Archive of Our Own

The moment that Ryland decides that he is going to save Rocky–it feels like everything in his life has led to this.

It is the first decision that he has made in the last five years.

Well, this decision and getting involved with the mission in the first place.

Space on the other hand–well, the betrayal of Stratt still stings.

He is fifty-six days away from Rocky with nineteen days of food and if he eats every five days he will definitely have enough food to pick up Rocky and make it to Eridian.

After–he can’t be sure.

But this, saving Rocky, he can be sure of that.

There is no Stratt, no entire world relying on him–The Beatles have been sent off–he has no one to answer to, other than himself.

So, he’ll save Rocky.

Or die trying.

The first ten days pass easily enough, he’s hungry, but it isn’t too bad.

The second ten days were tiring, but nothing to write home about, not that he could write home about it.

On day thirty, he’s hungry and it’s the first time he can’t pretend to be anything else. He spends most of his days in the Captain’s chair, trying to avoid thinking about eating.

On day thirty-four, the Hail Mary interface tries to stop him. It is the first time he doesn’t panic while turning off the auto-pilot.

Day forty-eight is the worst day, interestingly enough. He’s starving, enough so that he can count each rib and his stomach feels as though it is going to eat itself.

He can ignore it to some extent–a call back to all the times he couldn’t keep track of the day-night cycles and went far too many hours without eating. Ryland’s vision is a little blurry around the edges and his knees shake anytime he tries to stand.

But he pushes through it, for Rocky.

On day fifty-six, he throws up stomach bile into the trash compactor on his way to his space-walk suit. He turns the gravity back on and crawls the rest of the way, shaking all the while and forcing his unsteady limbs to cooperate. It takes him an embarrassingly long among of time to get the suit on–

Pressurization successful, ready for space walk.

There is a rope and carabiner attached to his waist, it’s the only reason he feels confident enough to pass through the doorway and into the open space of, well, space.

The moment he pushes off, he loses consciousness.

If he were a medical doctor, he would question it. He would take the time to hypothesize that maybe his lack of food, combined with no gravity, the exertion it took to get to the door must have led to a sudden drop in blood pressure that disrupted the rhythm of his heart. 

But Ryland Grace is not a medical doctor.

When he is back in his own mind–with a little blurriness still lingering around the edges–he pushes off the side of the Hail Mary towards Blip-A.

It’s a bit like diving off a diving board and into a pool, if the pool were an unending nothingness and there wasn’t any water to slow him down. Maybe it isn’t like diving into a pool. He loses momentum maybe ten feet shy of Blip-A and has to swim (he chooses breaststroke, he isn’t really sure if it works).

Grabbing onto the stone of Rocky’s ship feels like coming home.

He ignores how heavy his limbs feel in the weightlessness of space as he presses against the not-glass between the nothingness of space and the ammonia-filled air of Rocky’s ship.

Ryland knocks.

And waits.

And knocks

And waits.

And at one point the knocking changes to frantic pounding–over and over and over and over and–

Rocky knocks back.

Ryland’s pretty sure he passes out again, his excitement getting the better of him.

When Rocky is back on the Hail Mary–the how of which escapes him at the moment–everything feels like a mirage.

Rocky is on his side of the not-glass and Ryland is on his.

“Grace save Rocky, question?” His friend is pressed up against the not-glass, his many legs curled up underneath him, obviously feeling the effects of the radiation poisoning but trying to find answers nonetheless.

Ryland is also curled up against the not-glass, pressing his face into it and wishing more than anything he could reach out and touch his friend–the stark reminder of the last time they touched still shines pink on his forearm under his jumpsuit. “Yeah, buddy.” He’s wrapped in a blanket in an effort to stave off the steadily rising shivers and failing to ignore the nausea that is rising in his empty stomach. “Grace always saves Rocky, statement.”

He adopts his friend’s speech pattern, hoping that it will drive his point home.

Rocky twists side-to-side, his way of showing excitement. When he re-settles, he asks, “Grace sick too, question?”

Ryland isn’t sure when he closed his eyes, he opens them again, “Kind of buddy.” He shifts in his spot, ignoring the way his ribs dig into the hard surface he is leaning against, “I needed to ration my food–I’m kind of running on empty here.”

It isn’t fully true, he has enough food to go another thirty-eight days at the rate of food every five days.

But he is really running out of energy.

Rocky shifts, holding his visual modifier and pointing it at Ryland. “Grace face different.” He doesn’t clarify if it is a question or not.

The idea comes to Ryland in an instant, he has the ability to answer the questions that he couldn’t before. He drops the blanket from his shoulders and pulls himself away from the not-glass. Despite how cold he feels, he unzips his orange jumpsuit and pulls his arms free. His shirt comes off next–

“You can see what I look like now, under the leaky space blob.” His ribs are visible, the muscles he woke up with completely gone with the lack of consistent nutrition. He brushes a hand across his robs, wincing at the reminder of just how hungry he is. 

Rocky points the visual modifier at him.

“Rocks under skin, question?”

“Bones, but close enough.” Ryland turns away from the not-glass presenting his back to the Eridian.

If Rocky were human, Ryland would feel exposed, on display in a way that would make anyone uncomfortable.

But there is something about the friendship they’ve built over the years–has it really been years–he puts himself on display and for the first time it doesn’t feel like display.

“Human’s have these bones under our skin, they prop us up, make our blood, some other gross stuff.” Ryland is struggling to re-dress, his hands shaking with the effort and his body racked with shivers. “But–”

When he opens his eyes again, it’s too a concerned Rocky and an inability to tell how long he was asleep. Rocky is looking as concerned as he can, tapping the glass with one of his many hands.

“Grace save Rocky, so Rocky save Grace.” It’s a simple statement from a complicated being, the music of his words would be called heaven-sent if Ryland believed in the idea of it.

“Rocky take Grace to Erid.”

Ryland smiles at the thought, wondering if he’ll make it.

“Yeah buddy, let’s go to Erid.” He lies.

It takes him another hour to stand–he can see how much Rocky wants to help as he struggles to his feet–when he flips the switch to turn off the gravity everything feels a little easier.

Rocky joins him in the cockpit, offering directions to Erid that Ryland struggles to follow.

Maybe two hours later, Ryland is asleep with Rocky at the proverbial wheel. It’s the first time he’s truly rested since day thirty-four, what with the Hail Mary disagreeing with his course of action.

He gets to eat on day thirty-five, it’s a slow process that feels like it does more harm than good.

Rocky tells him stories about Erid in an effort to fill the silence.

Ryland wonders if Rocky knows he won’t be able to survive on Erid.

Maybe it’s just one of those things they won’t talk about–like how they had to say goodbye.

It’s a bit of a blur, similar to how he got here in the first place, but a blur made easier by Rocky’s presence. They talk about Earth and Erid and how Ryland figured out that Rocky was in danger, and then they talk about it all again–Ryland’s half-starved mind won’t let him really remember every conversation to the fullest extent.

Rocky is patient, which is strange for him to be.

Does he know I won’t survive on Erid?

Arrival on Erid feels strange–maybe it’s because of the malnutrition, or the exhaustion, or the simple fact that the atmosphere is just so drastically different.

Ryland basically lives in a space suit while Rocky enters and exits the ship–he’s glad for the Hail Mary, simply because of the fact that it can answer every question that Rocky has without Ryland having to do anything.

When he wakes up on a bed–Ryland assumes he’s dead.

It’s a stupid assumption, why would there be a bed in the afterlife.

He has a lot of questions–which triple the moment he opens his eyes and finds an actual house around him.

Maybe I’m back on Earth.

He hates that thought more.

Ryland’s hands shake as he brushes them across the bedspread, it’s the sheets from the Hail Mary and that is confirmation enough that everything that he’s been through is true enough.

He looks around the room and is unsurprised to find Rocky curled on the bed next to him, face-spot focused on Ryland’s still supine-form.

“Ro-cky?” His voice cracks from disuse, his head aches from the soft sound.

The Eridian in question shifts, the not-glass that sits tight against his body shining in the low light of the room.

When he speaks, it’s with his usual music–the lack of Hail Mary makes Ryland default to assuming that he can’t understand his friend.

“Grace awake! Grace awake! Excite! Amaze, amaze, amaze!” It’s too much noise, too much chatter and Ryland lives for it.

Ryland stretches a shaking hand to brush across one of Rocky’s many limbs–“How did I get here buddy?” He knows the answer to his question is going to be long and complicated, but maybe if he asks it’ll distract him from the fact that he is no longer hungry.

Rocky’s response is long winded and surprisingly Ryland only falters on one or two words.

He specifically avoids the fact that he is technically eating me-burgers.

And thrives on the idea of being on Erid.

“Rocky and Adrian make home for Grace on Erid, statement.” Rocky does his excitement-wiggle, shifting on the sheets of the bed in such a way that it reminds Ryland of his childhood dog. “Rocky and Adrian show Grace home, Grace get better first.”

Ryland closes his eyes again–trying to stave off the tears he can feel rising, the emotions he feels at the thought of his friend making him a home on his planet.

“Thank you Rocky.”

It is the most important words he has ever said in his life.

Rocky shifts forward on the bed, stretching his legs across Ryland’s chest in an almost-awkward way, the Eridian version of a hug. “Grace save Rocky, Rocky save Grace. Even steven.”

The Earth phrase makes Ryland smile.

Despite the lingering weakness, Ryland shifts on the bed, pushing his elbows underneath him and up onto his hands until he can sit up straight. It takes almost everything out of him, his breath passes through his lips in pants, he cannot help the still-lingering shaking.

Rocky looks tempted to help but unsure how to use his too-many limbs.

“I want to see it now, buddy.” He pushes his legs to the side of the bed, wincing at the ache.

There is more muscle on his bones than there was, but there is no definition to it–at least not yet.

Rocky stumbles from the bed, getting tangled in the sheets in a way that replicates the human experience, Ryland watches with a smile on his face.

When his friend stands in front of him–it’s the first time Ryland gets to truly understand the size of the Eridian. He is nearly waist-height, and as wide as he is tall. He stands in front of Ryland and leans forward.

“Leaky space blob need to lean on Rocky.” He nudges his body against Ryland’s knee until he sets his hand on top.

For a moment–Ryland imagines he can stand without having to put too much weight on his friend. But the moment he puts any weight on his legs they buckle, he staggers into Rocky and thanks him without saying as much for the stability.

It takes them far too long to cross to the window–it’s made of the same not-glass that made up the divisions on the Hail Mary. 

Through it, an impossible world.

“Rocky remember Grace favorite Earth place. Show Adrian, Eridian make it.”

It’s the shoreline that he dreamed about, sandy beaches and crashing waves. A wall of stone encloses the beach.

“It’s perfect.”

Nothing could ring more true.