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"Welcome to the land of the living," is the first thing Grantaire hears upon waking up.
He opens his eyes and sees the open expanse of stars winking in at him through a large window. "Huh?"
The cool light inside is reflecting poorly on the person who spoke, highlighting all the wrong features but not detracting from his beauty. "Well, at least you're alive," he continues, and then reaches out a hand to pull Grantaire to his feet.
The closer proximity gives Grantaire a better look at this person. And better perspective. He's tall, taller than most people Grantaire knows, and pale. Too pale. He's clearly not human, but he's certainly humanoid. The only other difference Grantaire can see are his glowing eyes.
“I'm Combeferre,” he offers, letting go of Grantaire, clearly deeming him stable enough to stand on his own. Grantaire isn't so sure. He still feels shaky from careening through space.
“Grantaire,” he says in return, and smiles slowly. Combeferre mirrors it, and then a thought occurs to Grantaire. “Wait, how can I understand you?”
Combeferre’s smile fades. “About that...I did give you a translator while you were out. Hopefully it's not too intrusive or uncomfortable. I can readjust it easily if you need.”
“Ooh, okay, so the classic sci-fi stories were right,” Grantaire says, reaching for his ears. There's a small bump on the inside shell. Way more streamlined than any Earth translators, and clearly with a larger database of languages. “They're good,” he confirms to what he thinks is Combeferre’s expectant look.
“Good,” he agrees, and then sits down on a makeshift bench. The landing deck isn't very large, and every feature seems crammed in and purely function-based. “I'm glad we were able to get to you in time, and able to understand your distress signal and pinpoint your location. I'm sorry the process was a bit rough. I'm afraid you were jostled too much and that's why you lost consciousness for a moment. My scans indicate that you're physically stable, though.”
Grantaire listens easily, for once. After all, he did just experience a traumatic event and then pass out. He’s justifiably a little quiet. While listening, he really starts to notice Combeferre's voice. It's like the translator either can’t tune out the undertones of technology or maybe it’s an important component to how he speaks. Either way, it makes the rest of his features click into place for Grantaire. The glowing eyes, mostly. They're glowing in a decidedly inorganic way.
Grantaire barely has time to smile at Combeferre, who mirrors the smile, before someone is rushing in and yelling, “They found us! Combeferre, we need you,” and then dashing off again.
Combeferre's smile turns apologetic as he turns to leave. “You’re welcome to follow me, or explore,” he says in a bit of a rush, and then he’s gone.
Grantaire opts to explore, since he has no idea where Combeferre went and suspects he’ll get lost and end up exploring anyway if he tries to follow.
The hallways are narrow but tall, cramped with all sorts of wiring and pipes running to who knows where. Not only are they sticking out of the walls, but the walls themselves are transparent, with all the mechanical features exposed. Grantaire wonders why. Earth ships don’t look even remotely similar, but this ship is also made out of something other than metal, something that Grantaire is unable to identify even when he lays a hand on it.
It's also a winding path, and he quickly loses any sense of direction he may have had. The landing deck could be anywhere now. The intersections are well labeled with arrows pointing in each direction, but the translator Combeferre gave him evidently doesn’t work on writing, only speech.
Eventually, he ends up in a different sort of hallway, one where the lights are giving off a faint blue cast. When he enters a room, he’s surprised to see it contains a small pool.
Someone’s there, despite the emergency.
She’s kicking her feet in the water, not actually swimming. As Grantaire gets closer, he realizes she’s humming, but it’s not a tune he recognizes, and then he gets close enough to see the webbing on her toes, and realizes she’s not from Earth, despite the rest of her appearance.
She smiles when she looks up and sees him there. “Are you a new stray?” she asks, and her voice is decidedly human-sounding, rough and grounding and exactly what he’s used to.
“I guess so,” he responds with a shrug.
Her smile widens. “I’m Cosette,” she says. “What’s your greeting custom?”
She noticed their physical differences too, then. “This is fine. Oh, I’m Grantaire,” he says, because her smile is lovely and bisous with someone from another planet seems unnecessary. Maybe he’ll tell her later. “Do you have a greeting custom you want to do?”
She flicks some water at him. It barely grazes his shoe. “There you go,” she says, and laughs. “You know, you’re interesting. You totally look human, but just slightly different.”
Grantaire blinks. “Maybe because I am human? Is this some sort of translation thing?”
Cosette pulls her feet out of the pool and starts to dry them off with a towel beside her. “No,” she says, indicating with a sweeping hand gesture for Grantaire to sit beside her. He does. “When someone of another species refers to themselves in their language, it gets roughly translated to the meaning. Feuilly had to turn his translator off so I could hear how to pronounce Frigus, his home planet, because my translator was just telling me ‘cold home’ and I knew that wasn’t a name. That means the meaning of our words for our species must be similar. We certainly look similar enough.”
“You look like you’ve adapted more to water,” Grantaire says. “I mean, this pool, the webbing on your toes...but everything else is similar.”
“Yes,” Cosette’s eyes light up. “Our planet will translate to water home for you, I imagine. Or something similar. Do you not have much water on your planet?”
They trade information like that for a while, and Grantaire learns a few things: Cosette’s skin is more even than his, and darker. Everyone on their planet has brown, even skin, and dark, sleek hair, so that they can move through the water comfortably. Her fingers are webbed too, and she tells him they also have back fins that can flatten and they glow faintly in the dark. Cosette is not helping the others with their emergency because while she’s handy in a fight, she promised her father she wouldn’t. She does tell Grantaire that it’s likely another scuffle with the authorities, for defying the war and stealing documents the public aren’t meant to have access to.
Before she can tell him more, someone else walks into the room, and evidently he was looking for Grantaire, because he says, “Oh, there you are! Took me a while to find you. Did you know your biological indicator reads exactly the same as the lovely Cosette’s here?”
Even from across the room, it's clear he has the same pale skin as Combeferre, although his other features are distinctly different.
“Yes, we were just discussing that before you interrupted,” Cosette snaps in response, her warm voice suddenly turning harsh. It shakes Grantaire out of his thoughts. He wouldn’t have thought she’d bite so immediately, but apparently her and the newcomer have some sort of history, because she continues, “Go ahead and take him with you, Courfeyrac. I know that’s what you came here for and I can’t keep him all to myself,” her voice softens a bit at the end, and she smiles at Grantaire before she gets up and leaves, roughly brushing past Courfeyrac as she does, entirely unbothered by their significant height difference.
“Well, you heard her,” Courfeyrac says, and his eyes light up with a glow.
Grantaire can't help but be charmed, despite his immediate fondness for Cosette and value of her opinion. He follows where Courfeyrac leads.
—
The silence in the hallway is immediately awkward. Naturally, Grantaire breaks it. “So...you and Combeferre are friends?” Grantaire asks while they walk. He can’t help that he’s a gossip.
Courfeyrac laughs. It’s bright, but like everything else about his speech, measured. “Yes,” he says. “Good friends. We met when we were young.” He looks at Grantaire, then adds, “which I suppose would be different for you.”
“Different?” Grantaire asks.
“We have longer lifespans than you. At least, I’m assuming that’s true, based on your reading. On Physis, we live as long as we aren’t killed. Everyone on our ship is considered young on our planet, but I suspect we’ll seem quite old to you.” Courfeyrac turns back to smile at him.
“So you’re sort of like vampires,” Grantaire says.
Courfeyrac turns back to leading the way through the hallways. Grantaire has lost all sense of direction, if he ever even had it. He has noticed that Courfeyrac walks strangely, almost like he’s bouncing. His shoes give Grantaire no clues. “I don’t understand that reference,” Courfeyrac says, and then, “Just through here. You go ahead first.”
When he steps into the room Courfeyrac is indicating, whatever conversation was happening before immediately stops and someone standing next to Combeferre who is evidently from Physis as well waves them closer.
“I see you’ve met Courfeyrac,” he says, and oh, his voice has the same quality to it, but more melodic. It’s absolutely captivating and he seems to know it. Grantaire also notices the arm he didn’t use to wave them over is injured and has wires spilling out of it.
Courfeyrac waves in indication as they get closer. “This is Enjolras,” he introduces, which causes a little furrow to appear on Enjolras’ face, like he's annoyed that Courfeyrac did the introduction for him. It's a very clear but also small expression, which he hasn't seen so far from the other two. All of their expressions seem very deliberate and measured.
Enjolras takes a step closer to look at Grantaire, and he feels himself wanting to squirm, especially under the weight of those assessing eyes. Enjolras' are blue, and they faintly glow as he tracks them over Grantaire, and then fade when he turns his head away, not making any move to back up.
“Combeferre. This one is not Hydran. What did you do?” Enjolras says. He doesn't sound particularly bothered, but it's hard to tell. Grantaire is also so glad he received a crash course from Cosette or he would be hopelessly lost.
“Yeah, I'm from Earth?” Grantaire cuts in. “Thank you for the save, by the way, because I was totally toast otherwise.”
Courfeyrac murmurs “toast” under his breath, which does not make sense to Grantaire, but Enjolras speaks over it anyway. “Wait. Can you get in contact with your people?”
“Noooo? I mean, yeah, no, with my ship busted, I absolutely cannot. I know basic stuff, but not enough to do long distance contact with unfamiliar technology. And I'm not even sure where the main ship would be, since they'll assume I'm dead and likely change their plans based on that information. I was a long way out from them, besides.”
“Great,” Enjolras says. He sounds tired.
“I knew we shouldn't have picked him up,” Courfeyrac says, but he smiles while he says it, so surely he doesn’t mean he wanted to leave Grantaire to his terrible fate out in space. Surely.
Before that can go any further, Combeferre interjects with, “You're welcome to stay with us for as long as you need. Though right now we are kind of in the middle of a volatile situation. As you saw earlier.”
“Can’t be helped,” Courfeyrac says.
“Right, yes, but we’ll be sure to keep you as safe as possible,” Combeferre adds, glancing over at Courfeyrac. His expression is entirely unreadable, but clearly it means something to Courfeyrac, because he doesn't cut in again.
“I could be helpful,” Grantaire says after a pause. “Even though I might not be tech-savvy, I'm pretty good at other things. I was sent out here because I'm hardy.” He pauses to laugh. “They didn't know exactly how hardy I am. Anyway, I'm a decent shot, and I'm good at cooking and fixing things. Surely you have some need for those things?”
Combeferre smiles. “I'm sure we can find something for you to help out with. But you have absolutely no obligation to.”
Grantaire silently vows that he will. These people saved his life and it looks like he’s stuck here. Of course he has to help out.
—
Someone is tapping on his door. Grantaire has no idea what time it is. They’re tapping lightly enough that he barely hears it, though, which makes him think that maybe he woke up because he wasn’t sleeping that deeply anyway.
When he opens the door with a press to a heat-sensing panel, which is way more advanced than the codes required for Earthling tech, but seemingly commonplace for Physis-made ships, someone he doesn’t recognize is standing in front of him, and he still has no idea what time it is.
“Éponine,” she says, pressing her hand to her ear while she says it. This clues him in that it’s her name, so he does the same to tell her his.
She smiles a sharp grin. “I’m the first to get your actual name out of you. Apparently Cosette and Combeferre compared notes and you gave them two entirely different meanings. No one’s done that before.”
He blinks. “How does that even work? What did I tell them?”
She pulls her hair to one side, and his eyes catch on her webbed fingers. She has the same features as Cosette, he realizes. They’re clearly both from Hydra, though Éponine has lighter brown skin and much longer hair. Her blue eyes match her demeanour and personality much like Cosette’s warm brown ones do. “Translation with names is about intention. The translator doesn’t know what to do with names, because they are often very removed from their meaning, so it depends more on how you personally view your name.” This is clearly a topic she’s interested in. She grabs Grantaire’s arm to tug him along the hallways, and he follows, despite the lack of clues on where exactly they’re going. “For example, I’m sure Cosette told you that our planet will translate to water home to you, but that’s what it will translate to you if she says it. If I do, it will translate to something like family home. Cosette doesn’t know much about what it’s like to actually live on Hydra. She has a scholar’s point of view.”
They reach their destination, but the only reason Grantaire is sure is because Éponine stops. They’re standing in what seems like a crossroad of hallways. There are those illegible signs and everything. Éponine slams a hand against a wall that he’s really not sure should be hit like that, but then a panel pops open. “This is the translator database. You’re lucky your planet is included. I just added it. Can you imagine? We rescue you, and you’re just stumbling around with no idea what anyone’s saying.” She laughs, a harsh bark. “That’s why we probably sound really formal to you, though. There was no point in putting in casual phrases when I wasn’t even sure we’d ever encounter an Earthling. Now we have, though,” she says, and her eyes flick from the inside of the panel to Grantaire. They’re almost glowing in the faint light, and unlike Combeferre’s, the glow doesn’t feel particularly comforting.
“Now you have,” he agrees.
She nods. “What Earth language do you speak? Point on this screen here. Your symbols are nonsense to me. The boxes indicate separations.”
Grantaire is baffled by the question, but he leans in to see what she’s talking about. She’s pulled up a screen that is exactly as she described. It’s in alphabetical order, so French is easy enough to find. He points to it, and Éponine makes a note, then slams the panel back shut.
She grabs his arm again, and this time Grantaire is expecting the tug. “You know, if you just asked....”
She smiles that sharp smile back at him. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Grantaire makes a grumbling noise, but before he can really complain too much, they reach their destination. It’s an actual room this time, with a view of the stars. “Sun’s rising on Hydra,” Éponine comments, pointing to the planet that looks eerily similar to Earth, especially from this distance. He can see it; the sun is just starting to hit the side of the planet they can see. He still has no idea what time that means it is. Do they just count by hours, like Earth ships do?
Before he can overthink it, Éponine turns him to a bench, and then seats herself at another, lower one. “You said you can cook? Feuilly always makes weird things and no one else knows how. I like salt.”
Grantaire stares at the room in front of him. Now that he’s properly looking, yeah, it does look like a kitchen, sort of. He can manage.
While he and Éponine are eating and he is pestering her for more information on the translators in exchange for information about his planet and his mission – boring, really – he realizes that it’s a good trade.
—
Grantaire finds himself wandering, which is a lot of what he does lately, in between making meals for Éponine and finding other ways to make himself useful. It’s very satisfying when even Cosette compliments his meals, and Feuilly apparently eats them, if the leftovers’ disappearance means anything.
He’s almost sort of got the ship figured out, although being able to read the signs would maybe help. He’ll have to make a barter with Éponine for that later.
For now, he finds himself in Navigations, which is a favourite room of his, because there’s such a wide view of space, and it also looks out on Physis and Hydra. One so much like home, and one so much...not.
Grantaire turns at the sound of someone walking in, and he doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing. Enjolras has snuck up on him and stops while standing unnervingly close to him, as usual.
“Hey, I see your arm has been patched up,” Grantaire says, to break the tension. It has; it looks flawless now, despite the damage before.
“Yes,” Enjolras says, lifting and flexing it slowly. Then he looks at Grantaire intently, with his eyes starting to glow, and abruptly changes the subject. “Where have you been lately?”
“You know, cooking, pestering people for information, sleeping,” Grantaire says, once he fully registers the question.
"Sleeping is a waste of time." Enjolras says, and his tone is as even as ever, which means Grantaire has no idea if he means it to sound dismissive or not.
"Well, yeah, I mean, obviously, but it's like, a pleasant and necessary waste of time, you know? I need that time to process the day. Don't you have anything like that?" Grantaire tilts his head to one side. Surely Enjolras does. If not, how does he speak so compellingly?
"We do a system reset on a scheduled basis. One time per your year, I believe." Enjolras says nonchalantly, as if one sleep is at all equivalent to three hundred and sixty five.
“Well.” Grantaire says. He doesn't really have much else he can say to that.
Enjolras seems to realize this, because he says, “Your sleep is used to help you heal injuries, right?”
Grantaire blinks. “Yeees? Why are you asking?” He's completely lost and not actually sure he ever had a grasp on the conversation.
“When I was hurt earlier, I needed to fix it. My injuries don't heal. If I didn't have access to the correct part, I would be stuck like that until I did. It is so strange and interesting to me that your body does heal.”
“Oh.”
Grantaire is struck by how messy he must seem compared to Enjolras and most of the people on this ship. He has all of these needs, and they make him weak, and they’re things that Physions don’t need, that they’ve moved past. It’s not even comparable. Even Hydrans have developed to better suit their environment, but Grantaire is just a useless Earthling, stuck in place.
After a pause, Grantaire isn’t sure what else to say, and evidently Enjolras doesn’t have anything to add either. Neither of them leave, though, and eventually the awkward silence settles into a more comfortable one of just looking out into the expanse of space.
—
Grantaire is surprised to run into Combeferre in the hallway on the way to the kitchen. “Sorry,” Grantaire says, and then, because he can’t help himself, “I thought you didn’t eat?”
Combeferre smiles and falls into step behind Grantaire. “I don’t need to, if that’s what you’re asking. Enjolras likes to, though, and so does Jehan. I’m coming here for the view of Physis. Hard to visit home when you’re legally restricted for crimes against the war effort.”
“Crimes?” Grantaire asks. “What crimes?” He can’t imagine not being allowed to visit his entire planet.
Combeferre waits until they reach the kitchen to respond. He sits down so he’s facing the window. Grantaire takes the opposite side of the bench. “Stealing official documents. The public isn’t meant to have access to them, but Jehan and I are interested in trying to piece together our planet’s history from what we have. Also helping people no matter what species they are or planet they’re from is apparently a crime.” He shrugs, like he’s not too torn up about it.
“What do you mean, piece together your history?”
“Right, you don’t know. Most of our surviving records only date back about five centuries. There should be more, and there are a few from earlier times – those ones we stole – but not nearly enough to make sense of anything. No one living right now has been alive that long, either. It’s...baffling.” Combeferre says. “That’s what I work on when we aren’t actively avoiding battles and the authorities catching up to us and picking up strays like you. It’s had to go on the back burner recently, though, since Hydra’s military is pushing its lead further into our little corner of space.”
“I see,” Grantaire says. “Thanks for clarifying that. I can leave you alone now, if you want?” He asks, aware that he’s definitely intruding on time Combeferre had intended to spend alone.
“No, stay. You were going to cook? Go ahead. I know the rations aren’t enjoyable for you, and I certainly don’t mind the company.” Combeferre says, his eyes briefly glowing with warmth before they fade back to their resting brightness.
Grantaire smiles crookedly. “You got it,” he says, and settles into the quiet company.
—
Grantaire can’t sleep. Something about the different environment is just making it impossible. He must be over the whole trauma of almost dying thing. That’s how he finds himself in Navigations again.
Except, this time, he hears voices before he reaches the room, so he slows down to listen. It’s the middle of the night to him, and Cosette and Éponine, and maybe even Feuilly, even though he sleeps less, but that obviously doesn’t matter to anyone from Physis. He hears Enjolras first, but Jehan, Bahorel, and Combeferre’s voices are in the mix as well.
They’re talking about the war. Grantaire has been too afraid to ask, so he doesn’t know much, and a lot of what they’re saying doesn’t mean anything, but one thing sticks to his mind – when the Physion death count is read out, followed by speculation on how close the Hydran authorities are to finding their ship again.
Jehan and Bahorel leave not long after that, though Grantaire doesn’t really hear what they say. They take a different hallway than the one he’s standing in.
Once Grantaire realizes the gravity of it all, he walks into the room to corner Enjolras and Combeferre.
“Grantaire,” Combeferre greets, clearly weary and surprised to see him. Grantaire wonders faintly when he got so good at reading Combeferre so easily.
Enjolras tilts his head to one side. “What’s up?” he asks, voice soft to match the feeling of the time.
“Humans are trying to kill you,” Grantaire says, his mouth twisting to one side.
“But they're not your humans. They're not you.” Combeferre lays a hand on Grantaire's shoulder, his touch cool.
“It's the war that's the problem,” Enjolras interjects, his voice flaring with barely contained feeling.
“Enjolras.” Combeferre says softly, clearly saying it isn't the time without words. Enjolras stops.
Grantaire ignores this exchange. “Does it matter?”
Combeferre grabs his elbows as if to say of course it matters, to ground him. “Grantaire. They're not you.”
Grantaire looks into his glowing eyes and sees the conviction of his words reflected in his expression. It's one thing for Enjolras to look at him like that, the way he looks at everyone, but it’s entirely different coming from Combeferre.
—
Grantaire wakes up to the sound of fighting. He stumbles out of his room to find the cool blue walls glowing a warning orange instead, and it’s immediately jarring.
He’s glad he knows his way around the ship and can easily reach the source of it all. He barely has a moment to realize they entered through the upper hatch in Navigations before he’s thrown into the fray.
They’re fighting human authorities, and he knows that means they aim to disarm, not seriously injure. The tide must have been just starting to turn when he arrived, because he only fights a few people before they’re retreating.
Grantaire looks up and really assesses the scene. He sees that Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Bahorel are very injured, with most of their limbs spilling wires. Bahorel is on the ground and waving a sword at the retreating authorities. Feuilly is pressing a hand to his arm, and Grantaire doesn’t like the amount of blood that’s seeping past his fingers.
Éponine has a few scratches, but she seems fine, if her smile is any indication. As she’s chasing the last few intruders back through the hatch, Combeferre rushes in, with Cosette at his heels.
Combeferre nods to Courfeyrac. “Can you check out Feuilly? I’ll help Bahorel.”
Bahorel protests, but he can’t do much about it, since he literally can’t move away from Combeferre, and he eventually gives in.
Enjolras starts to pace. Cosette moves towards him, but Éponine stops her and starts speaking rapidly to her in a low tone that Grantaire can’t pick up.
“Something isn’t right,” Enjolras says. “Why would they just retreat like that? They never have before, and they had us weakened, with an advantage of numbers. It doesn’t make sense.”
Jehan is at the controls in a moment, typing some sort of input into the console. Grantaire doesn’t pretend to know how any of their technology works, aside from the weapons, and even those were a learning curve. “Oh,” he says.
“What?” Enjolras demands, pivoting his pacing to see whatever it is that has Jehan frozen in shock. Grantaire isn’t so sure he wants to know. Jehan is sweet, and expressive, in a way most Physions aren’t. Grantaire doesn’t like the implications.
Enjolras stands still for a moment, and stiffens when he sees whatever it is. “It was a distraction,” he says. “The attack was a distraction, so that we wouldn’t interfere while they terraformed Physis.”
No one says anything for a long, agonizing moment.
“We still have all our documents,” Jehan says into the heavy silence.
Enjolras looks and sounds defeated. “But Physis was the blueprint.”
Combeferre steps in and presses a hand to Enjolras’ shoulder. He leans into the touch, and they stay like that while Combeferre elaborates. “Without it, we can’t make sense of the information we have. It was a missing piece of the puzzle. Some of these things just don’t make sense without being able to freely search Physis for their meaning. And now we never can.”
Enjolras makes an indecipherable noise, untangles himself from Combeferre, and leaves. Combeferre immediately trails after him.
With a glance at everyone else, Grantaire hesitantly follows while Jehan picks the conversation back up.
He finds them in the medbay, which is just as small as every other room on the ship; barely large enough to be functional. Enjolras is already sitting on a small bench, letting Combeferre inspect his arms. One of them is sparking, and the other is busted open, showing an eerily similar construction to the ship walls. His injuries are nothing compared to the lack of life in his eyes; not only are they not lit up at all, but they’ve changed from blue to gray. It’s like he’s shut down, except he’s still moving.
Combeferre glances up and smiles when he notices Grantaire, but Enjolras has yet to acknowledge him or say anything. He’s not acting at all like the person Grantaire has gotten to know.
“You’re functional now,” Combeferre says after a few moments of rearranging and replacing things in Enjolras’ arms. Grantaire watches with interest, but he’s no closer to understanding any of how they work. “Functional,” he reiterates as Enjolras mindlessly flexes his hand, “not optimal.”
Enjolras hums, and the sound vibrates around the walls of the room. When he lifts his gaze, Grantaire finds himself asking, “Do you want a hug?” because he looks like he needs one.
Enjolras shrugs and holds his arms out, so Grantaire goes for it. Despite his height, he feels surprisingly small. And warm. Like a computer that’s running hard, he’s just emanating warmth. Grantaire squeezes a bit and Enjolras exhales out an “oh,” and relaxes into the embrace.
When he pulls away, Enjolras’ eyes are bluer and sharper than they were before. “Thank you,” he says, and his voice is as smooth as ever, but it does jump a little bit, and Grantaire doesn’t know what to do with that.
Combeferre presses a hand to his shoulder and Grantaire realizes he cares about them both so much. His internal monologue screams, oh noooo, what do I do?
In response, he leaves.