Omg I love your stories so much! Especially Precarious Plant!!! I didn't realize how much I need a chase scene between Grace and Simon. Keep up the amazing work!
On a side note, I had an idea for a scenario between them based on a short comic I saw.
In the comic, Simon panics because of trauma and because he is worried about running out of oxygen. Ryland comforts him and tells him to take some deep breaths.
However, my idea is what if after Simon calms down, Grace makes a point to show him that they have plenty of oxygen, and starts tickling him >:)
AHDJSK I LOVE THESE TWO CHARACTER SO MUCH
- Zephyr (@lizard-lee)
THANK YOU SO MUCH!!
Oh I love this concept… HECK YEA I’LL PUT A SPIN ON THIS!! LET’S GOOO
-
Deep Breaths
I am so sorry this took 99 billion years for me to finish, I NEVER write this slow AAAAUGHHH. ITS OK. it’s done, and that’s what matters.
This one’s a little longer, not too angsty, but it’s got a bit of an anxious kick to it. Simon’s still due for a day ruiner though- so he isn’t safe yet. LMAOOO. Please excuse any typos guys…
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Lee!Simon (Iron Lung) Ler!Grace (PHM)
TW: Swearing, very mild anxiety. Nothing crazy, just be aware!
❦ Simon falls under the assumption that the Hail Mary is not only on a fixed oxygen supply, but running low. Grace does his best to convince him that there’s nothing to worry about.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
“Rocky, what’s the word on the breeder tanks and specimen enclosures?”
“Tanks and enclosures sealed, statement!”
Rocky chirps back at me.
“Lights and climate controls stable too?” I shoot back, chewing idly on my pen as I mull over the checklist in my hand.
“Yes yes, all systems stable.”
“Good, that’s what we like to see.” I nod, adding a checkmark on the list.
“Simon, how’re the lights in the main hall? Any flickering, buzzing, or dimming?” I turn, calling down the tunnel hallway to Simon, who stood by the wall, scanning the breaker box.
“Looks good to me. Nothing abnormal.”
“Perfect. Thank you gentlemen, that’ll do it for the baseline system check!” I nod with a smile, happily completing the bi-weekly systems check in with a resounding “all good”.
“You two can feel free to scatter, I’m going to the cockpit to check nav, the smart computer, and life support.” I tucked the clipboard under my arm, nodding up towards the control room.
“Good good. Rocky go finish repairs on Simon fake arm.”
“Ah, so that why he’s missing his prosthetic?” I ask, eyeing the empty sleeve on Simon’s left.
“Yes yes. Need repair.”
“What the heck happened to it? You’ve only had it a couple weeks.”
“I didn’t break it, stop looking at me like o slammed it into a wall or something.”
“We had to lock you in the dorm for three days because you almost slammed me into a wall barely a week into you being awake here. Sue me for assuming you bashed it into something.”
“You can’t use that against me, that was a panic response.”
“To what?! Don’t pull that card on me, I didn’t do anything to you!”
“You were trying to inject me with something!”
“Painkillers! Because your arm was torn off!”
“Whatever! You didn’t warn me!”
“I thought you were asleep! Doctors don’t typically say 3 2 1 go when they’re giving a shot to a comatose patient.”
“You are not a doctor.”
“I have a doctorate!”
“In like, particles or something!”
“Molecular biology!”
“Same thing!”
“Wrong! Stop arguing with me! What happened to your brand new arm?!” I bark.
“Si mon no break arm. Faulty sensors make joints lock up too tight. Uncomfortable and inefficient. Rocky fix error.”
Rocky chimes in, his tone a little snippy. Clearly he’s sick of our shouting.
“See? Not my fault. Rocky’s on my side.” Simon flashes me a smile.
“Whatever. It was a safe enough bet blaming it on you.” I mutter rolling my eyes
“Stupid fox.”
“You annoy me. Greatly.”
Simon chuckles, and Rocky chirps along with him. I have no allies.
“I’m going upstairs.” I knew I lost the argument, but I’d rather fly into Adrian again than admit that, out loud.
-
Nav system looks good… still got a long ride yet to Erid… should probably figure out orbital specs before too long….
I mutter to myself, surfing through the displays on the wall of the cockpit.
Hmmm… astrophage numbers look good… water recycling looks stable… no airlock breach, food’s good, Armando’s good…
I nod to myself, sitting back in the seat with my clipboard.
“Pilot Detected.”
The idle displays all around me blink to life, but it no longer startled me like it had over a year ago.
“Yes Mary, thank you.” I mutter, scribbling on my checklist.
“Hey.”
I turn in my seat as Simon’s head pops up from the hatch.
“Yeeees? Can I help you?” I ask, twirling my pen in my hand.
“No, I’m just here to grab my notebook, I think I left it by the window.” Simon says, hoisting himself up rather impressively with his one and one a quarter arms.
“Oh? Yeah, your diary? Read the whole thing, cover to cover. It’s in the copilot chair- here.” I chuckle.
“Bullshit. It’s not a diary.”
“‘I love Ryland aoooo much, he’s the coolest, nicest, and smartest guy I’ve ever met.’ I think that was page nine?”
“Hilarious. It’s just an Astronomy notebook.”
“‘And he’s such a good teacher, and I love listening to him explain science to me!’ Page 15.”
“You’re full of shit.” Simon grumbles.
“Whatever you say. Here.”
I reach over, picking up the book and lifting it in Simon’s direction, while still keeping most of my attention on the pilot display, scrolling over to ‘Life Support’.
“Thanks.” The notebook slides free from my hand, and I drop it down with a hum and a nod.
“How much longer are you gonna be up here?” Simon asks, craning bis neck to see what I’m doing.
“Why, do you miss my company? Is that what you came to get your diary for?”
“No, I just wanna know how much more peace and quiet time I have left.”
I chuckle, rolling my eyes.
“Almost done, unfortunately. Just checking life support and I’ll be done.”
“…Life Support?”
“Yeah- water recycling, climate control, oxygen. Y’know - crucial stuff.” I shrug, scrolling along the wide yellow and black display.
Simon says nothing in reply.
“You’re wasting your precious quiet time sitting up here talking to me. I’ll be done and down in just a couple minutes al…right..? Simon?”
I turn in my chair, and Simon is just standing there, lost in the eyes, and blank in the face.
“Simon?” I lower my voice, brows furrowed.
“Yeah, yes- yes?”
“You okay? You lost signal there for a second-“
“H-how’s our oxygen.” He asks suddenly.
I blink a couple times, turning from the screen, back to Simon.
“It’s- fine..? Our oxygen is fine. We’re breathing right now, which is a pretty good sign.”
“How long until Erid?”
“A long while still- over a year and a half. We found you two years and some change into the ride.”
Simon nods slowly.
He had a fantastic poker face. One I had never seen before. If something was bothering him, no one would know until he was at the tipping point. That said, a dead giveaway of Simon’s stress could be found just about anywhere but his face.
Clenched fists, tight shoulders, a bouncing leg, if he was sitting down, and the most obvious…
Crack
He cracked his knuckles when he had stress he needed to release.
Crack crack
“What’s wrong?” I lift a brow at him.
“Nothing.”
“Lying.”
“Not lying.”
“Hand and shoulders, Simon, you’re rigid as a board, and you’re cracking your knuckles - what’s going on?”
“Just- nerve pain. I’ll be fine.”
Lying. Straight through his giant sharp teeth. Pretty solid lie, I’ll give him that. He does still get surges of pain from his injuries and mutations every once in a while, but that’s not what he looks like stricken with sudden pain.
I’ll let him have it, though.
“…Okay.” I say calmly.
I treat Simon the same way I do my students when they’d lie to me to get out of something.
If you meet them with the attention and worry they’re after, they’ll walk all over you for the rest of the school year. You don’t just get headaches and stomach aches every testing period, that’s not how that works….
If you acknowledge the issue, and offer concrete solutions, like “okay, go to the nurse, and bring me back a note when she checks you over.” Or “alright, I can call your mother and have her come get you.” They’re less likely to pull the stunt in the future.
“Well… go take some medicine and have Armando check you out. Make sure it’s nothing with your jaw or your arm.” I instruct, nodding slowly.
Simon nods back, still a bit stiff in the shoulders. What set him off..?
Whatever the case, he made his way back to the ladder, and descended.
-
I gave it about ten minutes. Before I idled the system displays again, I took one more glance at life support.
From the menu, I could access Armando’s care logs - a painstakingly detailed, chronological summary of every procedure, checkup, medicine and food distribution, and crew chart update that had been recorded since the launch of the ship.
Upon clicking the ‘refresh’ button in the corner, the list of today’s logs appeared on the display.
Most recent log: my breakfast, five hours ago.
Simon didn’t take any medication, or visit the medbay like I told him to. So he was lying.
Then what was wrong?
-
“Grace come see!”
Rocky called out from the lab. I had barely gotten off the cockpit access ladder before he beckoned me over.
“One sec bud.” I jog down the hall to the lab. The air smells like copper wires and shouldering filament.
I enter the room, grabbing a pair of goggles and gloves from the wall. Can never be too safe.
“What’s up? How’re repairs going?”
“Good good! Rocky fix arm completely! No more glitch.”
He wiggled his carapace proudly, pressing the drawer of the airlock closed, and cycling it, passing the prosthetic to me.
I gently open the door, removing the arm, and quickly setting it down. Still hot… it felt like taking a hot pan out of the oven on 200°.
I hiss, shaking my hands as the prosthetic lands on the table.
“Stupid. Stupid Grace.”
“Whatever, I’ll be fine. Whats one more burn.” I shrug, pulling up a stool and sitting down at the lab table.
“Wow- it looks different now too- cleaner- did you update the exterior too?” I ask.
The xenonite on the exterior before was a bit more patchy. A lot of the inner workings were visible through gaps in the metal paneling. It was cool, a kind of steampunk style- definitely a little more prop than practical, as far as looks go.
Now, the arm was completely enclosed in solid, thin, flat xenonite panels, with the only gaps being where the elbow and wrists flexed. Long? Running, linear patterns stretched across the upper arm and forearm, resembling some of Rocky’s tattoo engravings in his limbs.
“Yes, Rocky scrap and rebuild exterior. Simon complain of things getting stuck in old arm. Bad bad. Give Rocky chance to put engravings on new arm shells!”
“Oh! So these lines translate to something?”
“Yes yes yes, these here mean Simon name. No have last name so Rocky give Simon Grace last name.”
I freeze, looking up at Rocky.
“What?! Yes he does, his last name is Fisher!” I spat out.
“Not real. Simon say Fisher not last name. Just place holder. Simon no remember last name.”
“But it still works! Why my name?!”
“Grace and Simon share everything! Food, clothes, secrets-“
“Secrets?!”m what do you mean secrets?!”
“-Names-“
“We don’t share names. That’s not a thing.”
“Yes is thing! Grace say humans share names when married!”
I raise my hand, palm facing me. “Do you see or hear a ring?! No! We aren’t married!”
Rocky hums.
“I’m telling him that means Fisher.”
“Rocky teaching Simon Eridian language. He will know.”
“Whatever- what else have you done with the prosthetic?” I sigh.
“Updated electric muscle signal sensitivity. Easier to flex, grip, and release without strain.”
I nod, “good, good. That was the issue to begin with, right?”
“Yes, faulty signal strength. Very glitch. Is ready for Simon now!”
The metal had cooled significantly by now, making it safe and comfortable to pick up, about the temperature of a hot restaurant plate. I lifted it - surprisingly easily, I expected heavier.
“Is the install process still the same?” I ask, bending the fingers on the hand experimentally.
“Yes. Straps attach to collar mount, shoulder support attach to straps, secure under arm. Prosthetic fastener attach snug to Simon arm, snap all connectors into place.”
That’s a lot of words…
“Got it.”
“Good good!!”
I’ve only ever been standing around while Simon’s prosthetic was being installed… hope I got it…
-
“Simon!” I call out, standing in the hallway like an impatient parent, fists on my hips, with the strap of the prosthetic clutched in my left.
I’d looked all over the ship for him, but I couldn’t find him.
Granted, when I say “looked” I mean I briefly glanced around Simon’s usual haunts - the lab, the UV grow room, the dorm, and his area near the window.
Nothing.
If it were Amy other day I wouldn’t be all that worried, but he’d been acting a little strange earlier, and prosthetic aside, I really just wanted to put eyes on him.
“Hey, Simon! Where are ya, bud?!” There was evident exasperation in my voice, I could hear it.
Creeak
Hey, so what was that…?
Creeeak
The sound is coming from the observation window, but I was about 80% sure I hadn’t seen him-
“Simon?!”
There…
“Simon did you not hear me calling you for the last 10 minutes-? Better yet, how do I miss you?!”
I throw my hands up with mild frustration, walking over to the suspended bed.
The xenonite chains that were supporting the bed platform in the air must have been responsible for the creaking I heard. They’re attached to a pulley, so that we can retract and secure the platform against the ceiling if we need to disengage the centrifuge.
Simon shrugs, and…
He signals to me with one hand, the hand sign for “glasses”.
I furrow my brows.
“Glasses?”
“Glasses off. Missed me.”
He signs again.
I reach up to my face, and notice immediately, the absence of my glasses. Lifting my hand a little higher, I feel them perched up on my head. Right… that explains it.
I bring my glasses down to my nose, blinking a few times, bringing everything into focus. That answers one question, but now I have another.
Why are we signing?
“Thank you… for that, I guess that is how I missed you.” I step up to the platform, crossing my arms on the bed.
“Is there a reason why you’re not talking right now? You alright?” I lower my voice.
Simon periodically went through spells of silence. Sometimes only for an hour or so, sometimes over a day. It was his brain’s way of handling all the stress swimming around in his head when it occasionally bubbles to the surface.
At the beginning it was pretty difficult to help him, communicate with him, or figure out what was wrong when he couldn’t speak to me.
We tried a few different solutions…
Writing was a little challenging- in all honesty his handwriting was pretty bad, and paper isn’t exactly a renewable resource out in the great beyond.
Rocky and I made him an augmentative, alternative communication device with some brutally subpar programming on my part. He uses it occasionally, but admittedly it’s pretty clunky, cumbersome to carry, and could do with an upgrade.
The best solution we’ve found, is sign language. I’m pretty proficient at it, as an educator, so we spent some time learning the basics, and Simon picked up quick. We can carry pretty seamless conversations in ASL now, whenever need be.
“Don’t want to speak.”
“Okay, sure… you don’t want to speak, verbally? Or you don’t want to speak to me specifically right now?”
“Verbally.”
“Gotcha… uhm…”
He doesn’t offer me anything more, just looking down at me, sitting crisscross on the bed above me.
“Well, how about I at least hook up your new arm, and maybe you can fill me in on what’s going on once you have both hands to chat with, hm?” I push the metal arm towards Simon with a smile on my face.
He looks down at it, then to me, and nods.
“Perfect. Can I come up?”
He nods again.
I hoist myself up onto the platform, taking a seat on my knees next to Simon.
“Ok, shirt off, please.” I make a motion for him to remove the t-shirt that used to be mine.
He slid it off without a word or hesitation, sitting straight. He knows the drill.
“Thank you sir… arm up.”
He lifts the torn arm out straight to the side. I pull a fabric slip from my pocket, tugging it over the stump like a sock. Once it’s snug to Simon’s arm, I pick up the prosthetic, and sigh, trying to remember the order of operations
Simon looks down too. He reaches over, tapping the straps that attached to the top of the prosthetic, then reaches up and tapped on the collar mount that was already around his neck.
Right!
“Yes! Thank you, collar to steaps, straps to mount, mount to prosthetic. I remember, thank you.”
I get to work, snapping and twisting and clicking and tightening, until the prosthetic was snugly in place, and sending and receiving signal as it should be.
All the while, Simon stayed silent. No quips, no complaining, nothing.
“Oookay, you should be all set. Can you spell you name out?”
“S-I-M-O-N” the mechanical hand whirs as he makes his way through the five letters.
“Perfect! So, now that you’ve got both hands, you wanna tell me what’s going on?”
I sit back and little, giving Simon some space.
He thinks for a moment, before raising his hands.
“Not speaking.”
“Gathered that much. I was hoping more for a why.”
“Conserve oxygen.”
I raise a brow. What? Oxygen..?
“Conserving oxygen…” re helpers, nodding as he signs.
“You check oxygen earlier today. Don’t want to waste oxygen. Not speaking, less intake.”
Okay…
“I- I’m confused.”
Snap!
We both jump as one of the straps on the prosthetic support comes undone.
“Crap-! Ugh, darn thing. Hold on, let me fix it…”
I scoot back over, and tend to the undone strap, fastening it back into place with a little more care than before, tightening it as best I can, bracing my hand against Simon’s chest… wait…
I pause for a moment, moving my hand down to the center-left of his chest. His breathing was shallow, and his heart rate was low… way lower than it should be.
“Simon, why are you breathing like that?” I ask, urgently.
He lifts his hands again, and gets halfway though the sign for “conserve” before I stop him.
“If you say ‘conserve oxygen’ again, I’m gonna freak out. What do you mean?! Why are you worried about our oxygen?!”
“You checked oxygen earlier. Limited supply, yes?” He signed back just as urgently.
“Whahat?! No! No, I- you misunderstood-“
“How not limited? Ship is made of three cylinders. One for fuel, one for us, one for oxygen, yes!”
“No, Simon no, three for fuel, one for us in the center, that extends outward.” I explain.
His eyes widen.
“Where oxygen stored?? How much?? Why are you talking so much?? Low oxygen.”
I shake my head.
“No no no, no. Simon, stop for a second.”
“Three breathing organisms on a ship with limited oxygen.”
“Stop. No, just listen.”
“No oxygen tanks in-“
“Quiet coyote. Can you please show me two quiet coyotes?” I sigh, raising my hands with index and pinky fingers raised.
“Patronizing.”
“No, I’m not, I just need you to listen and focus, c’mon. Humor me.”
Simon relents, and mirrors my hands with a deadpan stare.
“Thank you. What I was trying to say. Was that we don’t have limited oxygen tanks aboard the Hail Mary. The ship uses a recycling system that supplies us back with oxygen from the other gasses and water that we release in the cabin. It’s a cyclical system.”
“Then what were you che-“
“Hey, tell those coyotes to stop barking, I wasn’t done.”
“You paused.”
“I was taking a breath. Which is what I’m trying to convince you to do before you pass out. Now, as for what I was checking, I was just making sure that the recycling was in proper working order, which it is. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Simon looks at me a little bewildered.
“I promise! You’re nott in any danger of running out of air.” I take a deep breath in and out, just to prove my point. “See? No problem.”
Simon nods, looking down for a moment, losing himself in thought.
I wait patiently, in case he has something more to sign.
“I did not know that was possible.” He signs slowly
“Really?” I ask gently.
“I thought one-way vessels came with limited air. All the time.”
I hum, not looking away from Simon’s hands.
“I’m guessing the Iron Lung had limited supply…”
“Yes. I almost ran out.”
“Oh-“
“The hull breach got to me first though.”
I grimace.
“Right… I didn’t even think about that…. No wonder you got freaked out.”
“The air was really thin.”
“I bet.”
“Smelled like iron.”
“Yeah, so did you when we got you on board. But you got cleaned up, healed up, and here you are, right? Safe and sound.” I smile. “No blood, no thinning air, no creepy fish or whatever. Just a clean ship, a rock, and a teacher.”
“Yes, water.”
I tilt my head, a bit confused by the sign.
“Water?” What do you mean water.”
Simon meets me with the same confusion.
“T-H-A-N-K-S” he spells the word out instead.
“Oh! You meant ‘thank you.’ That’s this.”
I turn my palm toward my face, touching my fingertips to my mouth, and tilting my hand out as if I were blowing a kiss.
“This, what you did, means water.” I hold up three fingers, tilt my hand so my palm faces in to the side, and tap my index finger against my chin. “Close, though.”
Simon nods, mimicking the “thank you” motion.
“And you’re welcome. I hope that puts you at ease a little bit.”
He nods again.
“Still don’t feel like talking?”
“No.”
“Good enough. In your own time… will you at least take some deep breaths? You looked like you were gonna pass out earlier.”
“I am.”
“You aren’t. I can clearly see your chest barely moving, Simon.” I place a hand on his chest.
“Cold cold cold.” He signs rapidly, tensing up a little.
“Anemic, anemic, anemic, I’m aware. Breathe.”
“Panic. Go away.”
“You’re not panicking! Your heart rate is evening out, you’re not sweating, your eyes aren’t dilated. Don’t cry wolf.” I say, a little sternly.
“Coyote.”
“What? Oh- Stop. Breathe.” I can’t help but smile. “I’ll make you if I have to.”
He narrows his eyes at me with a challenging glare.
I roll my eyes, sighing. Fine, dramatics it is.
“EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY, CLEAR THE AREA!” I shout, sitting up suddenly, and shoving Simon down onto his back on the bed, being sure to not startle him too bad. He did ask for this, though.
“WE HAVE ONE, ADULT MALE, KINDA-HUMAN, UNREAPONSIVE, NOT BREATHING.”
Simon smiles, more out of shock than anything else, looking up at me like I’m fresh out of my mind.
“CHECKING FOR PULSE.” I make an obnoxious show of “looking for Simon’s pulse”, testing his wrist, putting a hand, then an ear to his chest, which I think got a little giggle out of him, then probing at the side of his neck with two fingers. I catch the pulse for just a moment before Simon shrugs up his shoulder and swats my hand away with a snort.
Now we’re cookin’.
“NO LULSE!”
“Yes there is.” He signs quickly.
I gasp, batting his hands away.
“HE’S CONVULSING!” I shout, voice a little raspy. I haven’t had to yell in quite a while.
“STARTING COMPRESSIONS. CLEAR THE AREA!” I chuckle, placing both hands on Simon’s chest, in the furthest thing from COR procedure placement, and begin gently pressing down on Simon’s chest, repeatedly.
Each “compression” forces a little bit of breath into Simon’s lungs, coupled with the quiet chuckles that squeezed their way through.
I pause, acting like I’m listening for signs of life.
“SIMON?!” I call out theatrically, reaching up to shake him by the shoulders.
Simon signs out “yes”, and I decide that isn’t good enough.
“STILL NOTHING! I’VE GOTTA DO MOUTH TO MOUTH!” Again, not protocol, but who cares.
I lean down, and Simon catches me by the cheek with his hand, pushing me back, the both of us snickering like idiots now.
“WE’RE LOSING TIHIME! HE’S NOT- HEHE’S NOT BREATHING!” I move my hands from Simon’s chest, sliding them under his arms, scratching gently.
Simon gasps, which I’m counting as a breath, and finally starts laughing like he means it.
“Oh- OH! HE LIVES!” I cheer, bringing a hand up to his stomach, and dragging my nails quickly over the tightened muscle.
“HE’S ALIVE!!”
Simon lets out a high pitched, sort of squeaky laugh, his chest rising and falling. Thank goodness.
“Now I’ve gotta check your vitals. You were out for quite a while! Thought I lost you!”
“No. Stupid. So dramatic.” He signs.
“We gotta crack that brain open too, because clearly you’re losing it. I’m not dramatic.” I scoff. “Okayyyyy, organs? Everything still in place?”
I bring both hands to Simon’s middle, kneading and pinching at the soft part of his stomach.
Simon snorts, shaking his head madly, and striking a fist against the bed. If this was his stubborn attempt to not laugh, boy was it cracking.
“Okay… Organs are where they should be… how about reflexes?”
I bring a hand down to Simon’s knee, giving an experimental squeeze just above the joint. He kicks his leg out, dropping it flat to the bed with a startled gasp.
“Wow! Reflexes on point! Other leg?” I repeat the motion, to the other leg, this time squeezing a little harder, latching on tight as his leg bucks under my grip.
“MMHMHAHAHA- OKAHAY!! EVERYTHING IS FINE!!” Simon shouts.
“Oh! Look at that we’re back online! I missed that voice!” I smile wide. “Doesn’t exempt you from a check up though, unfortunately. Bear with me!”
I snicker, sliding my hands up, and out to Summon’s ribs, I don’t move them.
“Grahahace.”
“Mhm?”
“Gehehet the fuck offa me.”
“That’s not nice, why must you swear at me?”
Simon lets out a sound that’s half groan, half chuckle.
“I just wanna make sure you’re breathing properly, that’s all!”
Simon glares at me, but it has no effect.
“Come on, biiiig deep breath in for me.” I coax gently.
To my surprise, he takes a hesitant breath, slowly taking in air. His ribs expanding into my hands.
“Good! Very good, hold it… aaaand… out!”
At the last word, I clawed my hands, and dug into Simon’s ribs suddenly.
“*snrk-!* A-AHAHAHA- SHIHIHIT!” Simon sputters, barking out laughter in shock, kicking his legs against the bed.
“Perfect, lungs are working!” I snicker, scribbling over Simon’s ribs, careful to avoid his gills.
“Just give me a couple more nice deep breaths and we’ll call it good.” I slow my hands, gently trailing them up and down Simon’s ribs.
“I- I cahahan’t breathe with you- touching me!”
“Well not with that attitude you can’t! I’m barely doing anything anyway.”
“You’re scrahahatching my gills, you fuckin’ ass!”
“Hey!” I hissed, jabbing my index fingers into the skin above Simon’s gills. He yelps, tensing like he’d just been electrocuted.
“You’re not gonna turn your voice back on just to curse at me in every other sentence.” I vibrate my fingers against Simon’s gills, a little rougher than I usually would.
“OKAHAHAY OKAY OKAY I’M SORRY IM SOHOHORRY, I WON’T ANYMORE-! GRACIE-!!”
“Promise?”
“YEHEHESS!!”
“And you’ll take some deep breaths for me?”
“AGH- YEHES!”
“And you promise to just ask me questions instead of working yourself up about things that you don’t need to panic about?” I speak unnecessarily slow, not letting up on Simon’s gills.
His back arched up off the mattress, teeth gritted, hands gripping my wrists.
“GRAHAHACE!! YEHEHES, ENOUGH!”
I chuckle, letting go.
“Okay! Okay. I’m done.”
Simon collapses down, gasping for breath.
“Slow down, breath in and hold it for a sec.” I say softly, placing a hand on his chest. He flinches, but doesn’t protest.
I feel his chest rise and expand, holding the air in for a moment.
“Good, good.. and… out.”
Simon lets the breath out. 
I nod, patting him gently on the chest.
Simon takes two more deep breaths before I’m satisfied, lifting my hand.
“How’dya feel?”
“Fine.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm… what?”
“That’s all? Just fine?”
“I mean- what more do you want me to say?”
“Well how do you feel now that you know you’re not slowly asphyxiating?” I shrug, scooting myself up beside Simon, lying down alongside him.
“Ah- well yeah, it’s nice to know. I just feel kinda stupid.”
“What? Why?”
“Why would we be running out of oxygen?? I mean, you told me you’ve been aboard this thing for years… there’s no way the ship would have tanks big enough for that much air…”
“Yeah but you didn’t know, that’s fine. Doesn’t make you stupid.” I shrug.
“Hmmmph.” Simon groans.
“I mean think about it- the only ship you’ve ever been on besides Mary was a flimsy rust bucket with hardly enough o then for a three hour trip. Of course you’d expect every other ship to have limited air supply.”
I shrug, turning to look at Simon.
“Assuming the worst and trying to prepare for it doesn’t make you stupid, Simon. It just means you’re-“
“Traumatized.”
“…yeah… not quite what I was gonna say, but yes.” I turn back to face the ceiling.
“But now you know, and there’s nothing to worry about.” I say, making a show of taking a deep breath.
Simon does the same, much to my delight.
“So…”
“Hm?” I reply softly.
“The air recycling system. It’s working properly?”
“Perfectly, yeah.”
Simon nods slowly. “Would you… mind… explaining how it works? I- I dunno, maybe understanding it would put me at ease.”
The stupidest, nerdiest, widest smile splits my face, and I sit up fast as a whp.
“You’re asking me to explain something to you?!”
“Oh dear lord- come on…”
“You’re asking me to explain science to you?!” I find myself tense from excitement, balled fists shaking in the air with unspent energy.
“Woah- okay.”
“What?!”
Nothing- just- you look stoked.”
“I am!”
“Gracie. It’s not that monumental of an event- you explain things to me all the time.”
“Yeah but you hate it!”
“What? No I don’t!”
“Wrong.”
“Correct! I may not know what the hell you’re talking about, but I don’t mind listening! Just- tell me about the air system? Before you implode, please?”
I nod, sliding to the end of the bed, and reaching back to grab Simon’s arm - his good arm - tugging him along.
He chuckles, following me off the bed.
“Okay, okay slow down- where are you dragging me?” Simon takes my wrist with his free, mechanical hand, and moves it down, so that our hands are connected.
He interlaces his fingers with mine, and my brain goes blank. Gosh, I’m lame..
“I- I uh… uhm to the uh…”
“Really? Holding hands broke you?” Simon chuckles, squeezing my hand gently.
“No…” I stand there for a moment, stiff, unsure of what to do next.
“Want me to let g-“
“NO. no- I mean, I don’t mind. Where was I going?”
Simon snorts. “To show me the air recycling system?”
“RIGHT! Yes! Okay, cockpit!” I start off, dragging Simon behind me.
“So, what do you know about zeolite filters?” I ask, looking back over my shoulder.
Simon chuckles, shrugging. “Absolutely nothing, Dr Grace.”
“Perfect.”