Chapter Text
The first thing Grace noticed when he got home after a day with Rocky and the rest of the newly established Eridian “Human Sciences” team was the soft gold glow that seeped out from the living room. Simon must have closed those yellow curtains that he had personally never bothered with, (it was difficult to care about privacy when all your neighbours can see through walls) casting the diffused fog light from the dome into something softer and warmer than Grace had expected as he toed his shoes off.
The second thing he noticed was a short, rhythmic sound. A series of soft thwaps followed by a barely audible hiss. The scientist frowned, unable to place it, as he turned the corner into the living room and froze.
The third thing Grace noticed was Simon's pendant, the one they had barely managed to recover from his ‘submarine’ (Grace hated calling it that. It was nothing more than an iron coffin with a motor welded to the back. His stomach still clenched in anger at the thought of Simon being sealed into that monstrosity). It hung in a small gap in the curtains, spinning lightly in the artificial breeze, the cracked glass glinting and sparkling in the brighter light from outside.
The fourth thing Grace noticed took his breath away. Simon knelt in the middle of the room, facing the pendant, head bowed, back towards Grace in the doorway. His prosthetic was off, as was his shirt, Grace was quick to notice, cheeks reddening. He knelt, thighs and heels together, spine ram rod straight. The soft gold light clung to the muscles of his back and shoulders, the pose showing the slight taper towards his waist. His hair was tied back, but a few strands had fallen free, curled in a thin sheen of sweat that glistened between his shoulder blades.
Grace's mind spun. He knew Simon came from a very religious background, but he was very guarded about what exactly that entailed. Grace had only figured out the most obvious details, that it was some sort of offshoot or evolution of Christianity, and that it was designed to control the dwindling population of Eden as thoroughly as possible. On his less charitable days, and only in the safety of his own mind, Grace called it a cult and was very happy that his friend was as far away from its influence as it was possible to be.
Apparently he was wrong.
Simon murmured something under his breath, and Grace struggled to catch it.
“Let my faith be thy air, so you may breathe,
Let my body be thy strength, so you may grow,
Let my blood be thy soil, so you may feed,
My order of penance is 20, and I give it willingly.”
Grace opened his mouth to announce his presence, thinking that the prayer was the end of whatever ritual Simon was enacting. He'd never been a religious man, (despite, or maybe because of, his name) but he did his best to respect other people's beliefs.
Simon suddenly moved, slinging something over his shoulder with enough force to strike his back in a sharp thwap that cut through the soft glow of the room. Grace jumped, eyes wide, staring at what seamed to be one of his shoelaces with three large knots tied at even intervals near the end. As Simon pulled it back slowly over his shoulder, Grace saw the angry red line it left in its wake.
And the faint lines that draped across Simon’s back, from his stump to his waist, in various stages of healing. None of them looked like they had drawn blood, but layering the wounds like that…
“One. For the food I did not earn.” Simon's voice was calm, steady, practiced.
It made Grace's stomach churn.
Simon reached down, flicking the homemade flail so it lay relatively flat on the ground, before straightening his posture and drawing in breath to speak again.
“Two, for the shelter I did not build.” Simon swung his arm sharply to his opposite shoulder, the flail singing though the air and Grace moved without thinking. He sprung forward and grabbed the string as it sailed over Simon's shoulder, hissing as it slapped against his palm.
“Stop this! Simon you-” Grace shouted, even though he was mere inches from his accidental roommate.
“Grace.” Simon's voice was calm, quiet, controlled. It chilled Grace to his core. “Leave.”
“No, I'm not going to let you hurt yourself, you don't deserve-!” Grace hissed, trying to tug the shoelace out of Simon’s hand.
Simon tugged back and it slid out of Grace's fingers, burning slightly as the rough string dragged over the sensitive skin of his fresh wound from when he had caught it. “You don't get to decide what I deserve. Neither do I. That's not how this works.” He said, eyes not leaving the twisting pedant in the window. He sighed, “I will explain later, if you want. But for now, I really need you to leave. Please, Grace.”
It was the ‘please’ that did it. Simon asked for so little. Acting like his very existence was an inconvenience that no one else deserved to have to deal with. Grace backed away slowly, hating every step, hating how little he understood of whatever was going on with his friend. It pushed against everything he knew, but if Simon needed Grace to leave, then…
“O…okay. Sorry.” Grace whispered. “I'll be on the beach… um… let me know when you're done?”
“I will.” Simon turned his head for the first time, looking over his stump at Grace, mutated teeth clambering up his jaw to his eye. It almost looked like he was smiling. “And Grace? Thank you.”
Grace just nodded and left the room, grabbing his shoes as he went. He shut the door and sank down onto the steps to get his trainers on.
Behind him, even through the door, he could swear he heard a soft thwap, and flinched.
~☆~☆~☆~
Grace sat on the edge of the beach, just beyond the tideless waterline. Occasionally his fingers absent-mindedly picked up a small stone and threw it into the water. He could almost hear the grumbles of the dome team as he did it.
His mind was formless static, thoughts slipping past too fast to get pinned down into words. He sighed, closing his eyes and turning his face up to the lights hanging above the dome. “Huh, I guess even I look upwards for answers…” He murmured.
It didn't… it didn't make any sense. How could Simon… Why? Who was it for? There was no… Church, or whatever he would pray at back home, here. No priest or vicar or pastor. No one to make sure he's doing his, well, ‘hail Mary's’. So why? Why hurt yourself for no reason? It wouldn't be a lot, not with just knots on a shoelace, but he'd seen how they overlapped, how the fresh scrapes deepened the ones that were already there. And he'd… he'd said penance of twenty. How often was he hitting himself twenty times over?
And… the things he was saying. “Food I did not earn.” You shouldn't earn food. Food should be given to anyone that can't afford it. But he knew that wasn't true, even in his world of relative plenty. He'd seen the differences in the lunchboxes of the kids when he was on canteen duty. He'd seen how the kids on subsidised lunches came back skinnier after the summer holidays. Was he really in a place to judge someone from a dying universe?
He heard the crunch of rocks shifting under Simon's feet as he approached, and straightened, turning to the sound to watch as Simon sat next to him. He slid slightly on the stones and fell the last few inches with a huff. It…normalised things somewhat, put him back in the context that Grace was used to seeing him. Eager, well meaning, a little brash. Instead of what he looked like in the living room. Detached, cold, almost ethereal.
The fact he’d put a shirt on also helped.
“Um. Hey.” Grace greeted, knowing the words sounded awkward as all heck even as they tumbled out of his throat. He had to say something!
Simon smiled and shook his head slightly, the ghost of a smile on his lips.”Hey yourself.” He said quietly, rolling a stone around in his cupped hand, not looking at Grace.
He did that a lot, Grace noticed, sitting alongside him, looking ahead, making sure the maw and gills pointed away from him as much as possible. Only showing his human face. It tugged at his heart every time. The fact that here he was, the only other human for lightyears, and Simon felt the need to hide half of himself from him. That he still didn't feel comfortable enough around Grace. Grace remembered the way he had looked in the living room, maw first over his shoulder, when asking Grace to leave. How rare it was for Simon to be so…open about his own face.
The silence stretched, Grace didn't want to be the one to start this conversation. He wanted Simon to set the tone, the pace, the direction… that felt… important, somehow.
Simon seemed to catch on and sighed. “So… I guess from your reaction back there that penance isn't a thing on your Earth?”
“Um… no, not in most of Christianity, at least. It used to be, a couple of hundred years ago, I think? Maybe more.” Grace replied, eyes on the artificial horizon. “So you don't need to do that here.” He added quickly, before he could lose his nerve.
Simon huffed and hung his head, like he was waiting for Grace to say those exact words. “I don't do it because I was told to. Well, I mean, I was told to, originally… I… it's complicated. It… I… have to pay for what I take. What I use. This place… its more than I deserve. No, wait, let me finish.” Simon added when Grace turned to him suddenly, mouth open to interject. “Everything has a cost. A price. Especially sin.” Simon scrunched up his face and ran his hand over it before continuing. “I'm not there anymore. This is a whole new universe for me. A whole new world. A life where there is plenty of food, shelter, lo-friendship.” His cheek turned pink and he dropped his face again. “But that doesn't change the fact my universe exists, somewhere. That the lives I took have still been taken. I'm still a Convict, I'm still a-” He huffed again, drawing in a shaky breath, “I'm still the Butcher. I still earned that name, fair and square. I still took lives when there were so few lives left to take.”
Grace's palms burned with the need to reach out, to comfort, but he knew Simon wasn't finished. So he just turned to face him, mirroring the way Simon had shifted to face him. “If they don't get to live, I don't get to forget. The blood ocean didn't fuck me up, it showed my true face.”
“That's not true, you can't think-” Grace was horrified, grabbing Simon's hand where it lay between them, clutching it so tight his knuckles ached.
“I don't think. I know. I know that it's my past. That it doesn't have to define my future. But I don't get to just forget it. This place… It doesn't feel real sometimes. And then other times… it feels too real, and Eden feels like a dream. I don’t get to treat Eden like a dream. I don't get to forget about Filament Station. It… makes everything feel fuzzy, almost. Floaty. Like neither is real, like I’m back in that damn sub. Like that fucking eel is slithering around in my skull again. The pain. It brings me back to the present. The verses, they remind me who I was. And then I open the curtains and see you walking h-home and start heating up dinner for us. And I remember who I want to be.”
“I don't expect it to make sense. I just wanted you to know what the hell was going on in the living room. I must have freaked you out. I forgot it was a science-team day, not a school day, so you'd be back earlier. I'm sorry about that.” Simon said quietly, fingers twitching in the death grip Grace had on his hand. Grace released his hand with a start and Simon chased the movement to slide his palm into his, clasping it much more gently.
“I… don't think I quite get it. I hate to think you need it. You keep calling yourself the Butcher, but that doesn't sound anything like the Simon I know. But if you need it… it's your choice. Everything here is your choice. It's just… Your back… the scars… how often do you. Um… you know?” Grace asked quietly, eyes fixated on how their hands slotted together. At how Simon not only allowed him to hold his hand like this, but initiated it.
“It depends, it's not like it's a schedule I keep. Sometimes I get that floaty feeling and can just exercise it away, or spend a day in the greenhouse. And um… talking to you helps sometimes, too.” There it was, that dusting of pink again, before Simon ducked his head away. “But sometimes nothing helps and it turns to… how do I… almost like… a buzzing? An itch? Just under the skin. Starts fucking with my sleep, and I know I've taken it out on you a couple of times too. That's when I know it's gone too far.”
Grace looked at him with a frown. When had he… oh. Right. He remembered a couple of times where Simon had been distant, curt, saying things that felt barbed before stalking out of the room. He'd gone to school the next day worried about his friend, only to come back to Simon cooking dinner, an Eridian apron tied around his waist, hair scooped back into a tiny ponytail that bobbed as he hummed along to one of Grace's playlists. That was… oh. He felt a curl of shame that he hadn't pushed harder to find out the source of Simon’s apparent 180°, just taking it a quirk that his friend had. God knows he forgives Rocky for much, much worse.
“I should have asked about that.” Grace said quietly, running his thumb over Simon's knuckles.
Simon chuckled, Grace's eyes snapping up to his face at the sound. “I would have just lied, so don't worry about it.” He playfully nudged Grace with his shoulder as it said it, like he was sharing a private joke.
In a twisted way, he was.
“Well, now that's done… dinner? I'll cook.” Simon said, dropping Grace's hand so he could brace himself against the shifting stones to stand up.
“Er. Sure.” Grace took his hand back, trying not to focus on how empty it felt. He brushed off his trousers and tried to stand up. Just for the stones to slide down the small bank formed by the waves. Before he could fall over again, Simon grabbed him under one of his arms, steadying him.
“Come on, Doctor Grace, let's get inside before they turn the lights off on us.” Simon chuckled, leading him towards the house.
He didn't move his arm from where it was wrapped around Grace's shoulders the whole way back.
Grace didn't feel the need to mention it.
~☆~☆~☆~
Time passed, as time does.
Grace tried to push it from his mind. Tried to fill his head with his students, with the latest thing he and the Human Sciences team were working on. Then he'd catch a glimpse of the pendant on Simon’s wrist and he'd be back in that doorway, surrounded by soft golden light and the sound of rope slapping flesh.
He didn't say anything. He knew it wasn't his place. How could he? Simon was from a whole other universe. He'd seen the strain the astrophage had caused people on Earth. The food shortages, fuel price hikes, the stress and worry that lined every brow. And that was just from the world growing colder. What would every planet and star disappearing do to someone? No wonder they turned to religion. How do you even try and get your head around something like that? Where would you even start?
So he stayed quiet. Tried to give Simon more of his time when he was at the house. Went with him to the greenhouses, let Simon show him how to tend to the plants. He'd been quick to let Simon take over, remembering how every house plant he ever had turned into kindling in a matter of weeks. So it was nice, to sit back and let Simon boss him around a bit. To see Simon confidentally staking his claim on a small corner of a distant planet. And if his heart beat a little quicker at the sight of Simon holding the flowers so gently as he transferred pollen between them with a xenonite paintbrush… Well… no one needed to know.
And so everything carried on as normal. Grace almost let the risk of it happening again fall from his mind. Almost.
It happened after dinner one night. Grace had cooked, Simon was just finishing the washing up, tea towel slung over a shoulder as he put the plates back in the top cupboard, stretching a little bit to place them properly.
Grace wasn't staring.
Not at all.
Mostly to distract himself from the view, he'd cleared his throat and asked Simon if he wanted any help in the greenhouse after school the next day.
Simon had pulled the tea towel off his shoulder with a sharp snap. Grace felt his eyebrows raise in question at the sudden force.
“Sure, if you're so convinced I'd fuck it up.” Simon had muttered, before flinching and turning away, arm braced on the sink, hanging his head.
“Wha-what?” Grace was stunned, lips parted, eyes wide.
“Sorry.” The word spat out, shoulders tense.
A memory of golden light and muttered hymns.
Ah.
“Do you need…” Grace wasn't sure how the phrase it, but stepped close, hand raised to… do what he wasn't sure. He just wanted to help.
Simon stepped away, towards the door to the bedrooms. Grace felt his heart clench. He had to do something, say something, help somehow…
“Yeah.” Came the slightly shaky reply. “Yeah, I need to… tomorrow.”
Grace said it without thinking, everything in his chest swelling and reaching out to soothe, to calm… “Can I help?”
Simon rounded on him, eyes wide with shock and confusion.
Grace heard what he said and cringed. “I mean, what can I do to help? I want to help you.”
Something complicated flitted across his face. Even his maw seemed to twitch open slightly. “Um. I'm not… I mean.” Simon sighed, turning back to the door and walking away. Just before he left the room he looked over his right shoulder, “If you could walk a little slower on your way back from school?” He asked quietly.
“Yeah, yeah sure, bud. I can do that. Anything else-” but Simon had walked out of the room and shut his door, leaving Grace standing in the middle of the living room, wringing his hands.
So. Um. That didn't go massively well.
~☆~☆~☆~
The next day Grace had fumbled the notes on the organ so many times the pebbles had fully derailled the lesson trying to get him to tell them what was wrong. One even threatened to go get Rocky.
Grace had barely managed to get them back on track before a low thrum echoed through the cave, signalling the end of the lesson.
As the chaotic mass of rock covered limbs scattered to the back of the cave, Grace leant back on his stool and blew an exasperated puff of air up to the ceiling. His thoughts had been a mess all day. Honestly, he'd been half tempted to just call it quits around lunch. But he'd promised Simon that he'd be late back…
And that was the problem. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering what Simon was doing. How far along he was. If he needed help, or medical assistance, or-
Huh. That was a thought. Grace had tubes and tubes of antibiotic cream (it being a little useless in an air tight dome on an alien planet with no Earth based microbes) maybe he could offer to take a look over his back, afterwards? Just to show support? Or would disrupting his ritual cause even more problems?
His thoughts swirled as he milled around the classroom, sorting papers and setting up the whiteboard for tomorrow's lesson. He even took the case off of the makeshift organ, trying to convince himself that clearly his mistakes from today's lesson were due to a faulty part, and not the fact that he was frantically trying not to worry about Simon.
As he expected, the organ was flawless.
After about an hour of puttering about, doing little more than move things from one stack to another, Grace gave in to the worry gnawing at his insides and set off home.
He let his feet drag, trailing his cane through the sand on every third step. Sketching formless doodles as he furiously tried to figure out what to say when he got back.
He looked up and saw the curtains were drawn, and his heart sank. Should he wait on the beach again? Should he go in try and… do… something?
Even as he thought it, he was shaking it out of his head. Simon had specifically said not to interrupt, and he didn't want to overstep that boundary.
Eyes locked on the windows in thought, he saw the moment that Simon pulled the curtains open.
And the moment Simon saw him staring. He jumped slightly, then did that adorable almost smile, raising a hand in greeting. Grace smiled back, waving with his cane.
Then Simon was disappearing from the window, and Grace felt a shadow fall on his heart. He sighed, shaking his head. Wow, he was really overthinking this.
The front door opened and Simon leant his hip against the frame, crossing his arms, waiting for Grace to climb the stairs. The tea towel was over his shoulder again, and the apron fluttered slightly in the evening breeze.
“So… how was school?” Simon asked, lips quirked in a small smile as he took Grace's cane off of him so he could get his shoes off.
“Oh, the kids were a nightmare. Utter chaos, no idea what got into them.” Grace said, tone dripping with dopey-eyed affection.
“And it's nothing to do with the fact you’re far too soft on them.” Simon quipped as they moved through the house. The curtains were all open, his pendant back on his wrist.
“Of course not, I’ll have you know that I inspire nothing but the highest level of respect and obedience!” Grace shot back, grinning. “Besides, what-” his eyebrows suddenly shot up. “Wait, what can I smell? Is that…!”
“Yep, the rosemary is finally big enough to start cooking with.” Simon grinned, “want to try my new rosemary-and-me-burgers?”
Grace groaned and flopped against his shoulder dramatically, “Oh my god, yes.”
~☆~☆~☆~
Grace rolled his stiff shoulders as he walked back from the labs. The Human Sciences team had kept him late. Well. They'd shown him an adapted formula for a potential fertiliser and he’d gotten so engrossed in helping them plan a development strategy that he hadn't even noticed the fact he was two hours late. Which, in his defence, was obviously going to happen, so yeah, in a way, the Human Sciences team had, indeed, made him late.
He opened the door in a rush, feeling guilty as it was his turn to cook and he’d made Simon wait. “Hey! Sorry I'm late, got held up at the lab, you know how the guys are!” He added sheepishly.
Simon set aside the laptop he’d been watching something on and chuckled. “You mean, I know how you are?”
“Guilty as charged!” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you eat without me, or should I get cracking?” He said, using his thumb to point towards the kitchen.
Simon hesitated, drumming his fingers on the armrest of the sofa. “Can… can we talk first?” He asked quietly.
The air stilled as the smile faded from Grace's face. “Well, that sounds ominous.” He said, trying to keep his voice light, but the strain was clear even to his own ears. But he went and sat beside Simon anyway, sticking to his right side, as he knew he was more comfortable that way.
Simon seemed to notice, as he smiled softly at him as he sat down.
Grace's heart flipped at the sight. Or the sudden nerves.
Probably just the nerves.
Probably.
“You… Before, when… The other week… Ah, fuck, I'm just going to come out and say it. The other week, when you offered to help. Did you mean it?” Simon asked in a rush, pointedly looking ahead of him, and not at Grace sitting by his side.
“Wha-Oh! Wait, that was only a couple of weeks ago.” Grace said, frowning. “Do you need to… so soon?”
“No. Not yet. It's just… usually. Look. You can say no. I'll understand. But you did offer… so if you still want to… yeah.” Simon's face scrunched up as if the words physically pained him.
The urge to reach out filled Grace's chest again. He clenched his fists on his thighs to stop himself from overstepping. “Huh, I mean, yes, I still want to help. What do you need?”
Simon scoffed, “By the Tree, you don't even know what I'm asking, Grace!”
“I know you wouldn't ask me if it wasn't important. And I haven't actually agreed to whatever it is, technically.” Grace said, pointing a finger at him.
Simon hissed and ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. “The penance. It's not something you do to yourself, usually.”
Grace’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t mean…
He looked down as Simon reached for something on the sofa beside him and held his hand out to Grace, the homemade flail folded neatly in his palm. An offering. “It might… work better. If it wasn't me.” Simon said quietly.
He was staring. He knew he was staring, and, to make matters worse, he could even feel the way his mouth had fallen open. His thoughts swirled into static. He needed to react. To say something, anything. He needed to break this awkward silence that stretched between them. But what? What do you say to someone asking for that?
“Sorry, I shouldn't have-” Simon closed his fingers around the flail and went to move away.
Grace's hands were clasping Simon’s before he managed to think about it. “I'll do it.” Simon whipped his head round to stare at him, unbelieving. His eyes were wide, one brown and rich, the other mottled red and deep. Both shone with a very open needy hope. Grace swallowed thickly. “If… if you think it'll help. I'll do it. But. You need to tell me what to do.” Grace said quietly, unable to break the mesmerising hold Simon's eyes had on him.
“Yeah.” Simon's voice was little more than a wondrous whisper. “I can do that."