—get one. So many of the cravings that were driving me insane have eased too. I don’t feel like I need to bury myself under blankets anymore, or run soothing hands over my skin. Or, at least not nearly as often, anyway.
Though it seems like extended isolation and some… admittedly questionable methods of coping with said isolation are a bit of a potent combination.
I can hug Rocky now. I can hold his hand, or pat the top of his carapace, or pester him until he cards his claws through my hair. Pretty much anything I can think of, I can do with him. It’s not without limitations, of course, the suits’s structural support occasionally providing some challenges to work around, but it should be enough.
Yet, I find myself craving more. Not in frequency, but in intensity. I want to lay arched backwards over him until every vertebra in my spine hurts. I want him to tug the tangles in my hair and scratch at my scalp until I can feel it in the bone of my skull. I want my ribs to creak with every hug. I want more heat than the barrier will let through. To feel it prickle and sear against my skin—just the right side of actually burning. I want to dig my cheek into the jagged edges of him until they imprint on my skin.
I find myself thinking back on old bruises. How it felt to press into them and feel the ache of contact—connection—vibrant and new again.
They’re all healed now.
All these things aren’t normal to want; I know that much. But I think fueling my brain’s happy chemicals with pain for so long made and reinforced some strange connections. Soft, kind, normal touch is exactly what I crave sometimes. Other times, though, I want the tender violence of human connection. The little, familiar ways in which we love and hurt each other.
I should tell Rocky. He’s proven himself to be invaluable in not only solving my problems, but in wanting to. In caring about every aspect of my well being, even the ones I’d rather ignore. He’s kind of pushy about it, actually. But it’s nice.
I’ll tell him.
I’ll tell him eventually.
———
“Why Grace hold so tight, question? Rocky will not go anywhere.” He shifts slightly closer, as if to prove his point.
It’s only then that I realize I’m gripping onto him like my life depends on it. The thin support bars in the suit dig into the pads of my fingers, stemming blood flow some. I hold even harder, feeling my fingers sting, for just a moment. Then I sigh and ease up.
“I know, pal,” I say, because I do. It’s just easier to communicate that idea to my brain than to my body, apparently.
“Then explain,” he prompts.
Leaning back from him entirely, I stop and think for a minute. Pins and needles prickle in my fingers.
I move back to a chair, stretching the kinks from my spine and knees after kneeling to hug at Rocky’s height. Well, now’s as good a time as ever to show him one more crack in my paper plate armor.
“Remember what I told you before, about how humans need touch to not lose our minds?”
“Yes, reason for new suit. Better to help with touch hunger.” He wanders a bit closer to stand at my feet, nudging my foot with one of his. It’s nice to have him close. Reassuring, especially as nerves snarl in my chest. I just… don’t know how he’ll react.
I let go of a slow breath and run a hand through my hair. “Right. Well, I guess for me, it goes a little deeper than that? Touch is good, great even, but it’s not always enough.”
Wow, that sounds really greedy when I say it out loud. Rocky’s literally working to overcome the vast differences in planetary atmosphere and alien biology to make sure I can keep my head screwed on right. I mean, I think he likes having a project to keep busy with, but I can’t even try to pretend like it isn’t an enormous task. And besides, he’s accomplished so much already. It’s more than the me from a few months ago ever would have hoped for. I should just take the win and be grateful.
Except, Rocky taps a claw on the ground, probably to study me a little closer. He makes a few considering clicks.
“What else Grace need, question?” he asks.
It’s like a bubble of discomfort swelling in my chest pops. There one second, then gone the next.
“Just the same things we’ve been doing, but more.”
“More often?” Rocky perks up, happy to see an easy fix. I actually feel kind of bad when I shake my head.
“No, I mean. Stronger? More pressure?” How do I phrase this in a way that sounds more or less normal?
After a beat, he nudges my foot again, harder this time. My sole slides along the floor as he pushes, ankle turning to accommodate the force. He only stops when the joint won’t twist any farther.
Rocky makes a mildly unhappy noise, gathering his legs under him and loafing like a cat. “Grace soft and squishy. Need to be careful to avoid serious damage.” He says it like he’s reminding a kid why they can’t go biking without a helmet.
I bristle a little, even though I know he’s just looking out for me. “I’m not that squishy,” I mutter under my breath. I may not be made of rock, but humans are resilient. We’re made to shrug off a little damage here and there. It can even make us stronger sometimes, like a broken bone healing tougher than it started.
“Wrong.”
“No, seriously, I promise you won’t break me if you squeeze harder when we hug, or hold my hand tighter.”
Rocky doesn’t budge.
I lean back in my chair, letting my head loll over the top so I’m staring at the ceiling. An itch crawls all over my skin. Imbeds itself in my bones. An ache yawns open in my stomach. The empty, open air feels like it could swallow me.
It all comes on fast and strong, like it used to. I want to get down on the floor with Rocky and… I don’t even know what. Crawl inside his rock plating and wedge myself in like a thorn, maybe. Anything to quiet whatever it is I’m feeling.
Instead, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes until stars pop in the darkness. When I try to take a breath, it catches on the lump it my throat.
“When you touch me, I need it to last—like a bruise. I think I want it to hurt like that too.”
Oh, I sound choked up.
I swallow, press pause.
It’s weightlessness that defines zero gravity. And even if the ship is accelerating enough to fight the free float of space, I still feel it now. Like I could just drift off into nothing, alone in a vast void, and lose everything again.
Maybe that’s where it all comes from, down at the root. Maybe not. I’m not a psychologist. But I need grounding.
I need gravity.
I hear Rocky shift around a little. “Hurt Grace bad bad bad,” he says, quiet but firm.
My heart throbs in my chest. I curl my fingers in the fabric of my shirt. Eyes welling up, I tip my head back upright to look at him. He’s curled a little smaller now, sunk lower to the floor. I wonder if he’s thinking about the Adrian fishing incident. Or when he rolled his ball over my foot and sparked all my messy, inconvenient feelings. He felt so guilty about that.
“It’s not that kind of hurt. Humans use that word two different ways.”
It’s kind of funny how good I’ve gotten at reading someone who doesn’t even have a face. Rocky’s tentative relief still comes through loud and clear.
“The first way we use the word hurt is for injuries. Damage to the body. That’s not what I meant,” I tell him gently.
“Good.”
“The second way we use it is for a feeling. Sometimes it’s physical, sometimes it’s emotional. But it just means pain—the sensation. No blood. No breaks. Nothing like that. Just because something feels like it hurts, doesn’t mean it actually does any lasting damage.”
I hope that makes sense. Getting the nuances of language across can be a little tricky sometimes, especially when words have multiple meanings, or when they have no direct translation.
Thankfully, Rocky seems to understand just fine. “Pain still bad.” That doesn’t mean he’s happy, though.
I let a long breath go through my nose. “Most of the time, yeah. But it can feel kind of good in the right circumstances too. Some people like being just a little sore after a long, hard day of work. It reminds them they did a good job.”
Rocky’s trying to understand. I can tell. He looks the same way he does when he’s working out complex engineering problems that always fly right over my head.
“Grace want small hurt to remind of good touch, question?” he asks, very deliberately tapping a foot on the ground twice. To reinforce he’s asking, not trying to put words in my mouth.
A smile breaks out across my face. It’s wobbly at first, but quickly turns into something warm and sincere. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s right.”
Technically, that’s only part of the reason, but I don’t want to have to explain to him that I’ve conditioned my brain to light up at the press of a bruise like Pavlov conditioned his dogs. Or that it’s weirdly soothing to be just about crushed in a too-tight embrace. So that’ll do.
“I do not like, but will try for Grace.”
My smile stretches so wide my cheeks hurt. That’s another hurt of the good kind.
“Have I told you you’re my favorite Eridian I’ve ever met?”
Rocky gives an amused little trill and gets to his feet. “Grace steal my joke now?”
“Hey, you’re getting pretty good at them. I might as well take advantage.”
———
Sometimes, Rocky squeezes my hand tight enough the skin blanches and starts to numb. He leans so hard into me it knocks the breath from my lungs, and even knocks me off my feet. He lets me lay all over him when we watch movies, even when his edges start to dig in. He combs firm and unyielding claws through my hair, occasionally—still accidentally—steps on my feet—and loving bonks his carapace against my forehead.
Most of the time, it all plants a good kind of ache deep in my muscle and bone. The kind I don’t want to soothe away. The kind I want to remember. Sometimes things get a little too rough, so I wind up banged or bruised up a bit. But a few little scuffs build character. That sounds like a good thing to say, anyway. Rocky still grouses at me for being reckless all the same.
But it feels good to really know he’s here, solid and undeniable in my grasp. I like him in my orbit, on a collision course, wherever, however I can have him. As long as he’s close.