CHAPTER FOUR FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE!!
Though things are looking better, Rocky is not allowing himself to hope that they're going to stay that way.
The towels appear to have brought down the fever significantly, and it's been stable for a good while, now. Which means nothing. He's seen this before. It gets better only to get worse than it was before, and he's pretty sure that Grace can't survive worse than the seizure. Rocky feels like he can't, either. He's been occupied with those despairing thoughts for who knows how long until Mary's voice startles him back to the present.
"Blood oxygen content has been stable for 24 hours. Patient is hemodynamically stable. Fluid sounds in lungs have diminished, and breath capacity appears adequate. Requesting permission to perform spontaneous breathing trial to assess possibility of weaning patient Doctor Grace off the ventilator. Assessment will require pausing of sedative medications."
Rocky doesn't know what that means, but he hates the sound of "off the ventilator." What he's understanding is this: Grace's condition has not changed in a day. There is nothing left to do. He's past the point of hope for recovery, and Mary has giving up.
Meanwhile, it's been... so many hours since Rocky last slept. He can feel it creeping up. He's bought himself some time by not moving, which has kept his body temperature lower for longer, but it can't last forever. The timing couldn't be worse. Grace is going to die, but he can't move his legs. Unconsciousness is imminent, and there's nothing he can do to control it. What if Grace dies while Rocky is asleep? Worse, what if he's in pain the entire time Rocky is out?
He should have thought of this earlier. Before his limbs were paralyzed by sleep. Now, his best friend is going to be gone before he wakes, and he can't even rub his claw over the ridges in his arm to give a proper goodbye.
"Permission to begin spontaneous breathing trial," Mary repeats. Rocky has to give him the one small mercy of not prolonging his suffering while Rocky can't watch. If this is what Mary is deeming is best, then he has to trust her, because he has nothing else to trust.
"Permission is granted," he slurs drowsily. He can barely hear the beeping of the monitors.
"Proceeding with treatment plan. Sedative medications will be paused in order to begin spontaneous breathing trial."
Rocky keens until he can't anymore.
Grace's temperature perception is becoming inconsistent, and whichever way it swings, it's wrong. Two hours ago, he was shivering, curled into himself in his cardigan and under his quilts, unable to get warm as his fever climbed.
Now, his fever is a bit more stable, but he's sprawled on the floor of the lab, limbs positioned as far away from one another as possible in a position he called "starfish," complaining about the heat. Rocky isn't sure which he hates more. At least when he'd been cold, he was able to apply clothes and blankets for comfort. Now, however, he's stripped down to the strange clothes that go underneath his normal clothes and is still suffering. Not to mention, he's sweating, losing water and salts that he doesn't have to spare.
Things have not been going well. He thought that they would get easier now that Grace is safe inside, but turns out that doing a bunch of rushed math is almost as bad as an EVA, with as much pain as he's in and as high as his fever has climbed. Rocky feels so guilty for it, but he'd been asked to time Grace's break to ensure that it lasted no more than ten minutes, and that has passed. He's pretty sure that in those minutes, Grace has managed to fully fall asleep.
"Grace," he calls. "Grace is awake, question?"
"Mhm," Grace mumbles. Rocky waits patiently for him to move.
"If awake, then Grace open eyes."
"You can't tell that my eyes are closed."
"Hm. Well played." He groans as he forces himself to sit up.
"Feel less hot, question? Lie on floor help?"
"Not really," he admits, turning back to the laptop, "but I can see straight again. The numbers aren't as... wavy." Rocky trills anxiously, and Grace reaches out, tapping his ball with his whole hand like he does sometimes when Rocky is feeling upset or nervous. He frowns at his math. "Don't let me take another break. It's hard to remember where I left off."
"Grace need breaks or get grumpy."
"I'm already pretty grumpy."
"No, not grumpy. Tired and sick and hurting." Grace hums in indifference. "Grace should eat. Been many many hours since last eat."
"Grace is hungry. Stomach make weird sounds."
"Yeah, that happens when humans get nauseous. Sometimes means you need to eat, sometimes means you're gonna throw up."
"Same noise means opposite things, question? Inefficient. Stupid." Grace huffs a puff of air through his nose in amusement. "Grace drink water. Voice sound bad. Rocky can barely understand."
"Bossy," Grace teases. That's a good sign. His demeanor has been shifting around a lot ever since the second EVA. At times, he's smiling and joking, if still weak, but others, he can barely speak through the pain and discomfort. Still, he takes the pouch and sips. Not much, but something. The attempt is reassuring, in any case. When he shifts his attention back to the screen, his mood drops. "Ugh, am I the dumbest person alive?"
"Grace is smartest person Rocky has ever met," he replies honestly. "Except for Adrian. Adrian is smarter."
"Think we could give them a call?" he jokes. He knows that's not possible. Then, he sighs. "Sorry. I'm just frustrated. Nothing is making sense."
"Impatient. Fever is bad, pain is bad, math is hard. Stupid to be angry at self."
"Yeah, okay. I'll ease up." He coughs, gripping his ribs, then groans in pain. Helplessness grips Rocky in an icy vice, able to do nothing other than watch Grace writhe in pain trying to simply breathe. Just like Grace does when Rocky is uncomfortable, he rolls beside Grace as he's doubled over trying to catch his breath and taps against the front panel of the ball. At first, he doesn't realize what Rocky is attempting to do, and thinks he wants something from him.
"No," he argues. "Rocky tap ball like Grace. Provide comfort."
"Oh," he realizes, uncurling slightly. "You're... patting me."
"Yeah. I can't really feel it, but the support is nice."
Grace laughs. "I don't remember teaching you that word."
"I believe you." After a moment, he sits up straight and hones his attention in on the computer. Not long after that, he coughs until he brings up the water, plus a thick sludge from his lungs that he spits into the (wildly underutilized) trash basin. It's followed by pain sounds.
"Grace is leaking," Rocky accuses worriedly. Grace nods.
"Happens," he pants, barely able to catch his breath. "Body's fighting the infection."
"Good good good," Rocky celebrates, feeling more hopeful than he has in hours. "Grace fight infection. Lungs get better."
"Not... quite that simple. Makes it really," he inhales heavily, "hard to breathe."
Wait, so there's no winning? "Confusing," he's used as a descriptor for the human body before. When Grace gets nauseous from not eating, which makes eating less appealing. When he cuts his finger in the lab and faints at the sight of his blood, preventing him from being able to get up and treat the wound. This, though, this is worse than that. "Confusing" doesn't encompass how maddening it is.
Rocky has a thousand questions, but the most important one, and the one he asks, is, "Hurts, question?"
Grace nods, wiping sweat from his forehead. Rocky pats the ball again, and Grace leans back against it, completely exhausted.
"This's good," he murmurs. "Nice and cool."
"Rocky atmosphere hot to Grace."
"Xenonite's a good insulator." He does seem a little more relaxed and comfortable than he has in a while. "Do you mind?"
"Grace lean against Rocky ball," he can't say quickly enough. Finally, something he can do that can provide a little comfort. "As long as need."
Leaning against the xenonite does seem to help. The next time Armando checks his temperature half an hour later, it's a little cooler. Not by much, but Grace says he will "take a win where he can get it," so Rocky doesn't move. Not even as the proximity makes the sound of his rapid heart and crackling lungs overbearingly loud, nor as his coughing reverberates inside the ball so badly that he can practically feel the vibration in his carapace. That's a small price to pay for Grace's comfort. So what if it's all he can hear? It's all he'd be thinking about, anyway.
The small reduction of his body temperature appears significant, because Grace perks up for a few hours. He's actively working, not erasing so many numbers, not pounding on the sides of his head with the palms of his hands anymore.
"I actually think I'm getting somewhere," he says happily.
"Is great!" Rocky forces. The sounds coming from his chest are uncomfortable, but he hasn't seen Grace this optimistic in days. He settles down in his ball to ride out the noise.
"You okay?" he asks. "Seem a little quiet. When was the last time you slept?"
Hm. Maybe that's it. It's been a while. Everything is starting to feel overwhelming because he's exhausted. Eridians can't really control when they sleep. He's not sure how he's managed to stave it off this long, but yes, Grace is right. He needs sleep.
But how could he possibly sleep at a time like this?
Apparently, he ponders the question for too long, because Grace scoots away from the ball.
No. That's not right. The ball was helping Grace's fever, so there is absolutely no circumstance under which he should be scooting away from the ball.
He startles a little, because it comes out more intensely than he intends.
"Fever will go back up. Bad bad bad. Stay with Rocky."
"You need to sleep. I know you're worried, but I'll be okay. Now's a good time, really. I'm feeling a little better. I can watch you while I work."
"Grace should not be alone."
"Ah, come on. I'm not alone. I've got Armando."
"Sounds like someone is grumpy angry stupid," he teases. "You're not fooling me, Rock. Just go get on your bed. I can see you from here."
"Rocky sleep in ball, then."
He... doesn't know. Because he'll be by Grace's side faster if something goes wrong? To do what, pat him? He's just as helpless in his ball as he is in his bulb, but he can't bear to separate himself from Grace's side right now. Before he can try to find a way to vocalize these thoughts through the grumpy angry stupid filter, Grace is scooting back toward him.
"Okay, you can sleep in your ball, if you want. I don't get it, but I don't have to. If it makes you feel better, that's good enough for me."
"And Grace will stay? Not move?"
"I mean, I can't promise I won't move at all, since I have, like, a bladder. But I'll stay."
"Relief," he replies. "Stay next to Rocky, get better."
"Thanks. Get some rest, buddy. I'll watch."
Rocky settles in, telling himself he'll wake as fast as possible to get back to Grace.
Waking is always a little unsettling for Eridians. His senses cut in before his control over his limbs, which leads to one vulnerable minute in which he is conscious, but paralyzed. That's why it's best to have someone sit on your chest. Immediate reassurance that you're safe.
It's been 46 years since someone has sat on his chest while he slept, and he hasn't had a single wake cycle that hasn't begun with terrified immobility since. He never gets used to it and won't until he can get back home. Adrain is four times his size. No one makes him feel safer than they do.
While Grace can't sit on his chest, Rocky has learned to identify different cues to remind himself that he's not alone. First of all, Grace is always making some kind of sound. Whether he's working (and talking to himself) or sleeping (and somehow still talking to himself), humans are noisy. He likes that, now.
The first noise he has learned to hone in on is the beating of Grace's heart, steady and omnipresent. When he listens for that, he's quickly reminded that he cannot soothe himself until he can move again by telling himself that everything is okay and everyone is safe, because that's not true. Grace's heartbeat is very fast again, faster than earlier.
Rocky's claw twitches, and he clenches and unclenches his fist.
Thankfully, he's still leaning against his ball, just as he'd promised, but he's not as okay as he'd said he would be when Rocky woke up. He's working on his computer, but his breathing is loud and rumbling and fast. He doesn't need to know much about human biology to know that isn't healthy.
Rocky kicks one leg, then another, then another, all with a clicky clacky sound that gets Grace's attention. At least it means he's awake.
"Rocky," he greets, voice low and wrecked. "You awake, now?"
It takes another few seconds of shaking out his limbs, but he replies in the affirmative, which makes Grace smile.
"Good. Missed you." Something, whether it's the fever or the stress or the exhaustion or the fear, has been making Grace a little emotional, lately.
"Rocky miss Grace, too," he says. "Grace voice sound worse. Feel worse, question?"
"Not so bad," he promises, but that's a lie if he's ever heard one. "Fever's up a little."
Yeah, that's obvious in the way he's barely sitting up of his own accord. And, great. He's shivering again.
"Grace is cold, question? Because of fever?"
"Then why Grace not use blankets? Why Grace still lean against ball, question?"
"Fever needs to go down." His teeth are clicking together fast fast fast.
"Doesn't matter. I need to think."
Once again, Grace is putting his own needs last.
"How is math going, question?"
"I was onto something for a while, I thought. Now it all just kind of looks like alphabet soup." He knows both those words individually.
"No understand word combination."
"Mixed together. Nonsense."
"Hm. Soup is wrong. Grace has some sense."
He laughs. "On a good day, I guess."
"Keep working. Doing great. Grace is so smart. Rocky believe in Grace."
"Hey," he chuckles with a tired smile. "Now those are some words of encouragement."
With that, he turns his attention back to the task at hand.
The math is going well. Grace is getting worse.
As time goes on, soreness from the fall sets in, making him too stiff to move, but also making it hard to sit in one position for long for the pain. He's exhausted and wants to lie down, but he can't breathe when he's anything but upright. Cold and hot flashes wash over him in a torturous cycle, but he's damp with sweat no matter what. The fever makes it difficult to focus, and when he is focusing, it hurts his head and eyes.
"This is the worst," Grace more or less whines, voicing exactly what Rocky is thinking. He's been rationing his complaints, trying to remain as positive as he can when he can. The fact that he's complaining means that the discomfort is peaking again.
"Agree agree agree," Rocky says. "Grace take break if need."
"Need, but can't. I'll fall asleep."
Frustration. Anger. Fear. Rocky taps the ball and sings to self soothe just like Grace taught him, and Grace taps back with a matching melody. Oxygen deprived, Grace tries to allow himself a deep breath, either forgetting or ignoring the fact that he can't. It ends as Rocky anticipates it will: the fluid in his lungs shifts around, choking him. It appears as though that's gotten worse in the time that Rocky was asleep. He tries not to think about how scary that must have been for Grace, to be getting less and less air, feeling dizzier and achier and more exhausted, all alone.
He leans over the trash bin and coughs until he brings up more of the sludge from his chest with a horrible, pained gag. The sound bounces around Rocky's ball, a devastating cacophony of agony and despair.
"Ugh," he groans. "Sorry, Rock. This must sound disgusting. I can move, if it's grossing you out." So long as the ball is helping his fever, Grace will not be going anywhere.
"If Grace move, Rocky chase."
His laugh is so wheezy it's barely recognizable as mirth.
"For somebody that says he doesn't get humor, you're funny." He shifts his posture upward a little.
"Keep Grace happy, question?"
"Yeah. Keeping me happy."
For the most part, Grace asks for quiet. He's having enough trouble staying focused already, and his fevered mind can't filter out distractions like he usually can. Every once in a while, he'll say something--a reassurance that he's doing okay, a complaint that he's not, a plea for encouragement--but mostly, it's silence. The only thing keeping Rocky from losing it entirely is the clacking of his keyboard and the squeaking of his dry erase marker on the board.
So, when that stops, he notices. Immediately.
"Grace," he prompts after it becomes clear that this lack of movement is more than just Grace thinking. "Grace is awake, question?"
He's slumped bonelessly against the ball, chin to his chest.
"Grace fall asleep, question?"
"Hm?" he intones, head bobbing forward. "No. M'awake."
"Ignore Rocky, question?"
"I call your name three times. No answer."
"Huh. Maybe I did fall asleep for a second. I didn't notice." He forces stiff muscles to cooperate so he can sit up. "Think I need to take a lap."
Rocky knows what that means. It's something Grace does when he's been awake too long but doesn't want to sleep yet. A stupid walk around the perimeter of the lab. This... seems like a bad time for that. He's barely tolerating half lying, half sitting on the floor, motionless. Is this really worth the energy?
"Idea is bad. Grace is too tired."
"That's why I need to move. Wake myself back up."
Just getting to his feet makes him dizzy enough that he has to steady himself on a benchtop for balance. That should be enough exertion for him in his condition, but he's stubborn. He pushes himself to walk, clumsy and slow. By the time he returns to his pillow nest on the floor, he's making an effort to cover up how hard he's breathing. That's pointless. Rocky can hear his racing heart and crackling lungs. He can't hide anything from him.
"There," he breathes, trying to sound casual. "Awake." He coughs, lips clamped tight as he attempts to control it. He always tries to hide things from Rocky when he's made a stupid decision.
"Can't keep it down," he says breathlessly. "I really don't want to throw up again."
"Have to do something. Body distressed."
"Just... gimme a second." He leans forward, pressing his forehead to the xenonite ball, breathing slowly.
He should have just drank the water, because he coughs until he throws up stomach acid, anyway.
Through sheer power of will, he manages to refocus. It comes in spurts--between coughing and wallowing--but, because Grace is brilliant, it's enough.
"Think I'm gettin' close to the end," he finally announces, slurring his words at the edges. "Stuff's addin' up."
"Amaze amaze amaze! Show me."
"Yeah, okay. They're gonna be... tricky. Lotsa... lotsa numbers."
"Is okay," Rocky reassures. "Show me."
He's squinting at the board, like he's trying to make sense of it. And he does it for a long time.
"Grace see okay, question?"
"Yeah... Just. Having trouble. Remembering."
"Math is on computer and on board. Can't remember, question?"
He nods slowly. "Need'a... sec... b'cs... j's a 'lil...d'zzy..."
"Grace need say word better. Rocky can't understand."
"Mmphng," is the reply, even less coherent than the garbled attempt at a sentence. Then, he goes limp, slumping down the side of the ball and hitting the floor on his burned arm. He doesn't react at all, but Rocky sure does.
"Grace! Grace hurt arm! Grace wake up!" Usually, pain is enough to wake him from even the deepest sleep. When he bumps his burn wrong in his bed, he always jerks upright, gasping. Something is wrong.
His sleep is short. Just a minute later, he slowly wakes up, hissing in pain and clutching his arm.
"That hurt," he manages through gritted teeth. "What happened?"
"Grace fall asleep in middle of speaking. Scary." He scrubs his face with his hands.
"Oh. I... don't think that was sleeping. I think I'm passing out. Little different."
"No. It might keep happening until my fever comes down."
"I think so, bud." He leans his head back against Rocky's ball. The fever isn't going anywhere, at this point. This is just for comfort, so Rocky presses against the same spot. "I'm awake now. I should explain the math while I'm still lucid."
"Grace take five minutes."
The ship dips a little closer to Adrian's surface.
Grace spends the next two hours slipping in and out of consciousness.
When he's up, he's teaching. When he's not, he lies on the floor, sweaty and unresponsive.
But it's the in-between states that are the worst.
Sometimes, he's mostly awake, but just out of it enough to be frustrated and impatient with his slow, muddled thoughts. Others, he's mostly unconscious, just aware enough to know he's supposed to be doing something important that he's failing to do. His emotions are everywhere, rolling between happy to be conscious and angry or very, very sad that they're here at all.
Rocky pats his ball as Grace coughs up another glob of sludge. When he's caught his breath as much as he can, he presses the palms of his hands to his eyes, shoving his glasses up and out of the way. His breathing is ragged.
"Can't keep doing this," he rasps for the--Rocky has stopped counting how many times he's said it. "Head's killing me."
Rocky hasn't heard that expression before.
"Really bad." He coughs again.
"It's all bad. Feel really bad. Really sick." Rocky's carapace hits the bottom of the ball in dismay. "How are you holding up?"
Rocky hesitates. "Why ask if Rocky is okay, question? Grace is in very much bad pain. Focus on Grace."
"You're healing, too. Plus, I'm sure this stuff is hard on you. I want to know."
"Good," he says, referring only to his physical healing to keep himself from feeling like he's lying to him. "Feel good."
"Would you tell me if you didn't?" Rocky hesitates. Lazily and clumsily, Grace mimics the motion Rocky had showed him when they first found one another. "Only us, remember? Gotta take care of each other."
It's enough to break him. "Scared. Feel very scared."
Grace nods patiently. "Me, too. Scared together. Comforting?"
It is, he thinks, in its own way. Grace sits up, but looks down. He might be crying.
"What if I got everything wrong?" he asks. "If I can't do this, we die. I'll be the reason Earth dies, Erid dies, everyone dies."
"No. Sickness is reason, not Grace. If math is wrong, then sickness is reason." That doesn't do much. "But math is not wrong."
"I trust Grace." He sniffles. So he is crying. "And Grace trust Rocky." Crying makes Grace breathe weird, and it's not good for the cough. "Rocky understand beetles math. Grace explain well."
"I was incoherent," he replies. "There's no way you got all that."
"Rocky is smart," he brags. "And good good good pilot. Not like Grace."
He huffs out a laugh. "Did we die?"
"Then I was good enough."
It's time. They have to get to the control room so Rocky can get them out of here. Maybe the math isn't 100% clear, but he's pretty sure it's good enough, and Grace intentionally left a little fuel so they have some wiggle room to correct any mistakes. He simply can't bear to push him any further than he already has. Every time he passes out and wakes up again, he's a little less present. He's got a feeling that even if he were to keep explaining, he wouldn't get much more useful information out of it, so it's better to just let him rest. In fact, he doesn't have a choice, because Grace's hand falls from the panel where he'd been resting it and he blinks back out of awareness.
They have to go. But what's ten minutes?
Turns out, ten minutes is a mistake.
Grace sleeps hard. It's not like the other faints he's been experiencing, which only last a few seconds to minutes at a time. This is worse. For a horrifying moment, Rocky is left alone to wonder whether he's going to wake up at all, but as if to swoop in once again and save him from his anxious thoughts, Grace shifts, groaning. He's awake once more.
He's fighting to sit up, lying on the floor in his blanket nest nearly curled up in a ball, shaking. He doesn't speak, just stares, looking around the room like he's never seen it before. Grace can only see what his eyes are pointing at, so he's moving his head frantically, fearfully. As he does so, his heart rate begins to increase at an alarming speed.
"Grace?" Rocky calls. "Something is wrong, question?"
"Stratt," he replies, voice tight and fearful. A new word for Rocky. "She gave me--something, and--I don't--where--and I can't--remember--"
This is something new. He's desperately worked up and terrified out of his mind, scrambling to sit up. His breathing is so fast that he immediately starts coughing again, but this time, he's not lucid enough to understand what's happening.
"Grace had nightmare," he tries to reassure. "Awake, now. Not real."
"No!" he snaps. Rocky flinches. He's seen Grace have nightmares before, some of them pretty intense. It's not uncommon for him to toss and turn, or even to shoot up in bed, sweating and breathing hard for several seconds until he recognizes where he is and calms down, but this time, he's not coming to his senses. The fever probably has something to do with that. He's disoriented and can't think straight.
"Grace is safe." The truth won't do him any favors right now. "Rocky keep Grace safe."
"Where--I don't know--where are we?"
Rocky freezes. Even the worst of his nightmares haven't done that. He always comes back when he hears Rocky's voice.
That... has the opposite of his intended effect. Rather than soothing him, it devolves his mental state deeper into panic. His heart is beating faster than it does even when he's exercising hard, and he's coughing more than he's getting a full breath.
"Calm down! Will hurt self!"
As much as he wants to help, he can't speak for fear of making this worse, since it seems like that's the only thing he's been doing. He watches as Grace notices the thin tube from the IV in his arm and his panic grows, immediately clawing at it.
"Grace no remove!" Rocky shouts. "Medicine is helping! Helping!"
That doesn't stop him from ripping it out of his arm. Blood spurts out of the hole in his skin where the cannula had been, then begins rolling down his arm with every rapid heartbeat. Rocky screams. He's hurting himself in his wild terror, and now, clambering desperately to his feet.
"Grace lie down! Will fall and get hurt!"
"I won't go," he chokes. "I can't!"
Far too late, by Rocky's standards, Armando rolls in at the sound of the commotion.
"Sounds like you're having an argument," Mary's voice announces, and Rocky could scream again.
"No argument! Grace need help!"
"What is that?!" he demands, backing away from the robot until his back hits the wall and his strength gives out, head bobbing forward as he sinks down against it.
"Physical distress detected. Doctor Grace, please remain calm." As the arm attempts to touch him, he continues to thrash, shoving the hand out of the way like it's trying to kill him. He probably thinks it is. "Doctor Grace, if you cannot calm down, a sedative will be administered."
A syringe is raised. He jumps to his feet, where his balance is so off-kilter that he stumbles forward, knocking hard into the benchtop with his hip. It has to hurt, but he's so scared that he doesn't react. His eyes remain trained on the syringe.
"Don't do it!" he cries. He's fighting for his life, throwing things, hiding behind benches, shoving chairs to create distance between him and Armando.
"Grace, robot is helping! Do not fight robot!"
The lack of air is beginning to get to him. He can't take in enough oxygen to support his pounding heart, and he begins choking again, gagging on fluid. It's too much. Too much strain on his so, so sick body, and he collapses forward, head hitting the floor with a sickening thump. All he can do is sob and squirm as Armando holds him down, pinning his chest to the floor to keep him still while the sedative is injected through the side of his neck. Watching him fight until he goes still is the worst thing Rocky has ever seen.
Armando rearranges Grace's limbs so he's lying flat, so he doesn't wake up in more pain. That's nice. It's what Rocky would do if he could touch him, but it's not enough. He doesn't put his pillow under his head, and Grace loves that. Rocky would. He doesn't cover him with his quilt, and Grace is shivering without it. Rocky would.
Instead, once he's good and unconscious, Armando drags Grace's limp body to the med bay and places him onto the bed, strapping him down to immobilize him. He replaces his IV to administer more medicine and cold fluids. Rocky chitters anxiously, torn between desires. All he wants to do is watch Grace sleep. He needs someone to keep him safe, and he doesn't trust the stupid robot arm to do that. Eridians would never, ever leave someone to sleep alone while they're so critically sick and confused and upset.
On the other hand, he knows what he should do. Now is the perfect time. Grace is strapped down, more secure in the bed than he would be in his chair in the command room. He's unconscious, unable to experience the fear of gradually passing out from the centrifugal force, the pain of his bruised ribs being shoved against the restraints of his seat, the panic of the what little breath he has being forced out of his lungs as the gravity crushes them. Armando can monitor his vitals and treat him as fit. By all means, it's the best case scenario.
It's not really a debate. It's a sacrifice. And there's no sacrifice he wouldn't make for Grace, nor Grace for him. He refuses to say goodbye as he turns and runs from the med bay toward the control room by himself.
