A/N: This idea was basedoff ofAnnhilation + some other old movie from a few years ago + that old kidnapping case where that family that received their son back actually got some random kid.

Tweek continued to water the flowerbed, even when Kenny waved a hand in his face.

"Tweeeeeeek. C'mon, promise you'll come?"

"Can't," Tweek said, taking a step towards the petunias and, more importantly, away from Kenny. "I'm busy."

"It's just one night. You don't have to be in that bakery all weekend."

"You have no idea," Tweek leaned over and picked up his watering can, "what I have and don't have to do." He frowned and finally spared Kenny a glance. "There's a wedding order coming up and, ngh, I have to test a new batter for it."

Kenny's eyes rolled up into the back of his head. The flash of white with red vessels zig-zagging across skeeved Tweek out. "One. Party. Tweek."

"Fuck. Off. McCormick."

For a while, the birds were the only thing Tweek could hear. The coo of the mourning dove and the shrill tweets of the robins all danced around the muggy summer air as he tugged and dug out weeds that had invaded his garden. He shielded his eyes from the sun to see and, yes, Kenny was still balancing his stomach on his fence. Kenny's eyes, framed underneath by speckled cheeks, eyed his every move. Tweek shook his head. Back to working on tearing the roots of wildflowers from his zucchini bed, Tweek stabbed at the soil with his hand shovel. The sun felt warm on his arms, which was nice, but a nagging voice at the back of his mind wondered if he'd slathered on enough sunscreen.

"Please?"

Tweek groaned. In the very near future, he might be using this shovel to stab something more than packed dirt.

After vocalizing his displeasure, Tweek continued to ignore Kenny until he slinked away. Kenny, on the other hand, wasn't one to give up easily.

"Not everyone's going to hurt you like he did."

Tweek froze mid-jab of another clusterfuck of green. He turned to Kenny who was searching his face for some type of reaction.

"You-" Tweek stood and brushed the dirt off his pants- "you don't get to say that. Understand?" He stalked up the fence and Kenny backed, still searching Tweek's face but cautious enough to keep his distance. "You don't know shit."

"I know enough," Kenny said. "Don't stay hung up on him, Tweek. Let Craig go."

"I have." Tweek thought he might swing at Kenny's face, on which lay an unconvinced look. Instead, he twirled around and, dodging his gardening tools, strode to the front door. He swung the door open wide and briefly twisted his torso to Kenny. "I have."

He slammed the door shut behind him.

Friday night the house was quiet. It was always quiet. Tweek scarcely had visitors and he often took to reading or folding paper or watching television when he was home. If he packed and moved out overnight, his neighbors probably would have gone months without noticing his absence. Well, maybe if the vines entangled his vegetables and the few flower beds he kept then they'd come around knocking.

More often than not Tweek slaved away at his bakery. He sometimes experimented with different recipes, practiced new designs, or concocted new product lines well after closing time. He avoided going home.

He was all alone there.

It used to be that he was greeted with the lights on after a long day. He would shuffle through the front door and announced his arrival. Craig would respond, usually from the kitchen, and Tweek would stumble after his voice. An arm would snake around his waist and Craig would peck at Tweek's lips with his own. Then the following:

"I love you."

"I love you too."

After a year of being together, Craig had gotten a handle on the whole cooking thing and he'd have something hot waiting on the table. It was routine. It was perfect.

Tweek picked at his stirfry. It was rubbery. Maybe he should invest in getting a new microwave that still displayed the time correctly, unlike the old bangup currently sitting above the stove. Or try a different frozen dinner brand.

Kenny's words from that afternoon echoed around in his head.

Let go, huh?

He did. He told Craig that he couldn't be with him anymore. Maybe everyone forgot, but it was Tweek that broke things off with Craig and not the other way around. That meant he was over him.

Or that he wished he was.

He swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. Fuck Craig.

He remembered that night. After finally finishing and delivering the five-tier wedding cake that Kevin and Red had commissioned, he'd come home to the same routine right down to the peck on the lips and I-love-yous. Craig had prepared the humble American-Italiano meal of spaghetti and meatballs. Everything seemed fine, seemed normal.

Then Craig opened his fucking mouth.

"Babe," he said. "We need to talk."

"Hm?" Tweek hummed as he chewed his first meatball.

"I was asked to go."

Tweek's muscles clenched. "...You mean to space?"

"Yeah."

He looked up at Craig, who was watching him. He knew this would happen one day. He constantly hoped it wouldn't be anytime soon. "Oh." He snatched a napkin from the holder at the center of the table. "That's great, right?" He smiled, even as a million worried questions and dangerous scenarios bombarded his mind, and used the napkin to scrub his lips. "For how long?"

Craig's eyes immediately fell to the floor. Tweek's heart thumped in his chest and his amygdala zapped his adrenal glands. "Craig, how long?"

"It's the first mission to Europa," Craig finally said, closing his eyes. His fingers strummed the table's surface. When he opened his eyes, they were looking at Tweek. "I probably won't come back."

It felt like Tweek was jerked out from the world. It was like the earth kept spinning faster and faster and he was stationary, watching it everything whirl by him in a blur like he was no longer a part of the conversation or life or the universe. Stupidly, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"They probably won't be able to get me back home," Craig said, still looking at him. He reached over and took Tweek's hand into his own.

"You're not going to go then, right?"

Craig's top teeth scraped along his bottom lip. Tweek leaned closer, "Right?!"

"...I'm sorry, babe."

Tweek jumped from his chair. "You can't be serious." Tears stung at the corners of his eyes. "You're just gonna leave? Like that?"

"Tweek, this is," Craig shook his head and stood, reaching for his hand again but Tweek stumbled back, "this is a once in a lifetime opportunity."

Pacing to the refrigerator and the table in an endless loop, Tweek rapidly shook his head. "I can't believe this," Tweek muttered. He tried to blink away the tears but they only fell across his cheeks. "I can't believe you."

"I'm sorry." Craig clenched and unclenched his hands. "I'll be able to send transmissions back and they'll probably let you-"

"No." Tweek stopped pacing and crossed his arms, staring down the tiled floor. "No. If you leave, then that's it, Craig."

Tweek squeezed his eyes shut, standing in the middle of the kitchen, hot tears spilling over his cheeks, waiting for Craig to say something, anything.

"I'm sorry."

Anything but that.

He remembered the day Craig left. He remembered wanting to rush outside before Craig got in the taxi, jump in his fiancé's arms, his own tightly wrapped around Craig's neck, and beg him to stay. Kiss him over and over again until Craig forgot all about this silly exploration mission and carried him back inside. Instead, Tweek waited until he heard him drive off and sobbed on their, his, sofa.

A lot like right now.

He wiped the tears away from his face and blew upwards to his eyes when he heard Kenny knock on the door. Of course he'd break down crying at the worst time. Fuck. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly pushed it out. Once his eyes didn't look glazed and his breath was no longer uneven, he trudged down the hall and opened the door.

To see Craig.

Two pairs of blue eyes met and their owners said nothing. You'd think that, after three years, at least one of them would know what they'd say if they ever met again.

When silence was all they could muster, Tweek jumped into Craig's arms like he always dreamed of doing. He squeezed him and sobbed into his neck and prayed to God that this either not be a dream or otherwise kill him in his sleep. Craig leaned in the doorway for support and held him.

He spent the night peppering Craig's face with kisses and enjoying the ones he got along his jaw and over his eyelids. Eventually, the both of them passed out on the sofa.

When the sun had risen enough, its rays struck Tweek's face so that it snapped him awake. He rolled off of Craig and fluttered his hand across his fiancé's cheek. Yeah, he was real. Tweek smiled and sat at the side of the sofa, watching him nap away the morning for a few minutes before deciding to make a few helpings of scrambled eggs.

By the time he'd scraped the eggs onto two different plates, Craig had woken up. Tweek turned and he was standing in the opening between the living room and the kitchen.

"Morning," Tweek said, smiling.

Craig looked at him for a moment. "Morning."

"I made eggs." Tweek set the plates down on the table and Craig sat.

"Thanks."

Stopping behind Craig, Tweek ran his fingers through his fiancé's dark hair. "Are they good?" Craig nodded as he chewed and Tweek sighed just a little. The kitchen never seemed to catch this much sunlight. "I missed you. So much."

"Because I was gone."

Tweek stopped. "...Yeah, because you were gone."

Craig nodded again and stuffed another forkful into his mouth. Tweek slowly resumed his uncoordinated grooming. "How long have you been back?"

"A month," Craig said. "Twenty-eight days."

"Why didn't you call?" Tweek sat down in front of his own plate and began eating. Probably could have used more salt, but he'd long forgotten to fill the shaker about two years ago.

"I don't know."

Tweek furrowed his brows and frowned at Craig. "What do you mean you don't know?"

Craig looked at him curiously, like he was hanging off of every word. He seemed to consider things for a moment and finally said, "I don't know."

Tweek stared at him. "Do you have a fever?" he asked, pressing the back of his hand onto Craig's forehead. He didn't feel a temperature difference. Though Craig was usually cooler than Tweek.

"No." Craig finished off his plate. Tweek quickly tried to catch up. Craig spent the time looking out the window in silence and Tweek watched him carefully.

He'd been gone for three years. He was allowed to be a little off, right?

A little off did not accurately describe the Craig Tucker that showed up at his door.

There wasn't anything wrong with him per se. Tweek was a creature of anxiety and paranoia, so he feared that someone had tampered with his fiancé's memories, his thoughts. Tweek quizzed him on things they had done in the past, science-related topics he remembered Craig talking for hours about, Craig's own likes and dislikes. Craig passed with flying colors. Not a single answer missed.

Probably most worrisome was the fact that he was answering them.

Not once did Craig stop him and ask why the fuck he was throwing a barrage of questions at him. Not once did he tell Tweek to fuck off or to leave him alone. And even after pestering him and bothering him every chance he got the opportunity, not once did Craig flip him off.

Someone had fucked with his fiancé's brain. Tweek was convinced of it. He spent the next week peeking out through the blinds, expecting to see SWAT or the military swarming his yard and trampling over his lilies. He strained to listen for the chug of a helicopter or sirens growing louder. He stopped breathing every time an ambulance wailed down the street. He constantly ran his fingers across Craig's scalp, feeling for scars. He found nothing.

Obviously, his nerves were shot to hell.

Eventually, he got around to unpacking Craig's bag. Despite his tendency for neatness, Craig often put off unpacking suitcases and the like. Tweek put away the things he recognized and flopped what he didn't in a pile on the bed. At one point, he pulled out a composite notebook. The spine was soft and indented instead of straight and stiff. The cover was torn and marked on with what looked to be a sharpie. The graph paper no longer neatly stacked and instead the notebook looked like it had several pens stuck throughout it with how badly it seemed to do anything but stay closed.

Craig happened to walk past the bedroom door, twisting around a book in his hands. Craig did that a lot since he got back home. He was always reading everything he got his hands on. Tweek turned and called him back and Craig returned to the doorway.

"What's this?" Tweek asked, holding up the notebook.

Craig stared at it for a long time. Long enough that Tweek almost repeated the question until Craig interrupted.

"Observations," he said, returning his attention to the book in his hands. "It was for observations."

"Of your mission?"

"Yeah."

Tweek's heart skipped a beat. "Can I read it?"

Craig looked back up at him. He shrugged. "Okay." Then he left.

He realized too late that he shouldn't have read the notebook. Halfway through he knew that there was no way that he should have been allowed to read it. Why Craig would let him was a mystery. It was all written in Craig's signature scrawl and detailed things he saw on Jupiter's scarred moon.

He frantically wondered if there was a way to remove fingerprints from paper. This had to be top classified information. The kind of shit any government of any size would want to keep to themselves. And now Tweek knew it. Craig had let him. And though he wanted to burn any trace that it existed, he was compelled to keep going, to read it through to the end.

And he really wished he hadn't.

He grasped the railing while he tiptoed down the stairs. The sun had sunk below the horizon and the only light on in the house was the TV that Craig sat in front of as he leaned on the arm of the sofa. Tweek approached him from the side and Craig evidently caught a glimpse of him in his peripheral vision. Craig turned down the volume and looked at Tweek.

Tweek held up the notebook, hands trembling ever so slightly. Craig looked at it and then back at him. He didn't look cold or detached, not at all like how Craig would look, just blank. Tweek cleared his throat.

"You're..." Tweek's voice sounded like a thin metal pane in a windstorm and each syllable rattled from the gravel in his throat. Craig waited.

"You're not Craig, are you?"

Its eyes were curious, hanging off of every word. It looked at the TV for a moment then back at Tweek. "I don't think so."

Tweek's arms and legs shook and a wave of nausea smacked him. He was dizzy. "What are you?"

It blinked. "I don't know."

He dropped the notebook onto the ground and kicked it behind him. He never took his eyes off whatever it was sitting in his home. It wasn't Craig. Craig was never coming home. He could never come home.

It watched him for a moment like it was waiting for something. Waiting for Tweek to freak, maybe. Tweek just stared back at it, afraid of... everything. Afraid of what this thing might do. Afraid of the reality that Craig's corpse rested somewhere near Jupiter.

"I'm watching a movie," it said and patted the cushion next to him. "Do you want to watch with me?"

The pops of gunshots from the TV's speakers boomed in the room. Neither looked over at the screen, even when Tweek flinched.

Tweek took a step closer. Then another. Two more. He kept walking until he found himself sitting down next to it. Tweek rested his head on its shoulder. It snaked an arm around his waist and pecked at Tweek's lips with his own. "I love you."

"I love you too."