Work Text:
The ship had become quieter recently. Ryland Grace had never thought that was possible, not after the whole saving the universe thing, not after months of absolute isolation punctuated only by computer systems and his own increasingly questionable self-talk. But somewhere along the journey back toward Erid, the silence had settled into something familiar. Comfortable, even. The low mechanical hum beneath the floor no longer registered consciously. The gentle vibration of circulation pumps and filtration systems faded into background noise. Rocky’s movements through his tunnel system, once startlingly loud and alien, had become another ordinary sound among many. Familiar enough that Grace could identify where Rocky was in the ship without looking. Familiar enough that changes stood out immediately.
Which was why he noticed the power discrepancy within thirty-six minutes.
“...Huh.”
He leaned closer toward the display panel mounted beside the engineering station, one hand wrapped loosely around a mug of coffee that had long since cooled past drinkable. Numbers scrolled quietly down the monitor in neat columns of system outputs and system inputs. Most people would not have noticed it. Most engineers probably wouldn’t have noticed it.
Grace noticed it.
Because the ship’s power systems had never changed like that.
He frowned harder, scrolling upward through the diagnostics log. Gravity support stable. Environmental controls natural. Thermal regulation functioning normally. No abnormal spikes. No failures. No warnings.
But there it sat.
A tiny inconsistency.
Small enough for anyone else to dismiss.
But large enough that Grace absolutely could not dismiss it.
“Huh,” he said again.
The total ship power usage sat marginally above expected draw. Tiny. Fractional. Almost insultingly insignificant.
Point-zero-two percent.
Grace stared at it.
Then refreshed diagnostics.
Same result.
“Rocky?” he called.
A few moments later, a familiar series of metallic impacts echoed through the tunnel system overhead before Rocky descended toward the shared section of the ship with practiced ease.
<Question?> Rocky said.
“Did you do anything unusual today?”
<No.>
“Extra equipment?”
<No.>
“Maintenance?”
<No.>
Grace leaned back in his chair. “We’ve got a small power discrepancy.”
Rocky waited.
Grace waited.
Rocky tilted slightly in his ball. <Small.>
“Yeah.”
<Problem, question?>
“Maybe.”
<Danger?>
“No.”
<Then no problem.>
Grace stared at him.
Rocky stared back.
The scientist snorted quietly and turned back toward the display. “It’s probably nothing.”
<Agreement.>
“Could just be measurement error.”
<Agreement.>
“Tiny software drift.”
<Agreement.>
“Something weird with diagnostics.”
<Agreement.>
“Stop agreeing with everything.”
<Disagreement.>
Grace rubbed his eyes.
Point-zero-two percent.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Except power systems didn’t lose energy for no reason.
The laws of physics had remained stubbornly attached to reality last time he checked.
He stood, stretching carefully until his back protested loudly enough to qualify as workplace harassment. Rocky had already moved on toward another section of the ship, likely handling one of the countless routine maintenance checks he somehow completed with relentless efficiency, rolling around in his suit and looking at things, only coming back to tell Grace if something needed fixing. Grace envied that sometimes. Rocky approached problems with uncomplicated certainty. Problem exists. Observe problem. Solve problem.
Grace approached problems by thinking about them too much.
Which was why two hours later he sat back down at engineering.
Just to check.
Only because he was there.
Only because it would take two seconds.
Diagnostics refreshed… Point-zero-two.
Still there.
Grace stared.
“No,” he muttered quietly, and opened deeper systems analysis.
Cross-referenced power distribution, environmental logs, equipment cycles, backup redundancies.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
<Grace?>
He startled hard enough to nearly hit his head.
“Jesus Christ, Rocky-”
<No Christ aboard ship.>
“Figure of speech.”
<Bad figure.>
“Thank you.”
Rocky tilted slightly toward the monitor.
<Still small problem, question?>
“Yeah.”
<Problem become large?>
“No.”
<Then why problem.>
“I’m not stressed.”
<Wrong.>
The blonde opened his mouth, closed it, and opened another diagnostic menu.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
<Grace.>
“Mmhm.”
<Grace not eat.>
“I’ll eat later.”
<Grace say later three hours ago.>
Grace clicked irritably through another set of readings. “Because I’m busy now.”
Rocky shifted slightly in the doorway of the engineering bay, claws scraping softly against metal. <Small problem make Grace very upset.>
“It’s not the size of the problem,” Grace muttered. “It’s the fact that it exists. It’s just- it shouldn’t exist.”
<Things exist often.>
“Thanks, Aristotle.”
<No Aristotle aboard ship either, statement.>
Grace let out a short laugh despite himself, but it vanished almost immediately when another fluctuation blinked across the screen. Tiny. Fractional. There and gone so quickly he almost convinced himself he imagined it.
Except he hadn’t.
0.02
0.02
0.02
0.03
His pulse kicked unpleasantly higher as the number ticked up.
“No, no, no…” he muttered under his breath, fingers moving faster across the console. He reran diagnostics again. Same result. Again. Same result. Again.
0.03
The ship hummed steadily around him, every system sounding suddenly too loud and too noticeable all at once. He became acutely aware of the ventilation cycling overhead, the faint vibration beneath his feet, Rocky shifting his weight behind him. His own breathing sounded wrong. Too fast.
<Grace.>
“Hang on.”
<Grace.>
“I said hang on.”
Rocky goes silent.
Scrolling manically through miles and miles of numbers, Grace felt a crushing weight against his ribs.
No.
This couldn’t happen, not now. He had to figure this out, right now, or their trip could be compromised. He doesn’t- He can’t-
He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.The effort died on his lips and his chest felt too heavy to push anything out of. His throat worked around air that refused to become sound.
Behind him, Rocky shifted closer. <Grace hurt, question?>
Grace shook his head immediately, pulse climbing higher now for entirely different reasons. No, not now. Absolutely not now.
<Then answer question.>
“I-”
The word died before it fully formed.
Panic flared hot in his chest. He tried again, harder this time, physically forcing the effort, and all it did was make the pressure in his head worse. His jaw locked painfully tight. Breathing suddenly felt way too manual.
Rocky’s lights brightened sharply. <Grace sick, question?>
Grace shook his head harder.
<Grace hurt, question?>
Another head shake.
<Grace angry Rocky, question?>
No, God no. But Grace can’t say anything.
<Understood. Rocky leave Grace alone.>
No.
No.
But Rocky rolled out anyway, clunking down the hallway and leaving Grace all alone with the feeling of cotton wool in his throat.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Grace sat there for a long time after Rocky left.
Long enough for the diagnostics screen to dim automatically. Long enough for his pulse to slowly, painfully come back down from somewhere around actively being chased by a tiger to actively being chased by a small dog.
The power discrepancy still sat on the screen.
Point-zero-two percent.
Steady.
Tiny.
Mocking him.
Grace rubbed hard at his eyes.
The pressure behind his ribs had dulled from sharp panic into something heavier. Exhaustion. Embarrassment. God, Rocky thought he was angry.
Rocky thought...
Grace squeezed his eyes shut.
Great.
Fantastic.
Outstanding communication skills, Ryland.
He leaned forward until his forehead rested carefully against folded arms on the desk. Just for a minute. Just until the spinning feeling settled. Just until he could think properly again.
He did not intend to fall asleep.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
When he woke up, his neck hurt.
A deeply unfair consequence considering he had technically saved the whole fudging universe and therefore deserved exemption from minor inconveniences forever.
The engineering bay sat dimmer than before. The ship’s night cycle. For a few disorienting seconds he simply blinked slowly at the console in front of him. Then memory came back all at once.
“Oh, no,” Grace mumbled quietly.
The words came out rough, but unmistakably there. Talking. Okay, this was good.
He looked up at the screen and then blinked once, twice. When the blinking didn’t change what he saw, he rubbed his eyes. But still, there it was.
0.01
The number was going down.
Oh, thank God.
Something must have changed.
It must have been Rocky.
Of course it had been Rocky.
Rocky had tried. Rocky had gotten worried. Rocky had backed off because Grace couldn’t explain. And Grace had let him walk away thinking-
No.
Nope.
Fix that.
Now.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Rocky wasn’t in engineering, nor was he in the lab, or in storage. Grace eventually found him near one of the maintenance junctions closer to the bottom end of the ship, partially inside one of the wall access panels.
“Rocky?”
The movement stopped instantly.
Metal shifted.
Rocky slowly rolled himself backwards out of the compartment.
<Grace words back.>
“Yeah.”
Silence settled awkwardly.
“Uh.” Brilliant start. Excellent work. “Sorry.”
<No need apology. Grace wish alone.>
“No.” Too fast. Too sharp.
Rocky tilted.
“No,” Grace repeated more quietly. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
<Rocky not understand.>
“Sometimes if I get really stressed out…” God, this sounded stupid out loud. “My brain sort of…” He gestured vaguely beside his head. “Shuts things down.”
<Injury?>
“No.”
<Sickness?>
“No. It happened more when I was a kid.” The admission came quietly. “Doesn’t happen much anymore. Usually only if I get really overwhelmed.” He exhaled slowly. “Too much stress. Too many things happening at once. I can think fine. Mostly. I know what I want to say.”
<But no speak.>
“Yeah.”
<Why, question?>
“I don’t know.” Grace laughed softly, tiredly. “Human brains are kind of garbage sometimes.”
<Disagreement. Human brain save Earth. Grace brain save earth.>
The scientist sits with that for a moment, and ffels a warmth blossom inside him. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Thank you, Rock.”
For a moment neither of them spoke. The ship hummed quietly around them, familiar and steady again.
Then Rocky clicked his claws lightly against the floor. <Now Grace sleep more. Grace look terrible.>
Grace snorted. “Goodnight to you too, Rocky.”
<Goodnight, Grace.>