Chapter Text
You did not like Ryland overworking himself.
It was your least favorite thing to watch, and especially your least favorite thing to experience. Ryland had a bad habit of whenever he started a project, being able to stop before he finished it. Usually, he’d have to be forced to stop by his body. You’d always find him micro sleeping and taking small naps he didn’t remember until he finally crashed and slept for 16 hours all at once.
You assume this habit was one he’s had most his life. No one was in his life on Earth or up here to stop him— at least not until she woke up. Rocky was with him for some time before then, but she had a feeling that Rocky had to figure out for himself that human sleep schedules were supposed to be far more consistent than Ryland made them seem. Especially because of how Ryland acted when he lost sleep.
The longer Ryland didn’t sleep the worse his anxiety got, which in turn led to him being more irritable and argumentative— the complete opposite of his usual self. He never remembered it, and after his crash would wake up guilty, crying, and clingy trying to make it up to her his harsh words and mistakes.
While his apologies were authentic, it was starting to be to much.
He always apologized, but never changed.
You really cared about him, and knew he cared about you just as much. He’d lose his mind if you ever tried to pull a stunt like his overworking all-nighters. He was already concerned enough with your involuntary insomnia, you can’t imagine the mental torment you’d cause him by making him watch you do it willingly.
Which is why you needed to get him to stop. You couldn’t watch him work himself down to his limit— physically and emotional— over and over in a never ending painful cycle.
Therefore, ‘drastic’ measures had to be taken.
It started simple enough. It’s been three days since his last crash, and he was back to normal now. He wouldn’t have another obsessive episode for at least two to three weeks (the usual time span— yes it’s… happened enough times for you to have the time in between measured) so it was a good starting time for your efforts.
“Hey Grace, have you seen the laptop?”
He turns to you from where he was talking to Rocky. A slight look of confusion crosses his face but it’s gone as quick as it arrived. “Oh, yeah it’s just in the lab.”
Not long after… “Grace, wanna come look at some of the notes I have downstairs?”
You don’t see any confusion on his face but that’s fine with you. You’ve always been patient in your petty ways. You show him some random notes on Xenonite and then others of topics and events they should discuss with Rocky about Earths history. All in all, all is well. For now.
The days continue.
“Rocky have you seen Grace?”
“Grace, I need your help with something quickly.”
“I’m alright, thank you Grace.”
It’s been a week and he’s visibly uncomfortable:
You’ve almost never called him Grace.
You’ve always cared about names. It’s just one of those things you’ve always valued. While he insisted whatever he went by didn’t bother him, whenever you woke from your coma and began consistently using his first name the effect was immediately noticeable. At first he would look surprised and insist you didn’t have to call him that, but it wasn’t hard to read the appreciation and comfort on his face as you used it more and more.
Therefore, his last name from you tended to only be used when you were upset with him, whether it be literally or playful (in which thankfully the latter was more common).
But now it’s the new normal, and you can tell he knows something’s wrong. He’s stuttering more in his replies after you say it, fidgeting more often, and seeming really thrown off by it.
Today, you and Rocky were sitting in the lab as you jotted down some notes about his culture that he discussed with you. You both took turns sharing species history, and today was his. However, he just shared the interesting fact that they also have fun dances that can be interpreted as communication like bees do on Earth; how neat!
“Hey Grace! Come down here real quick!” You yell from the lab. It takes longer than usual, but he does eventually arrive down the ladder with a slightly weary look on his face. “Uhm.. hey. Yeah? What’s up…”
“Eridians dance like bees do on Earth! They can communicate with it and everything, isn’t that neat?”
“What bee, question?”
“Right— forgot about that. Bees are small living organisms on Earth that help certain plants grow through something called pollination which Grace can probably explain better than me—“
“Y/N?” He timidly interjected. You look to him, turning from where you were facing Rocky.
“Why are you… only calling me Grace? Did… did something happen? Did I do something?”
You’re tempted to break right there, his pitiful apologetic look in one of those stupid nerdy t-shirts, but you hold strong.
“Uh, no, you didn’t do anything.” You shouldn’t lie, but it’s too late you decide.
“You’re.. sure?”
“Yeah. No worries. I thought you liked Grace? It’s what Rocky calls you.”
Now guilt is creeping up on you but you push it down. Down down down down….
“No I- uhm- yeah. Yeah it’s— fine. You’re right, it’s fine.”
You give him a sickeningly sweet smile. He tries to smile back.
Key word: tries.
——————
The days continue, and continue, until inevitably the predictable happens. He’s back to not sleeping again. You’re pretty sure that this time’s obsession is about Rocky’s species. You’d even bet money— if it was relevant in your guy’s situation— that it was about that stupid bee Eridian fact from a week prior.
You haven’t been able to bring yourself to even be around him this time around. Every time you even think about him you feel sick, especially because you know the second you see him it will turn into some kind of argument. He’ll barely remember it, but the scars his words leave on you will barely fade before the next morning you’re caring for his with reassurance and insistence that you’re ok.
The pretending is too much… you just can’t do it anymore.
Of course, don’t eat an apple and sure enough here comes the doctor, right up the lab ladder just as you turn away from it in the control room chair hoping he doesn’t talk to you or really perceive you—
“What are you doing?”
Dang.
You take a breath. You don’t turn around. “Nothing. Did you need something?”
His voice was slurred and weary but nevertheless determined. “I was hoping you’d come help me with some research downstairs—“
“No.”
A pause. Then his tone, like a switch, resorts to anger. “What?”
“No Grace. I’m not.”
And so the rodeo begins.
“W— Y/N you know how important all of this is!”
“How many time are we going to argue about this?!” You can’t help but stand and face him. You really do try to keep your calm but knowing he’s hurting himself stubbornly is just the button to push to get you defensive. Defensive against him when he’s literally fighting himself.
“I guess until you realize the urgency of the work we’re doing!”
“I don’t want to watch you hurt yourself anymore!”
“I’m not hurting myself Y/N—“
“No— you keep pushing your body to its limit when there’s no eminent reason to! I know we’re going to die someday, alone out here never to be seen again— thank you for the thousandth reminder! But right now everything is fine so can we please just live and do what we need to without our doom at the forefront of our every waking moment!”
You don’t remember starting to cry but you hear tears softly fall onto the metal floor of the control room.
“You just don’t understand.” He slurs under his breath, waving a hand of dismissal seeming to turn around to go back to the lab.
That really rubs you the wrong way. Something just… breaks. Not in anger, but in over-exhaustion. You can’t do this.
Your shoulders slump. You feel the defeat of trying to reconcile his habits draining out of you.
“Fuck you Ryland…” you mutter, no longer meeting his eyes. “I’m done.”
Your voice isn’t strictly angry or exhausted— it’s that even more miserable in between:
Hurt.
You turn towards your makeshift beds you had put next to each other. It helped both of your sleeping issues, holding one another and remembering that you’re not alone out here in this impossibly dreadful fate. But you’ve never felt more alone than now.
You grab your designated blanket and pillow, begrudgingly placing them back in the spot they laid many months ago.
Everything feels broken but there’s no one left to put you together, so you’ll have to settle for getting comfortable in the pieces again.
He leaves down the ladder and you bury your face in your pillow, trying to turn your thoughts off but failing amidst soft sobs.
A glass like substance nudges against you.
“What wrong, question?”
You can’t bring yourself to speak or lift your head. Dread weighs on you like pinned blanket.
“Why move bed, question? Grace and Y/N always sleep in proximity.”
That only starts the tears again.
“Y/N in pain, question?” This time he speaks with with a bit of urgency. That’s enough to get you to wipe your face and compose yourself to answer clearly before he started freaking out. “No, no pain.”
Rocky’s stills in a stance of confusion. “No understand.”
“Me and Grace got in a fight— with words, not physical pain.” It was always important to specify details with Rocky, even though you’ve never and never will physically fight Grace.
His body language says enough though; he understands now.
“Grace not sleeping again, statement.”
You hum in agreement, putting your face back in your pillow in hopes to keep the emotion running through like a river from flooding your entire being.
“Will go speak to Grace.” Oh no.
“No- Rocky no. It’s fine.”
“Is not fine. If Y/N upset then Grace upset.”
“Yeah Rocky he’s upset with me.”
“No. Upset you upset. Has told me.”
You can’t be bothered to argue. You’re so tired of arguing. Your mind wants nothing more to escape it, so it shut down to the soft sounds of his clinking capsule.