Work Text:
Eva Stratt sat at her desk in her quarters on the Vat, reading through one of the many files that constantly cluttered her space while she pressed a knuckle to her temple, trying to dispel the pain that throbbed through it currently with her most recent migraine. The clock had just rolled over to nine, and while she’d been trying to work through the pain for the last several hours, her will to do so was waning.
A quick knock came at her door, one she was intimately familiar with, and she looked up, a small smile already half on her lips when Ryland Grace opened the door, a large container and silverware balanced in his hands as he shut the door behind him.
“I come bearing food,” he said, needlessly holding up the container and silverware.
She kept the pressure on her temple, glancing down at the file and turning the page before turning her attention back to him. “Why?”
He stared at her over the rim of his glasses, lips twitching. “Well, there’s this human custom called eating. Most importantly, it provides necessary sustenance to humans, but many people actually enjoy the act due to taste, comfort, and the bonding aspects it can bring.”
She furrowed her brows at him, watching him grin at her until he relented, setting the container carefully amidst the stacks of files she had on her desk. “I know for a fact you haven’t eaten dinner yet, and I doubt you want to go to the mess this late. And, this is the soup that helped your migraine last month — they were serving it tonight, and so I grabbed a bunch of it for us to share, since yours hasn’t gone away yet today.”
Stratt swallowed against the lump that wanted to form — God, she was tired, if this man’s simple knowledge of her was enough to choke her up so quickly. Instead, she cleared her throat, then carefully set down the pen she had been holding. “We don’t know that it was the soup that helped my migraine,” she told him, watching as he carefully opened the lid of the container. “That was most likely a coincidence. And I still have work to do.”
“Maybe, but we only have the one point of data — impossible to tell if coincidence or trend without replicating the experiment.” He flashed her another smile. “As for work, it’s not a conference call, since you’re in here and not your office.” He sat down on the second chair she’d had brought into her room and held out a spoon to her. “Which means that you can take a small break, if not even take an early night for yourself. It’s been a while since you’ve done that.”
The idea of an early night called to her like a siren’s song, and at the same time she caught a whiff of the soup: warm, savory, spicy, and her mouth watered at the scent — perhaps she was hungrier than she thought.
He waggled the spoon, looking at her expectantly, and to appease him, she took it, then carefully scooped a wonton out of the container. She held it up to him, as though proving she was doing as asked, then carefully took the bite.
She could have moaned for how the food tasted, swallowing down the noise that wanted to come from her throat, lest Grace hear her. She couldn’t stop her eyes from slipping closed, though, as she savored the taste, letting it flow over her tongue, linger there, before she swallowed, and the warmth spread to her belly, comforting in its familiarity, soothing to the tension in her neck.
Then she remembered where she was, remembered whose eyes were on her. She cautiously opened her eyes, peeking over at Grace, and saw him watching her with a grin that she could only call shit-eating.
“That’s not a good look on you,” she said, gently setting down her spoon.
“What isn’t?”
“Smug.”
He laughed, picking up his own spoon and taking his own bite. “Disagree — everyone loves to be proven right.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that I still have work to do tonight.”
“What do you need to work on?” he asked in his tone of voice that meant he was ready to debate, needle, collaborate until either she relented, or they came to what he deemed an acceptable compromise.
She sighed — what did she have to get done tonight? The edges and deadlines fuzzed in her mind, blurred through the pain, and she just vaguely waved her hand, gesturing to the stacks upon stacks of files laid out before her.
Grace raised his eyebrows. “Alright. Well, you are a powerhouse — believe me, I know — but I don’t think you’re capable of getting all of these reviewed and signed tonight?”
She could — she could, she knew, if she stayed up all night, worked herself right through to her next meeting scheduled in the morning. But even she could admit there were diminishing returns the longer she pushed herself, as much as she might wish to. And, there was the new development in her life, one that she’d never had before, during all the other periods in her life where she had pushed herself harder than was necessary: a certain Ryland Grace, who would pester her, needle her, love her until she took care of herself. As obnoxious as she could find that when she was in a temper, she could admit to the benefits it brought her and her work.
So she smiled at him faintly, nodding gently. “Probably not. Let me finish this one,” she nodded to the one in front of her, half reviewed, “and then I’ll at least pause for dinner.”
He smiled, triumphant, and nodded back. “Alright, I can agree to that.”
While he slowly sipped on broth, Stratt quickly skimmed the rest of the file. Finding nothing amiss, she signed her name, stamped Approved next to it in red, then closed the file, setting it on her Completed stack on the floor, to be taken away and filed, sent, delivered, wherever they needed to go next.
Turning back to the desk she quickly rearranged stacks of files until the container could sit more comfortably between them, an almost painfully intimate setting — one bowl, two spoons, sitting close enough together that she’d barely have to reach across to trace the planes of his face, to touch him a freely as she would like.
Picking up her spoon again, she quickly dug back in, to Ryland’s great delight, she could see, his grin flashing wide as she took a bite.
“So,” he started after they had eaten in silence for a few minutes. “How was your day?”
She waved her spoon at him before dipping it in for another bite. “Rather a domestic question, don’t you think?”
He smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “I think it’s just a nicety. Domestic would have been me saying ‘honey, I’m home!’ as I walked in the door.”
She quirked her lips, swallowing a spoonful of broth. “A good thing you didn’t. That sort of greeting would have implied that I should respond with something like, ‘dinner’s on the table!’. And, well.” She gestured around at the paperwork threatening to topple in on them, making him laugh, gazing at her with that open, admiring expression that never failed to make her heart skip.
“Do you remember when we first met,” he started, looking at her over the rim of his glasses, “and you told me you weren’t good at jokes?”
She made a face at him, tilting her head. “I’m not.”
“Then what do you call what you just said?” he asked, pointing at her with his spoon.
“That wasn’t a joke, that was just,” she paused, considering. “Humor.”
He waved a hand. “Same difference.”
“Is it?”
“Yes!”
Eva snorted out a laugh at his animated expression, biting the inside of her cheek. “What are you wanting out of this discussion? That I admit I’m good at jokes?”
He shrugged, swallowing his bite before speaking. “I think you should just give yourself credit for being funnier than you think you are.”
“Maybe that’s my secret,” she said, and tapped the side of her nose with a finger. “How else would the world fall in line, if they thought I was anything but serious?”
“I would consider that,” he paused, then added, “and find it a bit depressing, if I thought you believed it — but you just don’t think you’re funny.”
“I’m not.”
“You make me laugh,” he retorted, and she couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re — how do they say — a good audience member.” She raised her eyebrows as he just stared at her. “Easy.”
He laughed lightly, nodding at her in concession, then puffed up his chest in an exaggerated show of pride. “Well, I happen to think that’s a good quality. People like it when others laugh at their jokes.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.” She shrugged, slowly pulling her spoon from her mouth to clean it. “I like that about you.”
She watched a light flush rise on his cheekbones, making her smile, and she reached out, brushing his cheek lightly with the back of her finger in affection.
A yawn suddenly came over her, jaw cracking in its strength, and she turned her head, hiding it in her elbow. She blinked back the tears it brought to her eyes, looking back at Ryland, who looked at her with faint amusement.
“How about taking that early night?” he murmured.
She took a slow breath, her eyes drifting back to the tower of folders around them. “Maybe… an earlier night. After I read a few more.”
He stared for a moment like he wanted to debate, then nodded, accepting. “How’s your head?”
Eva stretched her neck side to side. She’d managed to ignore the ache more in his presence, but considering it now, she did find it lessened slightly, a dull throbbing rather than a sharp pain.
“It’s better,” she said, and twitched the corner of her mouth at him. “I’m feeling better.”
He grinned, wide, looking triumphant. “So, more evidence that the soup does help.”
She rolled her eyes, lips still twitching. “It wasn’t the soup.”
“And what’s your evidence that it wasn’t?”
She sighed, opening her mouth, then closing it — she couldn’t think of anything. “I don’t have any, I suppose.”
He still grinned, picking up his spoon again. “I’ll have to ask someone to keep a quart of it frozen on hand.”
There was hardly anything left of the soup he’d brought, just a bit of broth, and a single wonton they had both avoided taking out of propriety. He scooped at it now, pulling it towards him absently, and, in a playful urge, she darted out her own spoon, snagging it from him before quickly popping it into her mouth.
He stared at her, gasping in faux outrage and disbelief. “You would dare do such a thing after I bring you food?”
She bit back a laugh, chewing and swallowing the last bit. “If the soup was brought for my benefit — and for my healing, according to you — should I not be entitled to the last piece?”
He pointed at her with his spoon. “Don’t try to logic your way out of your most heinous crime.”
She gave him a slow, sly smile, carefully setting her own spoon down. “Why not, when I’m winning?”
He sighed, overly dramatic, and shook his head, smiling. “You’re lucky I love you.”
They both froze — neither had said the word yet, as much as it had been implied between them, and they felt the weight of it now, the way the air charged between them. She slowly raised her eyes to meet his, wide, a flush crawling up his neck.
But this time, she noticed, he didn’t look away.
“I…” he whispered, then closed his mouth, swallowing hard. “I’m… sorry, if I—”
“Don’t be sorry,” she whispered back. She opened her mouth again to say something, say anything, but found that she couldn’t form the words.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quickly, comfortingly. “You don’t have to say it back.”
She shook her head, reaching out and gripping his hands, hard. “No, no, it’s not that I don’t, I… I do. I do, Ryland. I… I’m sorry it’s so hard for me to say.”
“Hey,” he murmured, squeezing her hands, “don’t be sorry.” He moved so he kneeled in front of her, never letting go of her hands. He stared down at them, taking a deep breath, then looked back up at her, meeting her gaze with a steadiness that was becoming more common with him.
“I don’t want you to try to be anyone else, or, or anything you’re not. I…” he looked down, but caught himself, looking up at her again, and his eyes were open, earnest, his face such a study of love and sincerity that her breath caught in her throat. “Just you, Eva. That's all I want.”
She bit her lip, heart tripping in her chest, and she reached out, carefully cupping his cheek. When he leaned into her touch, she let out a soft breath of a sigh, stroking her thumb.
What she had done in her youth, in a past life, in another world, to deserve the love of this man — it must have been something good; it must.
“And I know you do,” he said after a moment. He nodded, giving her a small half smile. “I know. You say it every day, in your own way.”
Just when she thought she had regained her breath — it caught again, a stuttering in her chest, a wave so intense she couldn’t stop its rising. Tears welled in her eyes, sudden and sharp, and she blinked them away harshly, looking away from him as she did, feeling foolish for the sudden emotion she couldn’t control, even as she reached for his hands again, tangled their fingers once more.
When the tears were gone, she looked back at him, taking a slow, measured breath, and he smiled at her fondly. “You’re asleep on your feet, honey,” he whispered, squeezing her hands before pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I can see it in your eyes. Come on, let’s go to bed.”
He stood, starting to pull her to stand, when she stopped him, and instead pulled him down into a kiss. She poured everything she couldn’t say into the embrace — every word, every sigh, every sentiment that beat in her chest, as steady and true as her heart. She felt him sigh, a quiet exhalation of contentment, and as his hand came to cup her jaw, she could all but feel the words thrumming between them, I love you, I love you, I love you.
They broke, and he laughed softly, a sound like he couldn’t believe his luck, and rested his forehead against hers, nudging his nose with hers.
When he pulled her up this time, she followed, and he walked them to her small dresser. Pulling out sleep clothing for her, he handed them to her, then pushed her gently towards the washroom. “Go — sleep time, it’s doctor’s orders.”
“You’re not that kind of doctor,” she murmured, making him laugh.
“You say that a lot, and yet it doesn’t seem to stop me,” he said, and Eva snorted in response.
She quickly changed and washed, feeling her exhaustion become tenfold as she allowed herself to admit to it. When she emerged, she found Ryland had changed as well, using the small amount of clothing he kept in her room. While he took his turn in the washroom, she crawled into bed, feeling like she couldn’t stand upright a second longer.
She was half asleep by the time she laid her head on the pillow, but stubbornly she waited, awake, until she heard Ryland come out of the washroom, turning off the lights before crawling in next to her. Eva turned, shifting until she laid curled on his chest, felt his arms come around her, warm and secure.
One of his hands found its way to the back of her neck, softly stroking, massaging, and any remaining tension drained from her body, the ache of her head becoming distant. His heart beat slow, strong, sure under her ear, and she heard the words again in the space between the beats, I love you, I love you, I love you.
Why had it been so hard? Why had her tongue frozen, why had her mind seized? Something to worry about later, she decided. But here, in the drowsy dark, she found the words to be as simple as anything.
“Ryland?” she whispered, and she felt more than heard his answering hum.
“I love you.”
She could almost hear his heart soar, his grin flash, as his hand scratched gently at the back of her neck as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you, too, Eva.”