Chapter Text
He made his choice: stay here on this strange, beautiful world, with his best friend.
And yet...something is missing.
Grace rubs his arms absently, feeling the familiar ache settle behind his ribs. He wants to feel someone take his hand again, or give him a high five. A pat on the back. A hug without a barrier. Even just someone's shoulder bumping against his while they work side by side.
Rocky can't give him that.
None of the Eridians can.
Their atmosphere would kill him in seconds.
They've spent months, or the Eridian's equivalent of months solving impossible problems together, but this one...this one simple human need has no easy fix.
Soft waves lap against the artificial shoreline inside the biodome. Grace stands barefoot in the warm sand, staring out at the calm water that stretches to the curved horizon of the dome. The Eridian engineers designed this beach perfectly for him, gentle tides, breathable air, even a simulated breeze that carries the faint scent of salt. It should feel peaceful.
It should feel like home...
But it doesn't.
Grace wraps his arms around himself, fingers pressing into his sleeves as if that pressure could somehow fill the empty space inside his chest. He’s surrounded by grateful aliens who treat him like a god of El Dorado. He teaches their children about Earth science in the afternoons. He spends long evenings talking with Rocky about stars, music, and the impossible odds they beat together.
Yet every night the same quiet ache comes back.
He misses the simple, living warmth of another person. A hand on his shoulder. A quick, careless hug after a shared victory. The solid press of someone sitting close enough that their arms touch without thinking. Human contact that says, without words, "You are not alone."
He's surrounded by life, yet the one thing he craves most remains impossible. Rocky's ammonia atmosphere would kill him in seconds. His own atmosphere would burn Rocky's carapace. The distance between them is measured in molecules, not kilometers, and it feels crueler than any void in space.
Grace sighs and sinks down to sit in the sand, knees drawn up, letting the warm grains slipping between his toes. He watches the water reflect the fake Earth moon and wonders how long he can keep pretending this is enough.
That maybe he should think more about taking up their offer about sending him home.
But now, he can't imagine his life without his best friend.
On Earth, he had no one.
Here, he has everything.
Except one thing.
Rocky approaches, safe inside of his xenonite shell that protects him from Grace's atmosphere. It's an upgrade from the ball.
"Grace," Rocky sings softly, the musical notes carrying gentle concern. You come here often lately. Heavy thoughts?"
He's glad that he can understand Eridian language now without the computer's help. Rocky doesn't even need his voice; Grace can understand his musical chirps perfectly fine. He forces a small smile and glances over at his friend. He's a familiar shape against the alien beach. The moon. They figured out how to make it seem like night, which helps his internal clock a lot, even if it's fake.
"I live here," Grace reminds him with a small chuckle. "I'm fine, Rocks," he says, voice steady despite the ache. "Just...taking in the view. The beach is beautiful. You and the Eridians did an amazing job with it. I don't think I tell you that enough. Tell Adrian thanks for fixing the temperature, too. It's just right now."
Maybe soon, the dome could be just like the Hunger Games with different environments, only without any violence.
Rocky pauses, studying Grace for a long moment. The Eridian doesn't immediately accept the reassurance.
"Grace sure, question?" Rocky sings. "We have solved harder problems together. If something is wrong, we fix it. Like always."
Grace lets out a quiet laugh, the sound a little too tight. He digs his fingers into the sand beside him, grounding himself in the texture.
"Yeah, buddy. I'm sure. Some things just...don't have easy fixes. But I'm okay. Really. This is home now. I've already made my decision to stay."
Rocky chirps. If he had eyes, Grace is sure they would be shining brighter than the moon right now. "Grace seem far away sometimes. Even when right here with me."
He turns his gaze back to the water, hoping the gentle waves will hide the longing he knows is written across his face.
Rocky's shell rocks gently on the sand.
His voice is unusually hesitant. "Is Grace happy here, question? On Erid." he reiterates.
Grace turns to face Rocky, the familiar ache blooming in his chest. He wants to say the words immediately Of course I am, but they stay stuck in his throat. Not because they're not true, but because saying them out loud feels too final, too vulnerable while the emptiness still sits heavy inside him.
"I'm happy with you, Rocks," he says softly instead, offering a small but true smile as he avoids truly answering the question.
Rocky is quiet for a long moment, the shell rocking just a little slower.
"That not answer question," Rocky scolds bluntly.
Grace closes his eyes, guilt and longing twisting together. He hates leaving Rocky with that small doubt, but he can't bring himself to say the full truth yet. Not while he still feels the gaping hole so sharply.
He still hasn't told Rocky about how he really came aboard the Hail Mary.
The Eridian lets out a soft, hesitant trill that trails off unfinished.
“What if...” Rocky's notes tremble with the same fragile hope.
The melody cuts off abruptly.
“Nevermind,” Rocky sings quietly, the tune softening into something smaller. “Wishful thinking.”
Grace lets out a shaky breath, a small, bittersweet smile crossing his face. For the first time, he realizes he probably isn’t the only one carrying this quiet longing. They had both reached for the same impossible thought at the same time, and both pulled back for the same reason.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Wishful thinking.”
The next morning, the habitat class cave room hums with soft, excited chirps and trills. Grace stands on the human side of the thick, transparent xenonite wall the Eridians installed for safety. On the other side, a small group of Eridian children, each no taller than a small puppy, their carapaces still soft and shiny with youth, cluster eagerly around low custom made work tables that somewhat resemble classroom desks.
The Eridians have also built special 'pencils' just for this lesson: slim rods with a soft, flexible tip that leaves glowing amber marks on the dark writing slates. They're perfectly weighted for little claws, and the children grip them with varying degrees of success.
Grace smiles, pressing his palm lightly against the barrier as he demonstrates.
"Like this," he says, his voice warm and patient. He holds his own Earth style stylus on his side of the wall and draws a simple Earth letter, an A, in the air so they can mirror him. "Curve here, straight line down. Good! Now you try."
The children lean forward eagerly. One little Eridian, the smallest, with a bright teal streak across her carapace, fumbles the pencil. It tilts awkwardly in her claws, the glowing tip skittering off the slate.
If I could just reach through...he thinks, the longing sharp and sudden. He'd step around the wall, kneel beside her, and gently guide her claw with his own fingers.
Just a soft correction, the way he would as teacher on Earth. He would show her exactly how to angle her wrist, how to let the pencil rest lightly instead of gripping so tight. He would feel the warmth of her little carapace under his hand, the tiny vibrations of her excited breathing. He would give her that small, human touch that says you're doing great, I've got you.
But he can't.
The xenonite wall, strong enough to hold back two deadly atmosphere, keeps them safe, but it also keeps them apart. Grace swallows the ache and keeps his voice light.
"You're close," he encourages, smiling even though she can't feel it. "Loosen your grip just a little. Pretend the pencil is a friend you don't want to squeeze too hard."
The child trills and tries again. The line comes out smoother this time. Grace laughs softly, pressing his forehead to the barrier for a moment as if he could lean closer.
If Stratt had told him that he'd become a teacher again in space teaching alien kids, he probably wouldn't have been such a coward and taken the offer to be an astronaut up in a second.
He'd play lava with them if not for the wall. He bets they would get the hang of it in no time at all. He'd watch and study how they throw the small Earth ball around compared to human kids.
"You got it," he murmurs. "See? You're already better than I was at your age."
The other children cheer in their musical language, waving their pencils in triumph. Grace watches them, chest full of warmth and something quieter. Their curiosity is bright and endless, just like his old students and Rocky's but every small victory reminds him of the invisible distance. He can share knowledge, laughter, even friendship...but never the simple, grounding touch of a hand steadying another.
He wonders, not for the first time, how long he can keep pretending the wall is enough.
From the far side of the classroom, Rocky moves quietly into view, free from his protective shell while he's in his own atmosphere.
An atmosphere that can never house him, a vulnerable human.
Grace meets his friend's gaze through the barrier and offers a small, genuine smile. The ache is still there, but so is the quiet hope that maybe, someday soon, they'll find a way to make even this distance feel a little smaller.
That night, the lights in Grace's dome dim to a soft, Earth like twilight. The beach outside the window glows faintly under simulated moonlight. Grace lies on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.
Rocky rests at the foot of his bed.
He's recently started joining Grace for these 'sleepovers,' as Grace playfully calls them: simply being in the same room, talking until one of them drifts off.
Grace turns onto his side, facing him. The xenonite shell reflects the faint glow of the night 'stars', making it look almost like a dark, polished moon.
"Rocky?" Grace says softly.
A warm, sleepy trill answers him. "Grace. You are not sleeping yet."
Grace smiles faintly. "Neither are you."
They fall into comfortable silence for a moment. Then Grace's voice comes quieter, almost hesitant.
"Hey...can I ask you something kind of weird?"
"Shoot," Rocky says, his voice sounding amused. "But not actually shoot."
Grace wants to laugh at the joke (he's been getting better at joking and sarcasm) but instead he swallows, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the blanket. The ache from earlier at the classroom, the beach, the constant invisible wall feels closer tonight.
"What does it feel like... to touch you?" he asks. "I mean, if we could. Your carapace. Your claws. What would it feel like to me?"
Rocky is quiet for a long beat. When he sings again, his melody is thoughtful and gentle.
"Hard. Rocky, like name. Like...strong stone that is alive. My claws are sharp but careful. My body pulses a little when I am happy. Like singing Grace can feel instead of hear." He pauses, then adds with a soft, almost shy trill, "What does human skin feel like, question? To me, I wonder."
He imagines it.
In his mind, the xenonite shell vanishes.
The solid warmth of Rocky's carapace under his palm, the careful curl of those claws resting against his back, the faint rhythmic vibrations of his friend's body. He imagines rolling over in the middle of the night and feeling Rocky right there beside him, no deadly atmospheres between them, just two friends sleeping side by side.
"What if we could..." Grace starts, the words slipping out before he can stop them.
He catches himself and falls silent. The wishful thought hangs in the air, fragile and impossible.
He knows better.
The science is clear.
The risk is too great.
They've beaten death once together, pushing their luck with something as simple as a hug feels selfish.
Grace lets out a quiet breath and forces a small smile.
"Never mind," he murmurs. "Just tired, I guess. Wishful thinking."
"Also hot. Don't want to burn Grace."
True. Rocky is probably just as hot as his atmosphere.
He sings a soft, soothing melody, the same gentle tune he used during their longest, darkest nights aboard the Hail Mary on their way to Rocky's home planet. They had succeeded in their mission, leaving them both excited about new possibilities.
About how Grace was going to survive on a planet that's not meant for him.
In the end, they figured it out.
They gave him a home he can't imagine leaving now.
Rocky's quiet singing fills the room like a lullaby.
Grace closes his eyes and lets the sound wash over him.
"Goodnight, Rocky," Grace whispers, voice thick with unspoken longing.
"Goodnight, friend Grace," Rocky sings back, the melody warm and steady. "Sleep well. I am here."
Grace drifts toward sleep with the quiet ache still in his chest, but also with the smallest spark of hope.
Maybe tomorrow will bring something new. Maybe the universe that brought them together across impossible distances can find one more small miracle.
For now, his friend at the foot of his bed is enough.
It has to be.
Grace wakes suddenly, heart pounding, sweat cooling. The remnants of the dream cling to him like smoke. Planet Adrian's violent turbulence, the ship slamming sideways, the grayish black trail of Rocky's blood on the floor. In the nightmare he had reached the xenonite ball too late, and Rocky never woke up.
He sits up sharply in bed, breathing hard. The blanket pools around his waist. Instinctively, his right arm shoots out across the empty space beside him, reaching for someone...anyone to ground him, to prove he isn't alone in the dark. Maybe even his ex.
His hand finds only cool sheets.
Grace freezes, fingers curling into the fabric. The ache blooms wide and deep in his chest, a gaping hole that the dream has cracked open even wider. No warm shoulder. No steady heartbeat under his palm. No sleepy murmur of "Hey, you're okay." Just empty bedding and the faint hum of the habitat systems.
He rubs his face with both hands, trying to shake the nightmare loose. "It was just a dream," he whispers into the darkness. "We made it. We both made it." Rocky is still resting exactly where he was when they said goodnight.
It means he isn't truly alone. But tonight the distance feels unbearable. He almost wishes Rocky could take off his protective case so he can feel something solid and alive, to have Rocky's claw curl gently against his fingers through the barrier the way they do during the day.
Instead, he pulls his knees up and wraps his arms tightly around them, hugging himself in the quiet room. The self soothing pressure helps a little, but it only highlights how wrong it feels his own arms instead of someone else's.
He feels a gentle bump against his knee.
"Rocky?" he whispers, voice rough.
A gentle trill answers from inside the shell sleepily but immediate, full of quiet concern. "Grace, question? Bad dream, question?"
Grace swallows hard. "Yeah... Adrian again. The blood. Thought I lost you for a second there."
Rocky is quiet, then sings a low, soothing melody.
"I am here," Rocky sings softly, snuggling as close as he can to him. "Sleep again, friend Grace. I not go anywhere."
Grace nods even though Rocky can't see the gesture clearly. "I know. Thanks, buddy."
He lies back down, but the gaping hole remains wide, quiet, and impossible to ignore in the middle of the night. He turns onto his side and reaches one hand out to rest on the xenonite shell.
Close, but never close enough.
Grace lies still, eyes closed, listening to Rocky's soft, rhythmic singing fade into a gentle hum. For a few peaceful minutes, the dream lingers in his mind. Rocky is beside him, solid and warm.
But despite Rocky's comfort, it all comes rushing back.
Planet Adrian.
The storm.
The violent turbulence that slammed the Hail Mary like a rag doll and how much worse it must have been for Rocky to break out of his xenonite ball to save him. Grace remembers waking up groggy and disoriented after the chaos, his body aching, the ship's systems screaming warnings. He had stumbled through the corridors, heart pounding, following a thin trail of grayish black blood smeared across the floor.
Rocky's blood.
He had found his friend collapsed inside the ball barely breathing, leaking fluid from multiple cracks in his carapace, barely conscious. Rocky had thrown himself into the most dangerous repairs during the crisis shielding Grace, fixing critical systems while the planet tried to tear them apart. He had nearly sacrificed himself to save them both.
Grace's breath catches in the quiet room. That grayish black trail still haunts him. The terror of thinking he had lost the only friend he had left in the galaxy. The relief when Rocky pulled through. They had already beaten death once together and clawed their way back from the edge of oblivion on that hostile planet.
Pushing their luck now with something as simple, as selfish, as a real physical hug feels impossibly reckless.
He can't ask anything more of Rocky or his people. They've done enough for him already.
But still, he can't help imagining what that hug would have felt like if Rocky hadn't been inside of his ball.
The ache in his chest sharpens. Grace opens his eyes and stares at the xenonite shell, the faint glow reflecting off its polished surface. Rocky is right there. He's so close, yet separated by atmospheres that would kill them both in seconds. One careless breach, one failed seal, and everything they survived on Adrian would mean nothing.
Rocky's humming shifts slightly, as if he heard the words even in his half sleep, wordless but full of quiet affection.
Grace turns onto his side, facing Rocky, and lets the memory settle. The fear from Adrian mixes with the warmth of their friendship. They've already shared more than most beings ever will: trust forged in crisis, laughter across language barriers, a friendship that crossed stars.
Maybe that has to be enough.
But as sleep finally pulls him under, a small, stubborn spark of hope remains.
They've solved the impossible before.