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Grace was never sure what to think about Stratt.
When he first met her, it was that she was a crazy lady for thinking he was something special – even after he got kicked out of his own profession. He especially thought she was crazy when she shoved him into a room with a big suit and told him to study the Astrophage in front of a bunch of countries’ officials. (Though, to be fair, given that he had a bunch of country officials watching him and there was no one else in that lab, he was probably her only lead at discovering more about the microorganism.)
When he was assigned his small, isolated lab and spent most of his time with Carl, his apprehensiveness turned into uncertainty. He didn’t know her that well, considering she just showed up from time to time with no small talk in between. It was all business, which he understood and sort of respected. Still, it would’ve been nice to talk to her (or anyone, really) about something other than the world-ending-space-organism. It really brought down the mood. (And, as someone who wore stupid science t-shirts with puns on them and managed to embarrass himself in front of a bunch of delegates by quoting ‘Whoomp! There it is!’, he could say that he didn’t do well being around people who were so serious all of the time.)
When they made it onto the boat, though, Grace saw a little bit more of Stratt.
Moments where they held eye contact a little bit too long. Moments where they laughed at a terrible joke the other made while walking to another boring meeting when Grace would spend an embarrassing amount of time staring at her. Not because he suddenly found himself head-over-heels for her, but because she was the ship’s biggest mystery that his scientist brain begged to solve. Hell — despite all the time he spent with Stratt, he knew zilch about her actual life. Besides the fact that she enjoyed too many cups of coffee at a time, he knew nothing while she could recall most of his life history.
But they had their moments. Brushed shoulders and hands. A few too many drinks at the bar. Times when Stratt would start talking about something pertaining to herself for once before stopping and redirecting the talk to boring Astrophage stuff.
Maybe it was because they were forced to be close to each other more often. Maybe it was because she actually wanted to expose more of herself to him. The uncertainty of it all was still there – the uncertainty surrounding her and the astrophage and why exactly he had to be kidnapped from his middle school teaching job instead of them finding someone much more qualified. All he knew for sure was that Stratt was growing on him. Grace would never admit it out loud, and certainly not to Stratt if he ever got the chance, but he enjoyed the time spent with her. Sure, she was mysterious and a little cruel for sending him on a suicide mission against his will, but underneath her hard, unwavering exterior… He saw her.
Not often. Just small, fleeting moments that showed him who she really was underneath the stress; the sort of… relationship? Friendship? – What they could have been like if it weren’t for the astrophage. If she wasn’t the one having to make all the decisions. Pull all the strings. Maybe they could’ve had something. Maybe the only thing they would’ve had was a quick glance as they passed one another on the street, completely unaware of who the other person was.
So many ‘maybe’s. Situations Grace would only get to think about as he floated through space on Earth’s last hail mary to save the stars.
“Grace distracted. Must focus.” Rocky’s soft chimes and trills snapped him out of his daze where he was staring at the ceiling of the lab.
Grace sighed and dragged a hand down his face. He needed to get his bearings together if he and Rocky were going to figure anything out. “Sorry, bud,” he rasped, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them with a sharp exhale.
His friend’s carapace tilted at him before focusing back on the small xenonite structure he was making. “No apologize.”
Grace paused. Usually Rocky would jump at the opportunity to call him dumb for succumbing to his ‘dumb human attention-span’, but no remark followed his statement. He waited for a sly response, but, when he didn’t receive one, grew more confused and suspicious. Quietly, Grace hoped his alien friend wasn’t picking up on his recent, weird behavior. The last thing he needed was Rocky trying to give him a therapy session.
He clapped his hands in a way to jumpstart his brain. “Alright! Well, let’s get back to cracking.”
–
Being on a boat constantly was weird, to put it simply. He’d never been on a boat for long periods of time like this – or, on a boat, period. He got a little motion sick.
Oftentimes, he could feel the ocean saw beneath his feet, making him more unbalanced than usual. The round-the-clock motion was getting to be exhausting. But, according to Stratt and his co-workers, he just needed to find his ‘sea-legs’. A silly name, but he liked it.
“Dr. Grace?” Ah. Speak of the devil, and she shall appear.
Grace didn’t turn around to face her. His legs dangled over the edge of the boat, swaying back and forth ever so slightly. He kept his head propped on his arms that rested on the cold, metal safety railings of the vessel.
Stratt didn’t comment on his lack of response. Through his peripherals, Grace saw her walk up beside him. She didn’t sit down or lean against the railing. Just stood and looked out at the endless miles of ocean with her hands in the pockets of her coat.
“You picked a good spot,” she said. Her voice was steady. Like it always was. It made him unnecessarily upset — both the fact that she was always so sure and so assertive, and what she actually said. Yes, Stratt, he knows it’s a good spot he picked it. It was behind all of the ridiculous jets and never ending boxes of cargo, meaning that no one could find him unless they were actively trying. Which was exactly what he wanted. Grace had no doubt that Stratt knew that yet elected to ignore the implications of it all.
All he did in response to her statement was a short, stilted hum of agreement. Stratt didn’t comment on it. It infuriated him to an unfathomable degree. (How on Earth was she so calm about everything?)
Grace was being unreasonable and he knew it. He knew it wasn’t Stratt’s fault he was here, but he couldn’t help being mad. Angry. Furious. Any other synonym for upset. It wasn’t at anything or anyone specific, he was just… so angry at it all. Angry at the fact that Stratt basically cornered him after work and forced him to leave everything behind—leave his students behind (he never graded Abby’s make-up work from when she was absent for her music field trip. Maybe he can email and figure out who can change that grade for him). Angry at his own stupid paper. Angry at Mark. Angry at nothing but everything at the same time.
Because in the end, even if it didn’t feel like he had much of a choice to be on this godforsaken boat (what with the end of the world and all), and even if Stratt didn’t force his to get into the car that day like it felt like she did, he was still so angry at choosing to be there. And just being angry made him angry because it didn’t feel like an emotion he deserved to be going through right then.
Stratt spoke up for the third time, and he had to hold back an exasperated, disbelieving groan at her words. “You have been unlike yourself, Dr. Grace.” She stated. Her tone was… hesitant, and, although he didn’t quite look her way, he could see the way her eyes flickered to his before focusing back on the ocean.
Was the Eva Stratt seriously trying to be his — his shrink? Because, if so, that was beyond laughable.
“I really hope you aren’t planning on becoming the ship’s psychiatrist, Stratt.” Grace finally broke the ice. A ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips because he’s always been frustratingly expressive. Even with the weak joke, he already felt his anger ebbing away.
Surprisingly, Stratt huffed — amused. The sound is new. And, disturbingly, one he likes. “No, no,” she muses, and Grace can make out the motion of her fingers fiddling with a loose thread in her pocket. “Fortunately, I will not be replacing Dr. Norman. Certainly not my thing,” she remarks, to which he can only respond with a bark of laughter and a quick obviously. She smiles at his comment. Another gesture that Grace is disturbed to find he likes the look of. He mirrors her smile with one of his own lop-sided grins.
He enjoys moments like these. Moments where he can, even just for a few minutes, forget all about their circumstances at which they’ve met. Of why they even interact on a daily basis. Where they can stare out at the ocean together and pretend the sun isn’t dimming and that they met by chance.
He enjoys seeing Stratt loosen up. Perhaps it’s because of his stupid human brain that he enjoys seeing Stratt actually interact with people on a personal level and smile and act like a normal person that isn’t burdened by the weight of literally the entire world on her shoulders.
But, just as quickly as those walls went down—
Stratt inhaled deeply, held it, and sighed.
— They shot straight back up.
“The, uh… Your fellow scientists were looking for you,” She said quietly, this time pointedly refusing to meet Grace’s gaze when his eyes flickered up to her. She swallowed thickly with another sigh. “They had a question regarding the conditions for the Astrophage breeding tanks.” Grace waited for her to say something, anything else. But, as he watched, all she did was take a second. Nod. And then walk away without another word. Grace turned back to look at the ocean, now leaning back against his palms.
It was stupid of him to believe that she could be anything but business. That she actually…
His shoe hit the side of the boat. He thumped his head against the freezing railing. “Be right there,” he muttered, even if there was no one to hear him. Even if Stratt was already long gone, talking to another official or looking after another engineer or scientist or pilot. Another asset. Because that’s all he was to her. An asset. Nothing more, nothing less. Grace tried to tell himself that the revelation lifted a bit of weight from his shoulders.
But, as he stood from the ground — slightly swaying from the rocking of the boat — he only found that they were heavier.
—
Grace was never sure what to think about Stratt.
But after the fishing mission went wrong, Grace had a lot of time. To think, that is.
See, even though it was very depressing and discouraging to wake up every day (or… sleep cycle? Semantics) to see your best friend potentially dying because he had to save your life — not to mention Grace’s own arm and the side of his torso covered in third degree burns from hauling said best friend to his compatible atmosphere — despite all of that: Ryland Grace was a scientist. And a damned good one, if you were to ask him on a day he felt particularly confident. So, Grace did what scientists did best and got busy.
They had, thankfully and successfully, recovered the samples from Tau Ceti. Every hour was another hour that both his and Rocky’s suns were dimming. Every sleep cycle gone past was another one to two meals gone.
Every minute that came and went was a minute Grace wasn’t sure Rocky could spare. So even though it was difficult to keep himself awake and aware enough to watch every single reaction the Taumeoba — (his name for the astrophage-killing samples they’d gathered, given they were an amoeba-like structure of an organism. He counted on Rocky’s commentary on how he sucked at naming things when the alien woke up) — had to everything he was introducing it to, he kept at it.
But in between all the researching and experimenting and waiting and waiting and waiting for Rocky to wake up, Grace just… thought. A lot. And, eventually, that thinking led him back to Stratt. He often didn’t know what to think of Stratt. His emotions regarding her were always fluctuating between good and bad, evil or heroic. Right now? He hated her. Because after he passed out, he remembered that last little puzzle piece of his memories that led up to him getting put into the ship. And he hated every single moment of it. He hated that he never had a choice to begin with. He hated that she had to chase him down and stick a needle in his neck and give him amnesia to even co-operate with the mission in the first place.
But… alongside Grace’s momentary hate for Stratt, his self-resentment was amplified by one-hundred-percent.
He hated himself for being a coward. He hated himself for being so selfish and begging for his own life instead of choosing to save the billions of people on Earth—instead of choosing to save his kids. Before remembering his last moments conscious on Earth, he didn’t think of himself as much. Smart, sure. But… What else? It was like Stratt said: Grace didn’t have anything. No immediate family, no pets — hell, he didn’t even have plants in his small apartment in the city. All he really had going for him was a failed career in microbiology, teaching at a middle school full of children he absolutely adored, and he couldn’t even do good by them.
And then there was Rocky. Rocky, who floated through space for longer than Grace had even been alive; who had put himself into an atmosphere lethal to his body just to save the pathetic man that was Ryland Grace. Rocky, who called Grace stupid and dumb in more ways than one yet put himself into a sacrificial position in order to save his teammate. Grace was lucky he’d managed to carry his best friend back into his enclosure, even if it was at the expense of his arm. But it was the least Rocky deserved.
Nothing he ever did would make the memory of choosing the coward’s path easier to digest. Nothing he could do would make him feel like the savior Stratt seemed to think he was. Even if or when he and Rocky managed to find a solution to Astrophage, none of it would ever feel like enough.
This is me believing in you, Stratt had said.
Remembering it even now sent an unreasonable amount of anger through him. Because even if it was for ‘the greater good’, he was allowed to be mad at the woman who signed his own death warrant and launched him into space with a harsh pat on the back.
The anger would pass, just like it always did when it came to her. The emotion would fade back into an ever-changing range of feelings that wouldn’t make sense to him. But for now, he could stay angry. At least just for a little bit.
—
“Dr. Grace.”
Grace had to admit, Eva Stratt had a horrible habit of finding him when he was having the worst time of his life.
Ryland Grace hardly ever drank. He was living off of a middle school teacher’s salary and, frankly, didn’t want to look pathetic when he went out to drink accompanied by no one. Sure, he kept a few bottles of cheap liquor or wine (like some sort of middle aged white woman) for particularly hard days when all he needed was a pick-me-up, but he never drank more than he needed to. But, give a man a complimentary bar when he’s in constant stress — both emotionally and physically — and anyone could bet that they’d find Grace at the bar at night at least one day out of the week.
Technically, at that moment, it was the morning. Two-something, if Grace’s blurry glance at the analog clock hanging above the doorframe stood correct. But Grace had been having a very hard day. A hard week, if he was being honest. So there he sat: A bottle of whisky three-quarters of the way empty, his glasses hanging off his ears under his chin in a way his colleagues always commented on, and very, very plastered. Out of his mind, really. And he didn’t have a solid explanation for it.
Well, sorry, the real explanation was that he wasn’t exactly a heavyweight drinker and downing a bottle of liquor that had a sixty-five percentage of alcohol in it wasn’t going to leave him sober, per se.
(“Dr. Grace?” Stratt repeated. Her voice sounded muffled; like Grace was underwater.)
No, he just didn’t have a valid excuse for getting drunk off his behind when he fully well knew he had to be back in the lab at seven in the morning, sharp. If he thought about it for a second, he would say that he was upset. If he thought about it again for a couple of seconds, he would say that he had nothing to really be upset about. After all, isn’t all of this what he wanted out of his career? What he should’ve wanted out of his career? If Grace thought about it for just a few more minutes, maybe he’d come to a conclusion that made actual sense besides the same uncertainty surrounding just about everything in his situation that had been lingering in the back of his brain. Honestly, it was infuriating. He was a microbiologist, not a physiatrist — he wouldn’t even know where to begin in taking apart his own thoughts and feelings if he wasn’t completely inebriated.
Grace started as the bottle of whiskey was lifted from his view, eyes heavy yet shooting up when Stratt started pouring herself a glass, neat. “You have good taste in brand,” she said, not bothering to screw the cap back on before setting it back down on the counter. “This bottle is one of my favorites.” Stratt took a sip and didn’t react to the burn. Grace took a sip of his own glass through a tiny black straw, too lazy to even lift the glass to his lips. He shivers at the alcohol that runs down his throat.
He wanted to say something. Anything, really, to make the silence bearable. But his tongue was heavy in his mouth, and he didn’t even know what he would say. Looking at Stratt then, illuminated by the dim, warm lights of the bar and free of her usual layers (wearing only a thin, grey, long sleeve turtleneck) with her hair tied out of her face, he knew it would probably be something he’d regret in the morning. If he would even remember any of the night the next day.
“I have to admit,” Stratt began. “I didn’t take you as much of a drinker, Dr. Grace.” Her tone was open. Inviting. Awkward. She was trying, even if it was clearly a foreign concept. It made him wonder if it was an act — trying to get close to an important asset — or if it was really her trying to connect with someone for once.
Foolishly, Grace took the bait.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” His voice was rough, like he hadn’t spoken in days, and more clipped than he meant for it to be. Grace felt a little guilty, but didn’t have it in him to mutter out an apology.
He half expected Stratt to leave. To realize that he wasn’t worth any of her time or effort that wouldn’t contribute to the project. But he knew that Stratt had the thickest skin of anyone on the ship. And, just as the other half of him suspected, she hummed and took another sip of whiskey. “There is,” she said, voice low and uncharacteristically soft. Grace turned his head and their eyes met at the same time. The briefest flicker of vulnerability that he saw in her gaze left him almost breathless. “So…” She hesitated. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Grace blanked. Anytime he thought he knew what to expect from her, she surprised him over and over again.
It was embarrassingly hard to pull himself together from the surprising suggestion. But eventually, he blurted out, “Fifth period was my favorite.” Stratt had that confused expression painting her features, and Grace was mortified to call it endearing in his head. He quickly clarified his statement, cursing out his temporarily-disabled brain. “At school, I mean. I would never tell them —“ Or, get to tell them. “— or my other classes, but fifth period was my favorite to teach. Every single kid on that roster had such different mindsets and backgrounds, but they were always so respectful to each other — a feat, really, with middle school kids.” It was like the dam was opening up. He hadn’t really gotten to talk about his job before. Everyone was so focused on the task at hand that he never got the chance to rant about his kids. And Stratt just let him. Not once did she interrupt or look as though she was tuning him out. She actually listened while sipping on her whiskey.
He talked about how Abby always invited him to her school concerts; how he managed to make it to every single one (even if the streak was now broken… She’d had one last week, actually). He talked about how, every day, without fail, a couple of his kids would bother him during their lunch period because they were the only ones who knew that he spent his lunches there. He talked about how Micheal had given him a present the day before winter break, along with a heartfelt letter explaining that he was moving away and that Grace was the reason he wanted to be a scientist.
He was misty-eyed by the end of it, choking on his words before cutting himself off with a purse of his lips and finishing off his glass.
All of those kids. All of his kids, and he wouldn’t get to see them again. The end of the school year was in just a few weeks, and then they were all moving into high school. Maybe he would get to see them in passing in the store or on the sidewalk, but his kids wouldn’t be terrorizing his lunch period. His kids wouldn’t be there to feed him the latest, middle-schooler gossip while he prepared the props for his next lesson. Grace wished he had been given time to prepare for all of… everything. He could’ve recorded some videos for his classes. Explain why he was gone and tell them that he was so, so proud of them.
Silence settled over him and Stratt for a long second as he poured himself another glass. The ice was all melted, but honestly every sip just tasted like water at that point. Stratt’s sharp inhale shattered the quiet. “I never had good teachers, especially in secondary school,” She hummed. She reached to retrieve the bottle and top her glass, even though she’d only taken a few drinks. “Maybe it was just the era, but they were all miserable people. Granted, we were some miserable kids.” She shrugged as a way of saying ‘eh, what can you do?’.
Grace chuckled. Mainly in sympathy. “Yeah, I, uh… Didn’t have the best track record with teachers either. Even some of my professors were a bit, ah…” He trailed off, mirroring Stratt’s shrug. She looked at him for a long moment, a faint smile playing in her lips, deciding on her words.
“Are you sure that wasn’t because of your mouth, Dr. Grace?” She quipped. “I have heard it can be quite offensive.”
Grace let out a groan, covering his face with a hand. “Oh, god…” he muttered with an airy laugh.
“Believe me, Dr. Grace, whatever your professors said must’ve been worthy of the label—“
“Oh, my god, stop stop stop.”
“—of a, what was it again?”
“Dear, god, please—“
“— A, quote, ‘staggering waste of carbon’?”
Grace let out a long, loud groan once Stratt finished her little joke. Still, despite acting disgruntled, he couldn’t rid himself of the large grin on his face. Which was unusual. Usually any reminders of his papers and his… less than gracious name-calling would’ve just made him upset. Considering it was a turning point in his life, he never thought it could be a well-received joke. Or maybe it was because it was Stratt making it that he didn’t mind. After all, the occasion was nothing short of a miracle.
“You have to stop using that against me,” he finally said, leaning against his fist and looking at Stratt with an amused smile.
Stratt huffed, a matching expression painting her features as she took another sip of whiskey. “If you can go back in time and take it back, then maybe so.” Two Eva Stratt jokes in the span of a minute. He was really starting to be convinced he was in an alternate universe. “Otherwise, I’m afraid you’re stuck with it.”
Stuck with me, went unsaid. But with the way Stratt looked at him and her expression shifted, it was the loudest thing she’d said all night.
Look, Grace wasn’t stupid. Maybe he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to social competency, but he wasn’t completely oblivious. He grew up as the invisible kid in high school — the one where people just talked and gossiped around him because they never fully processed that he was even there. Or, maybe they did and they just knew he wouldn’t say anything. Either way, it turned out that adults weren’t exactly that much different than high schoolers.
Even if they thought he couldn’t hear, he knew about all of the rumors. Regarding him and Stratt, at least. He knew about all of the theories of him sleeping with Stratt to be on the project. He knew about the half-baked rumors that regarded him as her bed-warmer, even if he’d felt like he proved his worth in his profession.
“You should really stop staring, Dr. Grace. It’s quite rude,” she near-whispered. Grace’s face grew impossibly warmer, though this time it wasn’t from the alcohol.
He also knew that, behind all of those made-up scenarios, a small, tiny—minuscule, really — part of him wished it were reality. Not exactly the part of sleeping with her, but just to be able to have that connection. That relationship. And looking at Stratt and being able to share a moment with her that felt almost intimate was like a shot in the heart. Because all it did was intensify feelings he knew only complicated things.
Grace’s pointer finger tapped against the bar counter nervously.
(He knew, realistically, that all of his fantasizing would get him nowhere.)
His canine caught on his lower lip, and he watched as Stratt’s eyes followed the movement before shooting back up to his own gaze.
(He knew, realistically, that they could never happen.)
He inhaled, shakily.
(But he also knew that reality never caught up to him in convenient moments.)
“Do you, maybe—“
“Dr. Grace.”
“—Just-!” The sound that came out of him wasn’t too far off from a whimper. “Maybe we could…“ His hand moved closer to hers, almost on its own. He stopped. Honestly, he didn’t know where he was going with that. All he knew was that his brain was screaming at him to at least try.
Stratt paused. For a long while. Long enough to where Grace began to question if, in his drunk state, he had imagined her being there. But, eventually, she let out a soft whisper. “You should get to bed, Dr. Grace. This will be a horrible hangover in the morning.”
Grace felt his resolve crumble. He expected himself to cry, because being this intoxicated only served to amplify his crybaby-syndrome. But, really, the only reaction he had was that his chest hurt. A lot. He didn’t often open up to people. Never like he did with Stratt. The soft rejection didn’t sit well.
He let Stratt clean up the bar. Let her guide him back to his room with her hand hovering over his back like he was on fire. It felt like it, really.
When she said her goodbyes and turned to walk away, Grace had to physically stop himself from telling her to stay. To not leave him.
Instead, Grace watched her walk away before he couldn’t anymore. Then, he turned around and shut the door behind him.
—
Grace was never sure what to think about Stratt.
The memories oftentimes came to him during his dreams. Since he unearthed the major ones during his journey and he had a sense of who he was and what he was doing in space, his brain was starting to remember the smaller moments. The ones important enough to cause a blip, but not so terribly relevant that he needed the information in them sooner.
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately for him, the trip to Erid was filled with a lot of sleeping. Or, at least the last half of it was. The first couple of years, he’d managed a well-enough rationing system that was supposed to ensure that he had enough food to last him until at least the last few months. But, apparently, he had counted inventory wrong, something that Rocky cursed him out for hours about. Which, for good reason, if he was being completely honest.
So with his food supply being more limited than he originally thought, his one meal a day turned into one third of a meal a day. Thankfully, his portioning meant he would be able to get proper nutrients and solid food until they made it to Rocky’s planet. Un-thankfully, the sudden portioning and lack of the necessary amount of nutrients made his body really sick. He had to wave good-bye to his muscle-mass pretty quickly. Then his fat-reserves. Then he had to be careful with how quickly he ate, because if he acted on how bad his hunger was it would all come back up in the span of a few minutes. He wasn’t experiencing any symptoms of scurvy yet, but he knew that it wouldn’t be too far behind.
Rocky was… flipping out, rightfully so. Grace felt awful when Rocky had to help him float around the ship or prod him to keep him awake or even remind him to eat because even with how hungry he was it came with like, a seventy-five percent chance of vomiting which only made his throat hurt and he felt awful all of the time and sometimes he just wanted to be put out of his misery.
The first time Grace slept for over twelve hours, Rocky was stressed. His best friend had to nudge him conscious because even though Grace was still breathing, Rocky quietly admitted that he was reminded of his dead crew-mates, watching Grace sleep for longer than usual. He felt guilty and had to wrap his weak arms around the xenonite barrier and (while still groggy and feeling like his body was actively failing him) explained that it was just a physiological response to his malnutrition so his body could conserve energy. The alien was still worried but continued to watch Grace sleep, only ever waking him up when Rocky himself started to get unbearably tired and needed someone to watch him.
Which is what he was doing. Watching Rocky sleep. But where was he? Oh, yes. The memories. He’d recently been recovering the small ones. Guest starring usually featuring his students. A lot of it was Carl, which were some of his favorite dreams. Some of it featured a man who he’d grown up with, looked identical to him, and Grace was ninety-nine percent sure they were related in some capacity; though he couldn’t remember a name, yet.
But most of his small-moment-dreams were about Stratt. It seemed cruel—his brain making him remember the most about the woman who put him on the ship in the first place. He’d much rather dream about Carl, since it always seemed like Grace had more fun with him. Or dream about the new mystery… brother? Father? (Brother felt right in his mind, though not exactly… maybe twin?) Then again, as he remembered more and more about her and the both of them, he understood why. Grace had cared about her. A lot more than he’d like to admit both present and past. It made sense why his brain was so adamant about Stratt given how much affection he held for her, even when he was half-way dead on his way to Erid.
Even though he knew what she did was the right thing, and he had come to terms with it during his last recording, he was also a liar. Not intentionally, of course. A majority of himself did actually forgive Stratt and acknowledge that there really was no other way than to send him packing. But that was when Grace was sane and pointedly not constantly feeling like he was run-over by a truck in drive and reverse, over and over again. No. That version of Grace had… conflicting thoughts and feelings. He knew that he liked — possibly loved — her. He knew that she was (inadvertently, he’d give her that) the reason he was slowly starving to death.
Rocky shuffled from where he was loafed in front of Grace, and the scientist startled. It had only been about five hours since Rocky had fallen asleep, and usually he averaged at nine. “Rocky?” He questioned, tilting his head as his friend shook himself awake.
Rocky hummed inquisitively. “What Grace want.” His tone was a near grumble. Grace’s mouth quirked up at the corners. Finding out that Rocky was the most unpleasant not-morning-person ever was both amusing and increasingly difficult, because the alien got ten times more bratty than usual. Funny stuff, but man some of the stuff he said could be downright hurtful.
“It’s only been five Earth hours, bud. Don’t you need more rest?” Grace placed a hand on the xenonite barrier between them. It was pleasantly warm.
Rocky hummed again, this time in disagreement. “Rocky intention. Grace sleep more needed. Rocky sleep less so Grace sleep more.” He said it like it was the most obvious, simple thing in the world. Grace, though, felt his eyes burn with tears.
He pursed his lip to stop the waterworks, but he couldn’t stop himself from hugging his best friend as best as he could. He could feel Rocky’s reciprocating thump against the xenonite. It took a long time for Grace to get his bearings, but he managed to speak eventually. “You’re the best ever, Rock, you know that?” He was humiliated to hear his voice so wrecked, but he couldn’t even blame himself when Rocky always seemed to prove that Grace didn’t deserve him.
His friend let out a series of chimes — a small laugh. “Rocky know.” Grace rolled his eyes and grinned at the self-righteousness. But Rocky’s tone quickly shifted into what Grace called his mother-hen voice. “Now, hurry sleep. So Grace not act dumb or die,” he said, pushing Grace down to lay in his makeshift bed on the floor. Grace snickered and went down without a fight. He settled in, his eyes heavy and closed the moment his head hit the pillow. He really was thankful for Rocky — his body needed the extra rest and didn’t seem happy with him when he had to fight for consciousness so he could watch Rocky like he promised.
Just before he fully gave into sleep, he muttered a question he already knew the answer to. “Watch me sleep?”
Rocky’s soft trill was a fading sound, but he could make out the words. “Easy to see.” His way of saying ‘obviously. I’ll always watch over you.’
—
Grace was… tense for the next couple of days, following what happened at the bar. Since he was near black-out drunk, he couldn’t remember all of what happened that night, but he remembered the end of it. When he tried to suggest… what, exactly? That they try to actually be in a relationship?
While Stratt managed to remain the perfect picture of professionalism and regarded him like she usually did and not like anything happened, Grace just — couldn’t.
It was embarrassing and so high-schooler of him, but he couldn’t help but flush, even just the tiniest bit, when he was near Stratt. Both out of embarrassment and the affection he felt for her. He knew it made things harder and he knew that Stratt didn’t return those feelings — as she had shown at the bar that night — so Grace did what Grace did best. He avoided her. Well, as best as he could with her being the supervisor of everything. Any conversation necessary with her was short and sweet and to the point. If he saw her in passing, he would avoid her calculating eyes and keep his gaze on his shoes, sweating bullets.
It wasn’t all intentional, of course. With them getting closer and closer to the launch date of the Hail Mary, there were dozens of things that needed to be quadruple checked and reinforced for all of the crew, so he naturally found himself busy among all the chaos. It served as a nice distraction, and he almost forgot all about that night.
Until the party. Until he found himself in that same exact bar stool. Until Eva Stratt started singing for him — at him. He couldn’t blame himself for following her out of the building in the morning, when he saw her duck into a small corner outside. Not when she had looked at him like that.
She was looking out at the field that faced the other labs, hands in her pockets and hair swaying in the slight breeze. At the scene, Grace was hit with a feeling of déjà vu.
He stayed quiet for a second. If he was going to make a mistake talking to her, then he wanted the peace to last just a little bit longer.
“You know,” he finally said, leaning against the wall. “Usually, our roles are reversed.” Stratt didn’t jump in his presence. She didn’t tense or ask him to leave her alone. He took that as a good sign. He walked until he was by her side and copied her stance. She still hadn’t said anything, which he didn’t know how to take. Was that how he had been? All the times she’d tried to make conversation with him while he was being difficult? He certainly hoped not.
Stratt was the next one to speak, thankfully. “You have been avoiding me.” A statement. One they both knew the reason for.
Grace nodded, having expected that. “Yeah, I have been,” he murmured. His heart was pounding out of his chest. He really should’ve just kept at it.
The woman hummed before she turned to face him fully. She stayed quiet for a moment, just… observing. It wasn’t helping his nerves. Worsening them, actually. She finally sucked a breath in. “That night—“ His heart spiked because wow, they were just going straight into it. He braced himself for the second rejection that would eventually send him back to his small apartment in San Francisco and consider him kicked out from his profession twice. “— At the bar… I want to know what you were going to say.”
Grace blanked. “You…? W-What?” He stuttered, blinking as if to self-regulate. Stratt kept her composure. He needed to say something, rather than look like a fish out of water. “I mean… I thought you knew what I was going to say?” Isn’t that why she had pushed him away? Why she sent him off to bed so she wouldn’t have to deal with him and his hopelessness?
Stratt seemed to consider his words for a brief second. “Yes. I do. So, let me rephrase,” she clarified. “I want to hear you finish what you were saying.” It was nothing short of a command, and Grace had to suppress a shiver.
He gaped again for a few short moments before letting out a long, deep breath. “I’m not gonna lie, I don’t even know what I was trying to say back there,” he finally admitted. “I-I was probably going to say something unbelievably stupid, but even then I had no clue where I was trying to go with it,” He rambled. His hand reached under his glasses to rub at his eye, leading to them being askew. He could hardly care since they were like that half of the time anyways. When his hand fell back to his side and he opened up his eyes, he saw Stratt looking at him the same way she did at the bar. Both that night, and when their eyes had met during the middle of her performance. She smiled, leaving him stunned at the sight. It was one of those rare things to come out of Stratt, any smile or laugh was a win in his book.
”It’s okay, Ryland,” she said gently, and he reeled at her use of his actual name. Grace held his breath as Stratt reached up and adjusted his glasses so they were sitting correctly on the bridge of his nose. He froze when her hand lingered — hovered — over his face before smoothing down his cheek and jaw. Stratt watched his reaction with an unsure expression of her own. “I believe I got the general idea of what you were trying to ask.”
Grace’s body acted before his mind could catch up and melted into her palm, his own hand coming up to cover hers. His eyes fluttered close as he held her there. When was the last time someone had touched him like that? He and Carl gave each other high-fives and fist bumps. His more affectionate students would give him quick hugs. But this was so different. So intimate. “Eva…” He breathed her name like a prayer. He opened his eyes to see her still looking at him that same way. A way that held so much emotion he couldn’t begin to comprehend, because how on Earth was that look directed at him?
Stratt’s thumb brushed against his cheek, ever so gently, and if Grace wasn’t already gone for her then he definitely was now. He shuddered at her touch and inched slightly forward to close the gap between them. She met him in the middle, but neither of them made a move. Just admired one another. Courageously, Grace let out a soft whisper, “Can I…?”
Stratt smiled at him. “I would like that.”Grace leaned forward as Stratt tilted her head.
In the distance, the science building erupted in a cloud of smoke and fire.
—
Grace was never sure what to think about Stratt.
Even after living on Erid for a couple of years, where he was surrounded by wonderful students, new friends, a beautiful ocean that soothed him to sleep, and a lot of self reflection, he still hadn’t come to a conclusion.
He knew that, for a couple of years in space, he hated her. He knew that, for the years he had known her on Earth, he loved her. He didn’t anymore. Damage had been done and even though he didn’t hold a grudge, he simply didn’t love her like that anymore.
The best Grace could come up with is that he understood her. Respected her. After all, he had seen sides of her that he was sure no one else had the opportunity to. He saw how affected she was by the project and how much pressure it put her under. He got to witness her smile and laugh as well as command a room with one word and sharp look. Stratt had the weight of the entire world on her, and Grace would never fault her for doing what she needed to do.
But, who knew… Maybe if they had spent more time together, things would have worked out differently. Maybe he would feel differently.
He looked up from his shoes to find Rocky pacing around the porch of Grace’s house with barely concealed impatience. “Grace come, question!?” He sung over the sound of the waves.
The scientist chuckled as he came upon the stairs, playfully shoving his best friend out of the way. “Has anyone ever told you how impatient you are, Rock?” He asked as he closed the door behind him.
“Not Rocky fault Grace slow. Rocky know Eridian infants faster than Grace.”
“Harsh.”
Rocky laughed in small bursts of song, and Grace found himself joining along.
He supposed that, in the end, what’s done is done. He could spend a lifetime looking back on memories and emotions and going over dozens of ‘what if?’ scenarios.
But all he needed was here.