Chapter Text
Ryland Grace is kind of oblivious. Ask any of his former colleagues and they would tell you the same thing; the man is a brilliant scientist and even better teacher, but he doesn’t really understand how others perceive him. Some of it is deliberate. He truly does not care (at all) what his students’ climate-denying parents or peers in academia think of him, and so he gives no thought to them. But not all of it is; it took until he was sedated and shot off to space against his will to realize he was highly regarded within Project Hail Mary, let alone Stratt’s number two. He certainly would have appreciated a heads-up on that. Not to mention all the times girls flirted with him in college and he had no idea until they left, when his friends would look at him like he grew two heads and ask why the hell didn’t he get her number?
All this to say, Grace doesn't think much about Rocky being nicer to him. Rocky is rarely (almost never) truly mean, but the Eridian enjoys teasing him a bit more than a healthy amount, and always chitters when he snarks back. But since they came up with their fishing plan to snag the predator from Adrian’s atmosphere, Rocky seems to be minding his manners a bit more than usual. Grace’s first thought is that his friend is trying to be thoughtful, to keep him from stressing about their quite stressful plan even more. He isn’t exactly looking forward to retrieving their sample from Mary’s hull while in dangerously close orbit.
He’s giving this more thought than it deserves, but there isn’t much else to do but think to keep himself from going insane while stringing five kilometers of xenonite chain. He probably should be practicing piloting, but Rocky had finished his part of the chain and (nicely) asked him to finish the rest while he fine-tuned the Adrian predator collector, which started this little bout of introspection. He hadn't even followed it up with a small jab like “Grace more useful making chain, flying skill still bad.”
Well, Grace isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth…actually he is, but this time he decides to shrug the thought off and continue the mind-numbing task of stringing even more chain links together. They had a very long conversation about their respective cultures after Rocky moved in, but he’s still discovering more Eridian customs and mannerisms every day. For all he knows Rocky could have been extremely rude by Eridian standards this whole time and his current attitude is more typical. Grace smiles to himself; maybe it says something about him that he’s more amused at the thought than anything.
✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
The predator collector is finished, and the chain is finally done, but Grace still needs to practice his piloting so Rocky has moved onto a new project in the meantime. With all the hand (claw?) holds and grips around his tunnels, Rocky could use one arm to keep himself steady while the other four were free to tinker, no matter how jerkily Grace spun and shuddered the ship around. Which he has been doing a bit less, thank you very much. His current project involved Rocky spending more time at his workbench in the dormitory near their shared sleeping space. Grace has yet to find out what it is, the Eridian not offering up the information like he usually does. If Rocky won’t tell him it almost certainly isn’t related to their fishing plan, but Grace still wants to know what his friend and the only other living person light years around Tau Ceti is up to. Sue him for being nosy.
“Whatcha doing, Rock?” Grace asks as he wanders out of the cockpit. Rocky is on the other end of the ship but as usual could hear him perfectly.
“Shouldn’t Grace be practicing flying, question?” Rocky calls back while tinkering with a clear xenonite panel, talking loudly for his benefit. The Eridian may be able to hear Grace from anywhere but Grace is unfortunately limited by his human ears. He tries not to be too jealous of Rocky’s sonar–it’s so useful! Though an Eridian would probably feel the same about his eyes, he supposes. The grass is always greener on the other side and all that.
Rocky is seated at his workbench with two limbs tucked under his carapace, the remaining three knitting the ends of the panel together. Next to him sits a cluster of more panels of varying sizes attached together in a vague half-circle shape as long as Grace is tall, while a smaller stack of individual panels stands next to it, presumably waiting to be stitched into the larger form. Some panels are rigid like Rocky’s tunnel walls, and others are made of the same feeling mesh on his ball. Strewed about the space are dozens of small bundles of even finer mesh strings spooled like yarn. “Predator collector and chain done, only need Grace to not crash in Adrian orbit.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Rocky hear that.” He stomps an arm not currently knitting.
“I wasn't trying to be sneaky! It's just so boring,” Grace whines, reaching the dormitory, flopping down and starfishing out on his bunk. His glasses are knocked askew and he doesn’t bother fixing them. “I’ve been practicing for hours now, Rock, and it's barely making a difference. I don’t think I can go on. Tell Earth I tried”
Rocky trills a short high-pitched arpeggio that Grace recognizes as a playful scoff. “Drama queen. Has only been 108 minutes.”
“I never should have taught you that.”
“Grace should stop being drama queen then. Rocky would not say if not true.” The Eridian lets out a patented chittering laugh, then sort-of-turns in the way Grace knows is intended to face him directly despite having no front or back side. Rocky's ability to use his body and limbs in any orientation, so unlike a human, is fascinating no matter how many times Grace sees it. “Grace like to pretend to be stupid–”
Said stupid shoots him a pointed look. “Hey!”
“But you are not.” Rocky fully puts down the panel and places a claw against the xenonite barrier, Grace automatically (when did that happen?) mirroring him without conscious thought. “Grace learn how to be mission commander and contact Rocky all alone. Grace very knowledgeable about astrophage, more than Rocky, and know human science Eridians do not. You are smart. You will learn necessary flying skill.”
Grace frowns a bit. He knows he’s smart, but a doctorate in molecular biology doesn’t exactly translate to orbital maneuvers. “Easier said than done, bud, I–”
Rocky stomps again. “No. Rocky would not say if not true. Grace will learn.” All five of his limbs are still, carapace ramrod straight, vents softly undulating. Completely focused and serious. “I trust Grace.”
Grace stills too, not used to such direct praise on Earth or in space. “What’s up with you?” he mumbles, looking away but not removing his hand. He feels an embarrassing heat crawl up his neck–thank god Rocky can’t see color. “You’re being extra nice to me. Should I be worried?” He’s joking, but distantly remembers his train of thought from earlier.
Rocky clicks in what Grace knows is faux annoyance, lightly rumbling his vents. “Yes. Rocky plan to throw Grace out of airlock if Grace keep avoiding flying.” He sort-of-not-really-turns back to his xenonite panel, signalling the conversation is over, and taps the barrier for emphasis. “Go back to cockpit. Do not make Rocky a murderer, Grace.”
So much for holding back those jabs. Grace smiles as he fixes his glasses and stands up; he would never say it out loud, or Rocky would take it as an invitation to be even more annoying, but he enjoys their bickering and teasing. It's been a long time since he had someone he could joke around with so freely. “Who’s gonna pilot Mary, then?” he wonders aloud, strolling to the cockpit as slowly as he can without Rocky threatening him again. “Have you really thought this through?”
Rocky lets out a long hum, the frequency so low Grace can feel it travel across the room and vibrate from his socked feet up through his legs. He doesn’t have a translation for that noise. “Do not worry. Rocky know Grace smart enough to not tempt Rocky,” he mumbles distractedly, not looking up from his tinkering. “Grace is good.”
What’s that supposed to mean? Grace stutters out something he hopes is a biting retort but definitely isn't as he walks a little faster, and hopes that sound behind him isn't Rocky chittering but definitely is.
Back in the pilot's chair, he spends an hour or so practicing simple maneuvers, working up the courage to resume running through the flight path he had plotted to get into Adrian’s atmosphere and back. It took a long time and a lot of math to get it just right, but Grace isn't about to risk getting too close to Adrian’s surface and hurtling to a fiery death because he didn't carry a zero in one of the countless formulas–after all they’ve gone through that would be a very stupid way to die. He knows it's sound. He still doesn't like putting it to the test.
Rocky's low tones float through his mind. “I trust Grace.” That isn’t a big surprise; they had spent enough time together that Grace would be offended if Rocky didn’t trust him at this point, but he briefly wonders why his friend decided to give him an impromptu pep talk. He must be really stressed if Rocky, an alien still learning human body language (and who has a penchant for teasing), felt the need to reassure him.
“Grace is good.”
He puts his head in his hands for a minute, sighs, then straightens up. He rolls his shoulders and flicks on the overhead controls. Who is he to disappoint his friend?
“Alright Mary, start flight simulation.”