Chapter Text
It was raining inside the dome.
He heard it—a gentle pitter-patterning of water that thrummed against his windows in a way so familiar it left him breathless.
Why was it raining?
Grace recalls the first time it did so with a pained grimace. He’d been so excited by the novelty of it he ran outside almost as soon as he realized what was happening—only to be heavily disturbed by how warm the water was, and how the droplets were as thick and heavy as hail.
He told Rocky he was thankful for the experience, but he kindly asked them to never have it rain again.
He can’t be mad, however. The noise is… soothing.
He wonders briefly when precipitation was added to his weather schedule—or, rather, what was so different about it this time around that the biodome team was confident in its reintroduction—and is then immediately distracted by the sound of his alarm.
Grace huffs, reaching over to silence the offending object sitting innocuously on his nightstand. The twinkling against the glass is so nice that he almost wishes he could stay in bed for the whole day.
Then his stomach rumbles.
Grace muffles a sigh into his fist as he stretches, reluctantly pulling himself out of his rumpled sheets. It was, unfortunately, another day without classes. He very much so missed his students.
After Adrian finally spilled the beans to Rocky about Grace’s new-found trouble traversing the large hill his home sat on, Rocky insisted he take a break from teaching until they were finished with the big project—no amount of pleading would deter him. He can’t fault his best friend for being worried, but he’s been going slightly stir crazy from all the inaction.
“Good morning Armando,” Grace says, rubbing his favorite robot’s claw head with a small smile.
Armando hums in response, dancing in place as they move a hand up to tame some of their human’s wild beadhead. Grace waves him away, but Armando merely puffs up with pride as they affix his glasses to his face.
His robot companion unfortunately did not have a hot coffee waiting for him in their claws—he thinks almost longingly about the caffeine deficit he’s been manhandled into in an attempt to keep him safe when going under.
Adrian was actually the one to broach the subject with him not too long ago. There was a long list of concerns when he and his team were preparing for the procedure; but the biggest of which was Grace’s insistence on his “daily consumption of mind altering stimulants.”
“Caffeine will react very badly to synthesized Eridian coma medicine,” he had said, “Do not drink it for the next couple of days”
Despite continuously asking for clarification, for updates, for even a small heads up on the happenings between thrums, Adrian and Rocky have yet to further explain much else.
A yawn cracks through his lips as he shuffles towards his closet, scratching at the small strip of skin that peaks out from underneath his shirt. It’s colder than usual, he notices. Cold enough to where he’s once again half tempted to crawl back into bed and roll himself into his much warmer blankets—but he ignores the feeling, eyes wracking over his very limited selection of outfits.
Grace is mildly concerned about being kept in the dark, but… well, he trusts them both with his life. He could say with confidence, even with all the hesitance and anxiousness that made him him, that he’d let Rocky dig around in his organs with the implicit faith that he’d be doing it for a good reason. He isn’t going to put up too much of a fuss—especially not over something so benign as a cup of coffee.
He awkwardly thumbs at the longer curls resting at the base of his neck (he really needs a haircut soon), shifting from foot to foot before pulling out another well-worn cardigan. Wearing the same things over and over is starting to get to him, he admits—If only to himself. The Eridians offered to sew him new ones out of the various textiles they’d manage to replicate, but Grace doesn’t want to be that much of a bother.
Armando beeps out a happy tune and waves a small goodbye as Grace changes and leaves the room.
First order of business, he thinks, breakfast.
The kitchen lights bloom into wakefulness as he passes through the entryway, leaving a full throb beneath his eyelids as he’s forced to adjust to the rapid change. Usually, the ambient sunshine from the sky array streaming through his windows is enough to keep these sorts of pains at bay. If rain is going to be a reoccurring event, he’d have to ask Rocky if they could add a short transition to the light fixtures.
He pauses for a moment, adjusting his glasses as he absentmindedly opens and closes a few empty cabinets for no other reason than to bring his mind further to semi-consciousness. Maybe he can leave the lights as one of the projects he works on in his free time? Grace is not by any means knowledgeable in… whatever area of expertise home lights are in, but he has an endless surplus of no real responsibilities to pick up and learn new talents.
Grace shrugs to himself, before finally moving to open up his refrigerator.
What Erid lacked in sustainable sources of food fit for human consumption was made up for by the sheer ingenuity of his bio team. It wasn’t a lot—but, nevertheless, he thinks he’s been given quite a good assortment to choose from in spite of the inherent limitations. For the last eleven years he’s been surviving off of whatever the scientists assigned to his care managed to create for him—which was mostly just variations of his own cloned muscle tissue.
He grimaces as he picks out a package at random, thinking about the bland taumeoba shakes he was forced to consume for the first year on Erid. They, at least, tasted better than the taumeoba he cultivated on the Hail Mary—and miles better than the Coma Slurry.
At least they managed to make something that tastes like bacon, he thinks, amused and reading the label with a scrutinizing eye.
The me-bacon (Rocky thought it was so funny that he managed to convince his nutrition team to call it that) was too stringy and much too—he shudders—fibrous to be mistaken for its true counterpart; but human meat was already close enough in taste to pork anyway. The Eridians just had to tweak a few of the protein strands to trick his brain into finding it palatable.
He fiddles with the thick plastic wrapper (not actual plastic, but close enough in texture for the mistake to be forgivable), and smiles when the meat makes a satisfying sizzle as he drops it on the already hot skillet.
“Thank you, Mary.” He mumbles, grabbing the pan's handle to shake and further distribute the heat.
“You’re welcome, Doctor Grace.”
Mary—or, the rudimentary AI integrated into the Hail Mary’s internal systems—was transferred to his biodome only a few days ago, and he’s almost guilty it took him this long for the idea to truly come to fruition. He felt bad leaving her above the atmosphere all by herself, even with all the frequent visits up the space elevator to ensure proper maintenance on her hull and interior. He’d been looking for ways to bring her down since his second year on Erid, but it just hadn’t been possible before now.
The Eridian scientists didn’t really seem to understand when he explained his sentiments, but they were happy to help with the process.
It took what could only be described as a very stressful decade of configuration—as well as going through the extremely challenging steps of learning how to integrate human computers into complicated Eridian technology—but it was worth it. Mary kept him safe throughout his journey, it’s only fair he did the same for her.
“You have one new message from Rocky.”
Grace smiles, flipping the not-bacon with a whistle.
His reasons for having Mary implemented into the biodome were not entirely altruistic, if he were to be honest. The sound of her voice instilled an immense sense of comfort. She was, after all, the first “person” he heard after waking up and forgetting his whole life; and she had kept him company until Rocky filled the space she couldn’t.
Yet, despite that, one of the nicest things about having Mary around was the tease of communication. Before, if Rocky had any sort of message he wasn’t able to give in person, he would have to relay everything to the biodome team; who would then have to go through the trouble of relaying it to him—usually during one of his classes. It wasn’t annoying, per say, but he could tell the team was always flustered whenever they had to be at the center of so many pebbles’ attentions.
“Lay it on me, Mary!”
The AI lets out a happy series of chirps—a feature she picked up only after her transfer (Rocky theorized that maybe moving her into the Eridian systems had caused her to pick up a few Eridian mannerisms, but neither of them were very adept at programming so it’s not like they could check)—and a faint click was heard as she starts the recording.
“Hello Grace! It is Rocky! Wanted to let you know that I will be in the biodome in 9,000 seconds! Adrian will be there, too! We have much to discuss!” There's a faint series of tap tap taps, the signature Eridian “see you soon,” before the audio cuts out with a muffled beep.
Grace laughs, then, moving away from his stove to plate his breakfast.
“Would you like to send a message back, Doctor Grace?”
He hums, before shaking his head and digging into his me-bacon. Rocky wasn’t likely to listen to the message, anyway—he’s been moving to and fro between thrums (trying to perfect the little details so Grace wouldn’t, ya know, die on the table) with a sort of gusto that’s leaving even Adrian tired, and Adrian was far better at maintaining a healthy sleep-wake cycle than Rocky.
His fork makes a small tinging noise as he sets it gently on the nearly empty tabletop.
It’s been a while since both Rocky and Adrian visited at the same time. The mated pair was usually far too busy with the weight of their own projects to make room in their schedules for a duo visit to his home. It will be nice to have them both here, he thinks.
“How long ago was the message sent?”
There's a series of almost silent whirrs as Mary shuts off the stove and opens his kitchen blinds.
“3,600 seconds ago.”
Grace nods, before turning his attention back to his plate and finishing the last few bites of his me-bacon.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Not much time has passed when Grace feels it—a rumble of something that seems to shake the ground. It’s a howling, reverberating noise he’d almost forgotten, paired unmistakably alongside great flashes of white.
Grace lets out a soft breath of air, a mystified sort of awe beginning to settle deep within his chest.
He had been reading to pass the time—catching up on a few Eridian romcom novels recommended to him by one of the shyer behaviorists on his care team.
Malachite, that’s what he had called her. He was still very delirious from starvation when she asked Grace to give her a name he could pronounce in lieu of her Eridian one, but she had seemed so joyful at the notion of being inaugurated into human culture that she had swiftly become taken with the notion of doing the same for him.
He will admit, they were entertaining in a way not dissimilar to that of their Earthly counterpart—not that he understands some of the social aspects, as he’s still learning all there is to learn about the cultural dynamics of Eridian society—but he nearly rips the page he’s reading in his haste to put down the book.
It’s Thunder. He thinks, eyes glued to his expansive living room window. There’s a storm in my dome.
The pitch and grandiose of it is slightly off, softer, when compared to the true thing, and there’s a faint bit of static that undercurrents what he can only assume is a recording; but it’s real enough to have his stomach churn in excitement.
Bright blew eyes stare transfixed as another flash of lightning surges across the screens that make up the artificial sky, and Grace sucks in a large breath as he places a reverent hand against the glass.
Thunder thunder thunder.
He doesn’t know how long he stands there, breaths fogging up the see-through barrier separating him and this new phenomenon. It’s just… so new, so comforting, that he can’t tear his gaze away. He hasn’t seen a storm since… since the day before they forced him on the Hail Mary…
Grace muffles a sob against his palm, reaching up to wipe the budding tears that stubbornly continue to form no matter how much he rubs at them.
God, he starts, If only they could see me, now. Bawling my eyes out over a little rain.
He sits there, almost detached, for what feels like hours, tracking the way the iridescents play against the fractal panes. The seconds pass like blips in time, the hours like minutes—He’s so distracted by this new addition to his weather rotation that, for quite a long while, he even fails to notice the loud, continuous knocking at his front door.
”Grace! Graaaace! It is Adrian and Rocky! Open open open!”
He blinks, and he’s forced back to the present.
Theres a faint jingle, a mumble of chittering as Adrian admonishes Rocky for knocking so hard, and a cacophony of chortles as the two argue good-naturedly behind his closed front door.
Ah, he did not realize how long he’d been gone to the world.
Grace shuffles almost dazedly back towards his foyer, mind sprinting in circles as he thinks and thinks and thinks about the deafening booms that roar between intermittent gulps of air. Why would they make something like this? Has he ever even mentioned storms before?
Once, a long time ago. He recalls. When I was still bedridden after the journey to Erid.
“Graaaaace!”
He shakes his head, rubbing fitfully at his warming cheeks and finally gathering the willpower to step away from… well, one of the most beautiful things he’s seen in a while. He very much enjoyed the sensations and smells this type of weather brought to him on Earth, it should be no surprise it brought the same comfort while on Erid.
“Alright alright! I’m coming!” Grace finally says, barely managing to not trip over the slippers sitting precariously by the entryway.
Obviously, he wasn’t going fast enough for his impatient friend—for there's a series of even faster knocks that are abruptly cut off by Grace finally grabbing at the doors handle and pulling it open.
“Hi Grace!” Rocky waves once he’s in view, turning in a tight circle and doing a series of jazz hands. “We made you a storm!”
Grace can only nod, once again utterly captivated now that he’s seeing the falling rain in person instead of through the wall of glass.
Adrian was standing just a few steps behind his mate, shuffling in place nervously.
“Apologies it took us so long to perfect. Do you like it?” The taller of the two says, voice a much deeper timber and notes slightly more melodic than his mate’s. Grace notices with a vague sense of curiosity that he’s holding a large box in one of his claws.
Grace blinks, turning his eyes from the rain, and then back to the two soaking wet Eridians (not really soaking, as they’re covered in form-fitted xenonite suits, but the point stands), who are both opening and closing their empty claws with baited breath.
Has he missed something?
“It’s—I… I love it!” Grace says, reaching a hand out and to feel the droplets condense in his palm.
“Even the temperature is just like Earth. How did you do this?” He asks, opening the door and ushering both of his friends inside. The actual water wouldn’t bother them, he knows—but he would harbor a guess that the continuous sprinkling of rain against their suits was overloading their senses.
The two of them lose the tension they’d been carrying, sagging with relief as they make to follow his instructions.
“Will discuss science later. For now, enjoy.” Adrian says, ducking down and only barely managing to avoid grazing the top arch of his front door.
“Yes yes yes, is gift! Adrian and Rocky can compile bio-teams notes and transfer to human thinking machine when done. For now, we party!”
Party? Grace thinks, confused, while distractedly closing his front door.
He looks over at the mated pair once more, finally noticing the soft and gentle chimes that bellow as they move. It’s—they’re both wearing their celebration outfits, a complicated mesh of thin strips of xenonite layered by various wires, all of which dang almost elegantly across their shoulders and the flat sides of their carapaces.
Grace notices, bemused, that they’re also wearing what can only be described as xenonite copies of birthday hats strapped securely to the flat surfaces of their “heads”.
“Is there… some sort of holiday happening today?” He wasn’t entirely familiar with the Eridian calendar, even after all these years—but he was fairly certain there wasn’t.
Rocky chitters in annoyance, shifting in place and pointing an accusing claw towards Grace.
“No! Grace is playing dumb. It is Grace’s Day of Birth!” Rocky does another series of jazz hands. “We must celebrate!”
Adrian lifts a claw to pat the top of his mates carapace consoling, but nods in agreement (a trait he picked up from Rocky. Who picked up from him. Thinking about it for too long gets him choked up).
“Yes yes yes. It is Grace's Day of Birth. We do not have celebrations like this on Erid—we did not know Grace was missing such an important Earth tradition. We wanted to make a big gift to make up for lost time.” Adrian sings, notes gentle and soft like he’s trying to soothe.
Grace—well, Grace is still trying to catch up to the moment. He can feel a headache on the cusp of forming against his temple.
“Happy Day of Birth, friend Grace!” The two hum in unison, oblivious to his internal battle, with both of their claws holding up the box up for him to take.
It’s my birthday?
Apparently, it is. If the two Eridians waiting anxiously for him to respond wasn’t proof enough, the quick glance at his watch only cemented the notion.
It’s my birthday.
Grace is suddenly very very warm inside.
Hot tears begin to fill his eyes, and both Adrian and Rocky immediately begin to chime nonsensical notes of panic.
“Oh no! Friend Grace, please stop leaking! We did not mean to upset you!” Adrian croons, shifting uncomfortably in place as Rocky darts out to wrap his arms around his middle.
“Yes yes yes! Please stop crying! We can—!”
Grace reaches down, cutting off Rocky's worried buzzing to pull the Eridian close to his chest. The heat of him is borderline uncomfortable—but he doesn’t care. He loves hugging Rocky, and Rocky loves giving hugs.
“These are happy tears, bud. Happy tears. Don’t worry. I’m just… no one ever threw me parties for my birthday back on Earth.” He chuckles, sucking in a shuddering breath before he continues. “I’m just a little overwhelmed.”
A little ways away from their untimely cuddling session Adrian is placing the unopened gift on his countertop with a plop, silently watching as the two embrace each other like the world outside doesn't matter. Grace knows Adrian would join if he could—but the bigger of the mated pair still did not have the same ingrained control over his strength as Rocky. The last time Adrian got excited enough to want to give Grace thoughtless affection (they had managed to breed out the mutation that allowed taumeoba to pass through xenonite) he had bruised two of his ribs.
It was worth it, though. Adrian’s large size allowed him to give great hugs—injuries notwithstanding.
“Rocky hate Earth, sometimes.”
That gets a full laugh out of him, at least, his stomach clenching between shuddering gasps. His hands come up to wipe away the water covering his face in long streaks.
“Don’t say that, Buddy. That’s my planet you're talking about.”
Rocky grumbles, tapping a claw imputantly against the ground as he hugs Grace even tighter.
“Did not treat Grace with enough kindness. Rocky does not like that Earth brought Grace so much pain pain pain.”
Grace sniffles, shaking his head. He would be lying if he said that all of his memories of Earth were happy ones. There were a lot of things he wished he could erase from his mind—people he wished he could forget; or, really, to have not met at all. (Eva Stratt, a character he’s talked to Rocky about extensively, borders that list—but he can’t really say he hates her for what she did. Especially if that decision is what eventually led him to meeting Rocky.)
But there’s no use dwelling on the past, now. Besides, Earth hasn’t been his home for a long time—Erid was. He was an Eridian, now! and he even had the paperwork to prove it!
“It’s okay, Rocks,” Grace finally says, leaning down to press a chaste kiss against the top of his friend's carapace. “I have you. And Adrian, and the biodome team, and the pebbles—and I love you all so much. I couldn’t ask for more.”
Rocky lets out a mix of conflicted chortles and chirps, torn between being happy about Grace’s affection, or trying to continue his rant about his gripes against the big blue planet almost twelve light years away.
Grace pats the leg closest to him, finally breaking free from their long embrace.
“Now, show me what this ‘big gift’ is, yeah?”
His friend finally settles, chirping a noncommittal note of joy while skipping back over to his larger other half.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
As it turns out, the Eridians did have a sense of humor.
Grace stares, eyebrow twitching as he glances at the open box and back to his two giggling friends covering the flat side of their carapace with their claws (not that it did much to hide their soft laughter. Their voices didn’t come from their “fronts”).
“Really funny, guys.” He says, an incredulous smile on his face as he brings a hand up to fix his falling glasses.
Rocky nods, and Adrian just giggles harder.
The gift itself was… a sight for sore eyes, really. A massive double layered cake with a single bright candle flickering away at its center. He can’t imagine how long it took to make something like this—especially since they only recently figured out how to make a human safe substitute for bread yeast.
What wasn’t so nice, however, was the string of words layered across the top in bright red icing.
“To our favorite fucking idiot, Happy Day Of Birth, Friend Grace! —Rocky and Adrian”
Grace sputters, reading the message once more like it might magically change around the letters and transform itself into something less vulgar. He should have expected something similar, honestly. The two were mischievous even at the worst of times.
His gaze flits over to Adrian and Rocky, who are both dancing in place and spinning in circles while Grace stares down at his gift with blank eyes.
The text mocks him.
He sighs, looking up to the ceiling like the geometric, cream colored surface could give him strength to deal with the absurdity of his friends. It won’t, he knows, but fondness eventually wins over his exasperation anyway.
He places the cake on his coffee table—gentle, so as to not ruin their hard work—and turns back with his hands on his hips.
“You two are soooo not invited to the next movie night.”
The two Eridians freeze, before they rush over to sputter out various noises of complaint.
”Do not joke about movie night!”
”No no no! Adrian wants to watch next iteration of ‘Alien!’”
A warm laugh bubbles in his chest, and Grace isn’t strong enough to resist the temptation of falling into the embrace of his two best friends.