Chapter Text
You had to admit, the way he let his glasses hang off his face instead of simply placing them on his head the normal way drove you insane. Did he think it was quirky? Is he trying to be different? Is he simply just an odd fellow you’ve found yourself stuck on a spaceship with due to your own big mouth and so-called cleverness? But if you had to admit it drove you insane, you also had to reluctantly admit there was a teeny-tiny part of you that had started to recognise it as a form of comfort. Probably grasping at straws. Probably just missing home. Missing what exactly? Exactly.
“Mmmm” Ryland remarks sarcastically, tucking into a tub of rehydrated oatmeal. His full attention on the shambles of a meal before him.
“A grand feast.” You tease, taking a look over his shoulder and frowning at the sight.
“I should have stuck to the vodka.” He says, forcing another spoonful into his mouth. His face twists like a child in a high chair being force fed celery. “Okay, that’s gross, the oatmeal’s all yours.”
“So kind.” You roll your eyes and chuckle as you watch Ryland casually scrape your rations into the bin to be sealed away.
“If it comes down to it and that’s our last meal, I’d rather starve.”
It had been a week or so since you’d woken up on the ship, deep in space. The memories came flowing back slowly, and the importance of the mission weighed heavy. Ryland had woken you, and seriously you had freaked the fuck out. You hadn’t realised Ryland had taken DuBois place aboard the ship after his death, then when the strange hairy man told you Yáo and Ilyukhina were dead too, it certainly didn’t help matters. In fact, you’d locked yourself in the airlock threatening to eject yourself into space. Wasn’t a great first impression you had to admit, but post-four-year-coma you weren’t really willing to listen to reason. But the return of your memories, and once Ryland had a shave and haircut, certainly helped calm matters. You do believe it did break the ice, though. It took you a day or so to remember you’d booked yourself a suicide trip, with the add on of a stranger for the ride. You hadn’t even met the guy, he wore his glasses weird and cried an awful lot in the first few days. Understandably though, you chose to be here, he did not. He was adapting remarkably well though, considering.
“Okay, coffee then back to research. Want one?”
“Please.” You smile as you stretch your arms above you, trying to wake yourself up. You’re sure you catch Ryland looking at your top riding up slightly. Probably just an awkward glance, it happens.
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Oh, she definitely noticed you looking. Great, excellent work Ryland. Real subtle. Just make the coffee,that’s a normal human task. You can do normal human tasks can't you? I mean, you could talk to her? No, don’t do that, that makes it a conversation, this is not a conversation situation. This is just a coffee situation. Half a teaspoon of sugar, that’s what she likes. You remember that. Is it weird that you remember that? Yes, that’s weird. Add more sugar to make it seem less obsessive. Yeah....safer. Way less serial killer adjacent. No... what are you doing...two teaspoons is way too much! That’s undrinkable. That’s a crime. You’ll have to drink that one. Okay deep breath, reset. Okay...no sugar, neutral baseline, then ask, that’s normal. People ask things, don't they?
“How many sugars again?”
“Just half a teaspoon, please.”
Right. Of course, obviously. You already knew that. Is it worse to know, or to pretend you don’t know? There’s actually no winning version of this. What are you doing? This is pathetic. This is out of universe pathetic. Just hand over the coffee and smile. Be normal and do not let this become a thing.
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Time seems to sort of linger in space. You’ve found yourself in what you’ve decided is your favourite spot. A large circular window in which you can just sit on the floor, look out to the stars, listen through an array of CD’s you packed, and try your hardest not to think too deeply about anything, often failing at the latter. You've been studying Tau Ceti for the past day, but you don't seem to be getting anywhere, it’s frustrating. You hear a gentle cough, you look behind you and see Ryland resting against the wall in the passageway, he sheepishly smiles as he silently joins you. You hug your knees to your chest as you make room from him. He eyes up the recent track loaded on the CD player.
“Talking heads, huh?” He asked, a nod of approval gestured your way.
“Always,” you chuckle. You go quiet for a moment.
“I’m just trying to keep my mind together with the soothing voice of David Byrne… who is currently twelve light-years away. Along with literally everything I’ve literally ever known.” You’re joking, but also kind of not.
Ryland is distracted, he’s going through your CD’s like they’re a stack of microscope slides, in a very judgmental manner. Lingering on one in particular, but sliding it away just as quick before you can see.
“Sorry, I left my ‘greatest classical music hit’s’ CD in the car.” You lightly shove him with your foot.
“You’re so funny.” Ryland says bluntly while he tries not to smile. “You know, since this whole thing turned out to be a mandatory work trip on my behalf, you’ve no idea how much of a relief it is that you’ve got semi good music taste.”
You gasp in mock offence. “Semi good?”
“You really missed an opportunity to bring The Planets by Gustav Holst.”
You laugh, your head tipping back slightly. “You’re right. Let’s turn back.”
“I’ll get the satnav.”
You both laugh, the sound fading into an easy silence. You glance at Ryland. He meets your eye for a second, then looks away. Like he almost says something. Like he always almost does.
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Everytime I look at her, it hurts.
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You sit up straight, crossing your legs, echoing a child in a science class. “So, let's go over what we have again.”
“Okay,” Ryland takes a deep breath, putting his notebook on the floor between you, leaning in so you’re both looking at his chicken scratch handwriting.
You frown. “May I request a translation?” You ask, gesturing to the scrawlings on the page. “I’d have better luck deciphering hieroglyphics."
“Brain works quicker than hand, I shall interpret.”
He flattens out his notebook with his hand, edging slightly closer to you so you can see, like it’s legible anyways… He edges closer again, until your knees are only a fraction apart.
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Any closer and you’re going to be actively smelling her hair. That’s a documented social crime. Whatever you do, don’t blush. Don’t blush. Don’t...okay, you’re definitely blushing
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You notice Ryland’s face flush slightly. It makes your stomach flip. Strange. It’s never done that before? Is he blushing because you’re touching? Is he twelve years old? Has it just been awhile? It is hot in here, though.
He clears his throat, “Okay, Tau Ceti from what we’ve gathered is behaving wrong. The readings were all inconsistent and choppy.”
“Yep.” You recall from your previous research. “And the Astrophage is absorbing and emitting energy differently to what we’ve seen so far.”
“And this…there was this...” He moves his hands around, trying to find the words “…blip.” Ryland points to a graph he has messily scrawled. You both lean down to see it clearer, elbows touching slightly, neither of you move. You’re basically sitting in his lap...give the man some room.
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Do I move away first? Is that rude? Or do I stay...no, that’s worse, that’s creepy. Is this… intentional elbow contact? Is that a thing? Or is this just a normal, platonic, “we are both existing in the same space” situation?
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Ryland moves his elbow slightly, just enough to stop touching you. The absence is immediate, but you try to shake the disappointment from your mind. Seriously? That bothered you? You’ve been here a week and now elbow contact is… a thing? Great, this is going to be rough.
“So… that’s not right. Okay. Yeah, fine. Sensors glitch, happens all the time. Not in space, but sure.”
“But then it came up again,” you interrupt.
“Exactly. Which means it’s in a fixed position relative to the star. So it’s an actual object, not noise.”
“Fantastic. Aliens?” you reply, dry, not being serious, at least you don't think.
He hesitates, just for a second. “…Maybe.”
“Seriously?”
“I mean, I’m joking. Statistically, but also… not completely.”
You lean back against the wall, breathing out, unsure what to make of it. “Can we see it again?”
“Yes, please.” Ryland is already on his feet, a little too quickly, like he can’t get back to the lab fast enough.
You notice him hesitate, then he reaches out a hand to help you up. You smile, take it, and push yourself up with a small jump. “Let’s, uh… do some science,” he says, flailing his hands in a jazz hand fashion. It makes you laugh.
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You’re such a loser.
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Ryland is already sitting in front of his laptop, pulling the data back up, fingers flying a little too fast. He reruns the scan. “There,” he says. “Same position, same signature.”
You step closer. “So it’s real.”
“Oh, it’s real.” He swallows. “That’s the problem.”
He runs another scan. Then another, his jaw tightens slightly as the data loads in. “Not debris,” he mutters. “Far too stable. Not sensor noise either, obviously, because that would be convenient and apparently the universe is against me personally.”
You fold your arms. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being accurate.” Then he goes quiet. You see it at the same time he does, a tiny shift on the screen. Small enough to miss if you weren’t staring right at it.
Your stomach drops. “Ryland…”
“Yeah.” His voice is thinner now, all the humour stripped out of it. He adjusts the visual feed with careful movements.
The image sharpens. There's lines, angles, structure. They're not random, and it's certainly not natural. Your mouth goes dry. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.” Ryland doesn’t answer straight away. He just stares at the screen, like if he looks long enough it might become something else. Then, very quietly. “That’s a ship.”