i think the first time grace loses a tooth from scurvy, once they get past the initial panic (“no, i won’t die from losing one tooth” and “yeah, it hurts, but it’s not that bad” and “i can still eat just fine, i promise”), rocky tentatively asks if he can hear it more closely.
“yeah, sure.” grace holds up the tooth to the xenonite barrier.
“no, closer,” rocky says, claws clicking nervously. “want to hold.”
grace considers that. if rocky were to, say, lose a chunk of carapace, he’d ask to have it without a second thought. he’d probably make an excuse about wanting to point a spectrometer at it or test its properties, and he’d obviously do those things, but he’d mainly just want to touch it. to hold a piece of rocky without fear of either of them being harmed.
he drops the tooth into the exchange drawer and rocky lunges to retrieve it. grace has a thousand self-hating, existential thoughts about losing it — his health is declining so quickly, his smile is changed forever, he can guess which tooth he’ll lose next — but they all quiet as he watches rocky pick it up with trembling claws. rocky cradles the tooth in the palm of his hand like a delicate treasure, warbling a wordless tune of delight, and grace thinks that, if he makes it through this, everything might just be okay.
