Grace entering Eridani's atmosphere, resting on his modified bed. Rocky and he had fashioned it into a self contained stretcher. He was sick. Dying, if the Eridians couldn't find a way to restore any semblance of his health quickly enough from the toll that the long long journey had taken on his body.
They'd talked about this. They'd talked about this a lot.
Grace was put into an induced coma, and Rocky was holding it together, joy and anxiety and every other frenetic emotion a swirl of song and buzzing potential energy directed towards taking only the barest next steps to protect Grace, and meet his people.
His mate is here, and he is home.
He sings first of the necessities of this human, of what he needs, that he is friendly and good and brave, a begging note leaking into his increasingly discordant tones.
And Adrian, beloved and soothing and calm, sings that it will be alright, that they have exactly what their mate is looking for.
And gentle, urgent, reverance dispatches a crew of Eridian scientists to move one human into the biome of another.
'Temporary ' they assure, taking up only the space that is necessary to settle Grace until they can build him a proper home.
The man that had stayed at a respectable and cautious distance, creeps closer as the other scientists work.
Rocky, his own protective xenonite suit encacing his carapace, taken from the ship and bundling his form as he finally allows himself a moment to huddle against Adrian's side- their own suit similar but different but the same in the ways that matter- and watches diligently, always watches, promised that there would always be someone to watch while Grace slept-
The other man. A humanoid. A dome where Grace can breathe, and presumably eat and rest and heal if this other human has managed the same.
There is no time to delve into the minutia of this strange and puzzling mystery of another human.
They are notes held within, the vernacular rusty and held back with great restraint. Instead, he taps one foot to finish the intonation, and his mate, beloved and a pillar of strength trills low and even, understanding the incomplete question.
'Safe.' They affirm with a series of hums and tones that has the other human perking up his head, long hair pushed away with one hand to look back at them.
"Yeah- it's safe. He'll be okay."
The English platitude and the simple reassurance of his mate is more than enough for him to sing.
High, wordless, an unexplainable emotion within a screaming song that his mate accompanies, an even harmony.
Grace will weep when he wakes, he is sure.
