Chapter Text
Ryland Grace was good at keeping secrets.
Or well, as good as a man could be when he was stuck on a cramped ship for 4 years, and for however long Rocky had joined him until he came to Erid.
The Eridian of which could hear just about anything and everything he muttered under his breath.
That was part of how Rocky had learned that Doctor Ryland Grace wasn't always Ryland. But Riley. Before, well, a lot of things.
Ryland had always known something was different, even before his parents had passed. He never liked his hair particularly long, or being called pretty or gorgeous, or most feminine things for all that matter. When he finally found his footing, Riley had just simply disappeared, died with his parents, and Ryland was left there. Like an asexually reproduced adult just plopped into uni, constantly tired and with his glasses skewed anywhere but where they should be.
No one knew about Riley, no one but Ryland and the planned parenthood he went to grab his medicine.
He had buried her with his parents, and he liked to keep it that way.
Until he found himself unsure and half aware of who he was in a spaceship. Thousands of miles away from Earth. He found packages of Testoderm under his bed. Even if Stratt sent him to space against his will she at least had the decency to give him an ample supply of his medicine.
Rocky didn't know what the patches were for when he first arrived, the only reason he knew was because of Grace complaining about how itchy the patches were. And Rocky not understanding he couldn't just "not use them". Sensitive skin be damned. Plus multiple talks about how Eridians simply did not have gender, and well, Grace thought a few light years from Earth was enough to talk about her without any other human overhearing.
That was, again, until another human (…ish? being? Person. He was a person. Not a subject.) came tumbling into his life.
Simon.
Blood soaked and barely alive, the mangled man had appeared in Erid's orbit one day, drowning in a sub of viscera (human blood, Grace knew) and encased in veiny roots, they had to saw him out within an inch of his life.
At least, that was what he was told.
Simon had arrived not long after Grace had settled into his routine, his life, on Erid. Not long after he awoke from a coma and was able to walk unaided and alive. So alive. That the Eridians did not want to risk him having a front row seat to whatever gore they found Simon in. Probably did not want to risk him having a heart attack.
Which, okay rude. But also, fair. Grace was never particularly good with copious amounts of blood. Or any bodily fluids for that matter.
So when Grace was asked to spend time with Simon, help him acclimate, ensure he was not going to have a mental breakdown (which Grace definitely did not have when he first woke up no sir), and y'know, do what humans do best. Be pack animals and find comfort in one another presence. Grace was so sure he was going to see something in-human from what Rocky had described. The blood, the gore, the fact he was barely alive.
But no…not particularly at least.
He was mostly covered in bandages, his left arm amputated above his elbow, near his bicep even. But otherwise, he looked human. Dark hair splayed against the light pillows, tubes entering and exiting him in all different directions.
Ryland came to know that he sustained many scars, older than those that were probably from the sub, most of those coming in thick, veiny patterns. But also ones that ran deep in his mind, which he got. Probably pretty traumatic to be welded shut into what looked like a death machine.
Their relationship was…rocky, to start (no pun intended). Simon barely spoke, dazed and unsure of where he was. Talking about a place called Eden, the Quiet Rapture, COI (Grace thought he said COD at first), like they were all common knowledge. Ingrained, deep.
The only thing familiar was the occasional ramble about a girl, probably a sister, who he said he had been close with, but had drifted away from, and was unsure if she would forgive him if she knew he was alive.
But things slowly improved, Simon slowly got better, trusted Grace's hand to help rather than slap. That he nor the Eridians expected anything of him. Clemency from Simon was like a hail from God.
It was weird that Grace was, for once, excited to meet another human. Riley never passing to make his hand hesitate.
After some time and recovery, Simon came to stay at Graces house. Days at the house became weeks, weeks became months, and the months turned into about a year. Same routine, same Pebbles, same Simon. Well, things were never exactly routine with Simon, always looking to fix something or move or do something he deigned useful.
Which, by Ryland's account, was fine. Some days he'd come back to Simon working on tweaking Armando, or working on building a greenhouse with some Eridians (similar to how Grace named them after different types of stones or minerals, Simon named the Eridians he knew after plants), or even talking with Rocky and/or Adrian. That definitely didn't bruise his ego.
But what never changed with him and Simon was that they would sit and eat dinner together. Debrief. Be human. Laugh at stupid jokes.
But, there were some times when Simon would be uncharacteristically quiet or reserved; break even that routine. Withdraw into his bedroom and not come out. Which was fine. A bit weird, yes, but Grace could not blame Simon. Change, trauma, life, death- it was a lot. Grace knew that he really did. But he could never bring himself to knock; ask Simon to join him for dinner. He would stand outside the door and try to will his arm, tendon by tendon, feeling the bones ache at the slow movement. But he never could, sighing and resigning to sleeping on the couch.
Grace knew about secrets far too well.
Those nights he could feel Riley press up against his ribs.
He really didn't want to think about it.
Until he had to.
Maybe it was because he had been too frazzled grading papers the past few days, Simon being a-wall and mostly confined to the bedroom (Armando brought him food, but he rarely touched it; its fine, he'll be fine), and Rocky and Adrian visiting family far in the mountains. Leaving Ryland to his machinations and simply focus. focus. focus. On his work, his lessons, and the occasional scientific paper from the Eridians to decode about Tau Centai's readings.
So naturally he forgot to do his doses…more than once in that week. The Eridians (bless them) had figured out how to replicate the synthetic testosterone. But Riley had been so far from his mind, his sleep schedule so screwed outside of classes, that he had made an honest mistake.
He stretched, his bones popping in protest, throwing the quilt off his lap and wrapping his well worn cardigan, ambling over to the bathroom.
He still peed sitting down. Look it was uncomfortable to try and do it with one of those things that allow you to pee standing up and he sure did not have the money for a phalloplasty on a teachers salary. He only got top surgery with scrapped together money from odd jobs the end of his undergrad junior year, spending his summer bedridden in a matchbox apartment.
When he finished, he did not expect the red blooming on the white toilet paper.
Ah.
Fuck.
It had been years since he last had a period. Decades, even.
He had not seen a tampon since he was probably 16. When he swore he'd never stick another one of those damned things anywhere near him after he took his first shot.
The only thing he could do was one of the oldest tricks in the book: stuff his boxers with toilet paper and pray.
Ryland got up and reached for the small, unassuming box in one of the high shelves of the bathroom, carefully taking down the small vials of testosterone.
He had gotten better, with needles that is. Exposure therapy and whatnot. But as he prepped the small patch on the side of his stomach, he couldn't help but feel the fear cling to his throat. Animal instincts to avoid pain and all that. Definitely not because of the feeling that one of these needles will cause him to lose the edges of reality. To fall into an unnatural sleep. And he would wake up back on the uncanny silence of the Hail Mary. Forgetting himself.
Forgetting Rocky.
Forgetting Adrian.
Forgetting his Pebbles.
Forgetting Simon.
God Simon, he needed a distraction stat. Needed to stop thinking about needles. About blood and viscera and gore. About her. Ryland needed to stop thinking period.
Grace cleaned the wound, putting the needle into a little container for the dirty ones and capping the box. Putting it back on one of the middle shelves because he could not make himself care enough about anything else than to stop thinking about the blood. all the blood. the secrets. Riley. Ryland. Same thing. Same person. Dead? Alive? Maybe. All maybe maybe maybe.
His body was on autopilot, hand gliding on the wall heading to the bedroom, the cool concrete pulling some of his attention away. But all he could smell was the blood on himself God he needed to stop thinking. He needed Simon, not quiet Simon but one who would talk. Hell even one that would just keep him company and not ask questions and not pry about why Grace was leaking-
He took his other hand to his face, pushing his glasses up and off the bridge of his nose, the tears warm on his face.
"Wuss. You cry like a girl."
He remembers the cruel words. He remembers the kid's name. Mark. Grace was 15. Mostly Ryland. But Riley still there. Stuck between two halves. Half dead half alive.
Grace doesn't remember knocking. He just realizes he can feel a gaze on him, brown eyes staring through pensive brows. Hair half up in a small ponytail, frizzy. His gaze is…not critical, more pensive, a slight quirk in his mouth and his lips tut into a thin line. Simon thinks a lot with his face, half hidden. No words. But if you know what to look for you can see it.
We all have secrets. Grace's are just looking to escape.
He swallows, his adams apple bobbing, "What do you need?" He rasps, voice deep from disuse as his tone edges on cold.
God okay this is not what Grace needs, "Can I uhm," he tries to center himself, "come in? I can't be alone right now." He doesn't want to sound desperate, but there's a slight warble in his voice. 'I cant be alone right now' definitely doesn't scream desperate.
At least he is not lying. He cant be alone. He doesn't know what he'll do alone.
Trade in half truths. That's what he can do. Build some kind of wall.
Simon looks him up and down, he seems pale, Grace thinks.
"Okay, yeah," he relents. Stepping out of the way so Grace can come in. Simon closes the door behind him, and he realizes he doesn't know where to go. This is Simon's domain, at least currently.
The two have had a silent agreement, during the time that Simon needed to be alone, he got the bedroom. But the rest of the time, it was Graces to use. He'd tried to protest, only to Simon ignoring him, changing the subject, or a look paired with "Please not right now, Grace."
Simon sits on the edge of the bed closest to the window, a blanket slung over his shoulders and botany book discarded on the bedside table. Ryland decides to take the comfy chair looking out to the artificial ocean next to Simon, pulling his legs up to his chest.
His thoughts have calmed a bit, the smell of sea salt and Simon's presence helping him from thinking about other things. It's good. Ryland is good.
Simon takes a deep breath in, "So, what do you need?"
"Company, I think."
"Hmmm…" he hums noncommittally.
"Is that okay?"
"Yeah, yeah," the response seems a little strained, a second too late. "Just, you know how it is. When, this happens."
This? The whole disappearing and never leaving the bedroom for a week at a time? A small part of Grace seethes. He wants to know why. Why does Simon disappear? Is he okay? Is he like a werewolf and going to wolf out as soon as the artificial sun dips below the horizon?
All Grace can do is give a nod. The colors of swirling pink and orange painting the water the pair looked out the bay window. The oranges reflecting into the room and setting the whole rooms in different warm hues. Grace noting how the light highlights the jagged edge of the scar that runs across the left half of Simon's face. Once, quite stupidly, Ryland had told him that he thought the scar was beautiful, that it was a reminder that he had survived to even have it. A small funny pit in his stomach making him feel queasy.
God it was probably the cramps.
"Can you talk about something?" Grace breaks the silence.
A beat passes, "Something?"
"Yeah, something, anything."
Ryland looks at Simon, but the latter still stares off into the sunset.
"Please?" Ryland tries.
Simon glances at him before looking down, holding the sheets around him tightly.
"There was a girl I knew, back on Eden."
Grace tried to hide the surprise on his face, because wow. This was the most Simon had said about his past since he stopped being so delirious and realized where he was, and that the stars weren't just ghost light but actual stars.
Well, at least for now.
"She was smart, really good at botany. She would spend hours next to the Tree. Just sitting there. So many of the other kids thought she was crazy. Father thought she was praying. Her and her mom would make games, entertain each other. And her mom would tell stories of before. Before the Quiet Rapture. Of Earth, of warm beaches, of different kinds of trees that stretched so high their tops touched heaven. That if they just climbed high enough you could get to heaven. That God would see your strength, your nobility, and let you in to heaven right there. I believed her, too."
Simon paused to collect his thoughts, hand playing with the hem of one of Graces larger shirts, the one with a periodic table and 'I wear this shirt periodically' emblazoned on the top.
"But, her Mom got sick, and everyone thought it was because she had sinned or done something wrong. Even the girl herself. So she prayed every day. Prayed for her moms health, that whatever trespass she made she would be forgiven. The girl thought she had done something wrong, and she prayed away every sin. Every thought recorded, washed away with scripture."
"But then, God it was so suddenly. Her mom died. Father said it was because of the sins she had not been released of, eating her soul away. But we all knew it was radiation sickness. And…it was like a light went off. And the girl…"
Grace could fill in the blanks. He just nodded along. At least he wasn't thinking about his own pity party. He could hear the warble in Simon's voice near the end. This must've been someone close to him, family friend, probably.
He wanted to ask something, maybe it was a little insensitive or the wrong time but he was sleep deprived and his hormones were all fucked and- "What was her name?"
Simon went rigid.
Great. Grace was never good at reading the room and he probably just went and absolutely killed the vibe.
"I mean, you don't have to tell me. Who am I kidding I know this was probably a lot to share and I- really, I mean really, appreciate you sharing this with me but that was a stupid question and I-"
"Simone."
"What?"
"Her name was Simone." He said, with an tone of finality.