Chapter Text
“You're the sun, you've never seen the night
but you hear its song from the morning birds.
Well, I'm not the moon, I'm not even a star
but awake at night I'll be singing to the birds.”
i.
Sometimes, Eva Stratt looks at Ryland Grace and wonders.
Sometimes, she looks at him and wonders about unfulfilled potential and lost opportunities. She wonders about other universes, about other realities. In her dreams, her lonesome and traitorous dreams, she sees his eyes crinkling and a soft smile playing on his lips. Words of love dropping from his mouth, his hand in her hair. It ends before it can really start, in the same way all good dreams do.
After those nights, she struggles looking at him. Her heart bleed too much, aching something that she knows she would never get. She is not a fool, there’s not a single chance she is anything but a colleague to him. Maybe a friend, if she is feeling particularly optimistic about his opinions about her, but never anything more than that.
(“Eva you’re too uptight.” Her mother’s voice comes back every now and then, golden curls nose scrunched and frown burrowed. She smelled of roses and disappointment. “Be a darling and smile, you’d look prettier.”
Eva always snarled in response.)
She knows about how she is perceived, of course, she has always known. Softness is not a quality anyone would ever use to describe her. She has never been someone easy to deal with, not even in the tender years of her youth, blessed with untamed wildness, cursed with hindered rage.
Some people may think that such a level of self-awareness would make her resentful or even bitter but the truth is that she has always carried her faults with elegance, priding herself in her roughness. There’s clairvoyance in restrained brutality, the kind that makes oneself capable of making the right kind of decisions. And Eva is nothing but efficient in achieving her goals, especially when the fate of humankind it’s on the stake.
But right now, looking at Grace, she wishes things were different, that she was different.
ii.
The first time Grace touches her, he doesn’t mean to. His hand brushes against hers in the table, lost in the sea on papers and screens. He apologizes immediately, of course, he is nothing but proper and cautious in his ways. She lets it slide, lost in the moment, paying no attention to it. Nothing is more important than the mission.
Later at night, she cannot sleep.
(His hand was warm. His hand was warm and hers was cold and maybe it is a metaphor of something bigger than both of them. Maybe it is a sign, an augury.
She tries not to dwell too much in the impossibles, after all, she is a pragmatic person. But Ryland Grace makes her a careless woman, a hopeful woman. He makes her someone she is not, someone she must never be.
And that is how a revelation is born, lost in the mundane.)
Loneliness has never bothered her. She wears it like an old sweater that once was itchy and now it’s the right kind of worn out. It used to be a burden, especially when she was younger, but maturity always brings a change of perspective. Someone must endure it, and, for her, it’s a small price to pay in the lottery of the universe if it means getting the chance of ever winning the survival of humanity.
But, at that very moment, loneliness aches like a poison, burning her from her own insides.
(Grace laughs with the rest of the crewmates, his eyes lightening up. She watches him, carefully, trying to memorize the way his giddiness fills the room, turning him into a small sun of his own right. He doesn’t seem to notice, but he has the kind of charm that makes him irresistible to everyone. Ilyukhina touches his shoulder, her smile wide and contagious and Eva knows she should feel somehow grateful that they get along well but she cannot. She wishes she could be like them, laughing carefree with camaraderie.
Somehow, Grace hears something and turns his head towards her. His eyes linger on her for an instant, a strange array of events, and his smile freezes. He doesn’t want her there, that much is evident, and she should be the bigger person and leave but instead Eva inhales softly and walks into the room, cursing herself for not leaving when she could. She greets them and walks absentmindedly towards her cabinet, trying to look nonchalant about it all. She can feel his eyes watching her but she avoids his gaze, afraid of what she might find if she looked back at him.)
It’s not the loneliness what bothers her, she realizes, but the awareness of it. The first time she met Grace, she thought him like her, a lonely soul. But he isn’t, he is overly extroverted, the first to crack a joke just to get everyone to smile. She is all edges, unreasonably rigid. He is soft and pliant, ready to adapt. People tolerate her but they adore him.
And, the worst thing of it all, the one thing that makes them truly different from each other, is the fact that she makes up excuses to look for him in every room while he only does his work. He’d never choose her, he’d never go after her.
The thought of it haunts her, but she tells herself she’ll get used to it.
iii.
She doesn’t.
iv.
She is not sure what started this all-consuming feeling.
Maybe it started the first time she saw him marvel before at a discovery, his eyes turning soft with wonder. There was something in his childlike gaze, that made her a bit too soft in all of the wrong places, that made her want to keep him near enough to see him like that over and over and over.
Maybe it could have started on the first joke she laughed at. The chuckle both explosive and irrepressible, just like a supernova. He looked at her frightened by her reaction, but she could tell that there was a hint of pride in his eyes. She felt ashamed for days, but he kept on making stupid jokes and she kept on laughing.
Or maybe, it started even earlier than that, maybe it was at the very beginning of it all, when the first shadow of maroon was discovered around the sun, just like a condemned red string of fate.
(“The Petrova line,” She signals at her screen. “is getting brighter by the hour.”
They’ve been working together all afternoon, hand in hand with the results. She is getting a bit stiff around her neck, and sleep is catching onto her. Apparently, sleeping a total amount of four hours during three days is not a good idea.
Grace’s eyes rise up to watch the screen and he snorts.
“What is so funny Dr. Grace?” Eva asks him.
His eyes snap back at her, a bit too terrified. Eva doesn’t know how someone so capable doubts himself so much. In another person, she’d find that annoying, like the sort of false modesty she so much hates, but in the short amount of time she’d known him, she has come to understand that his is not an act.
“It’s nonsense, sorry.”
Eva sighs.
“I’m not going to fire you for finding something funny, at least not when it’s just you and me.”
Grace looks like he doesn’t quite believe it, but apparently his need for sharing his every though is bigger than the fear she commands. Eva shouldn’t find that endearing, but there’s a small part of her that does.
“I was thinking about the red string of fate, it’s a legend from Japan, I think.” His cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink. “According to the legend, the gods tie an invisible red cord around the fingers of those who are destined to meet and be soulmates.”
Eva hums, and snorts. It’s funny in a morbid way. The Petrova line, their own red string of fate. Grace smiles at her, looking far too pleased.)
She tries, really tries, not to dwell in the meanings of it all. But, at the end of the day she is a historian forced to recognizes patterns in order to prevent them. And this, this is the same old cycle of doom and pain that’s been repeating itself all across different ages. The hero and the villain, the martyr and the executor, the cat and the mouse.
She wonders who is who in their case.
v.
Eva hears him before he appears, already used to the sound of Ryland’s feet dragged across every room. This time, his steps are quick, tapping against the floor soundly. She curses herself for knowing him like that, for memorizing all his little sounds and quirks. Sometimes, she feels like there’s a folder in his brain dedicated solely to Ryland Grace, a soft haven where she stores every single bit of information she notices about him.
She raises her eyes to look at him and her traitorous heart jumps around in her chest. It’s like that every single time, no matter the situation or the time of the day, her heart pays no attention to the severity of their situation.
Ryland looks at her, fidgeting with his hands.
“Can I ask you something weird?”
She fights the smile that threatens to appear on her lips.
“You usually never ask for my permission to do that.”
“Touché.” He laughs, but it’s not his usual kind of laugh, but airier and scratchier.
There are dark circles under his eyes, violets half-moons, his hair is dishevelled mirroring a bird’s nest. There’s something bothering him, she realizes.
“Do you know about the rumours?” Ryland asks her, biting the temple of his glasses.
“I know about most rumours, it’s part of my job. Which one are you talking about?”
Ryland swallows, and there’s a pained expression on his face. Maybe is something that is affecting him directly, something that he doesn’t want to indulge with her because obviously they aren’t that close. Maybe, and she doesn’t want to dwell to much in that, they found him tangled in another person, and now everyone knows. Everyone but her.
If there’s still room to grant me a wish, she thinks to herself, please be that it doesn’t have to be with him and someone else.
“Well…” He starts, his voice getting thinner and thinner. “People are saying that you and I are involved.”
She lets out the air she didn’t know she was holding until now.
“Of course we are, you work with me.” She states, not really understanding
“Romantically involved.” Ryland shrugs.
Oh, there it is. Her hands start to sweat. They finally caught onto her feelings. She has been too obvious on her affections, too transparent in front of the team.
“Who is saying that?” She asks him, feeling the anxiety bubbling in her stomach.
“Snitches get stiches Stratt, and I’m not one to kiss and tell.” He jokes, but there’s tension underlying his words.
“Dr. Grace, tell me who is spreading the rumour. I cannot have my team gossiping like a bunch of highschoolers.”
“Don’t worry about, it’s just a stupid rumour.” He laughs it off, sounding more embarrassed than pissed off. “People will forget about it in a week.”
Her chest aches. Of course he is embarrassed. Of all the people in that forsaken ship, she’s sure she’d be the last one he’d picked. And now, he is associated with her in a way that obviously disgusts him. She swallows her sadness away, just like she always does.
“If this is making work uncomfortable for you, I will deal with it. I promise.”
“Is that a threat?” He asks.
“It could be. Just say the words. I don’t want my second in command distressed at work.”
Ryland tilts his head, confused.
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
She cannot believe he's asking that at this point. She is on the winning end of that rumour, it’s not like every day someone thinks Eva Stratt capable of loving someone. The whole crews believe her to be stoic and cold hearted, and, most of the times she is. But, deep down, there’s a Ryland Grace shaped space in her very core.
Ryland looks at her, his eyes opening slightly.
“I don’t like the implication that I would take advantage of you.” She continues, trying to appear nonchalant about it. “But apart from that, it’s just senseless gossip.”
Ryland stares at her like she had just grown another head.
“Hey,” he said slowly, “nobody thinks that.”
She shakes her head in disbelief.
“They do.”
“No, they really don’t.”
“You are younger than me. And my employee.”
“I’m only three years younger, and besides, you tried to fire me on my first week here.”
“You did deserve it.”
Ryland laughed softly, but there was something uneven under it now. “You seriously think people see me as some poor helpless victim here?”
The weight on her chest intensified. She knows the optics, of course she does, he is kind and warm and open and she is… not.
“C’mon you are Eva Stratt, earth’s hope. You command armies and tell world presidents to shut up.” Ryland says, his voice strangely tender.
“That was one time and he was being an asshole.” Eva replies.
Ryland chuckled.
“Not my point. What I’m trying to say is that if either of us were to chase the other, it would be me. I’m a science teacher you are a force to be reckoned.”
Eva cannot help but smile at him.
“Flattery will get you nowhere Dr. Grace.” She tells him, feeling lighter all of the sudden.
“At least it got me here.”
“No, it didn’t. It was your outstanding work, which you are ignoring right now.” She tries to scold him, but the words come out of her mouth sounding far more affectionate that she intended to. “Go back to work Dr. Grace.”
He salutes her, a half lopsided grin on his lips. She shakes her head, but the fondness in her eyes mirrors his. Ryland Grace is going to be the death of her.
vii.
Ryland fits perfectly at the party. The team treat him like he’s one of them, and, perhaps, he is. The only one that doesn’t really add up to that mix is her, the one to blame for all of this. She is not sad about it, she made her peace with it months ago, but right now, she feels a bit jealous. She wishes she could blend as well, laughing as carefree amongst them. She wishes she could explore her feelings more, lighting up the fireworks in her chest. She wishes she could bestow her burden onto someone else, freeing herself in the process.
But, most of all, she wishes she didn’t have to be the one to put on the front, pushing everyone away when they get a bit too close.
viii.
He watches her sing and she can feel her own traitorous heart bleeding all over itself on the made-up stage of the bar. She is not a blushing teenager, never have been, really, but she wants to scream. His gaze is soft and tender in a way she has never seen before. It’s too much, too much even for her. She feels the anxiety bubbling somewhere in between her lungs, taking more space and more space every second.
Eva leaves the room, escaping outside. Grace follows behind her. The sound of his steps behind her makes her dizzy in a way the couple glasses of whiskey couldn’t. No one has ever chosen her in front of a crowd.
“Dr. Grace.” She greets him.
“Stratt.” He salutes her, with a soft smile on his lips.
She shakes her head.
“It’s Eva now. Just for tonight.” Eva tells her.
“You know, Eva, maybe you should stop doing this.” Ryland tells her with a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“What? Talking?” She asks him, confused.
Ryland shakes his head.
“Giving me privileges, people are going to think you favour me.” He says, his gaze adverting hers.
“It’s not a privilege. I literally told Dubois earlier to call me Eva too.” Eva shrugs.
“Oh.”
And, if she was naïve enough, she’d believed him disappointed. But she isn’t, so she doesn’t. Maybe she caught him off guard. Or something like that.
“I..” She starts, the words falling from her lips before she can process them. “I wanted to feel normal, once again. No one has called me Eva in months. I miss my name.”
“Well, Eva, you only have to ask.” He tries to bow but almost fall to the floor.
And Eva laughs and laughs and laughs, drunk on something stronger than alcohol. Grace watches her, smiling, and there’s a look in his eyes that she cannot quite decipher.
“You are fascinating.” Grace says.
There’s a look of awe in his eyes she does not quite understand. There’s nothing fascinating about her, not in the slightest. Not when she is starting to become too transparent about her feelings.
“No, I’m really not.”
“Yes, you really are.”
Grace is close to her, closer enough that she can smell his cheap cologne mixed with his sweat. His eyes are fixed on hers, liquid sea amongst the orange sky. If she wanted to, she could touch him, she could even kiss him. And she wants him, more than she has ever wanted anything, but desire is not made for people like her. It’s a liability, a breach in the system. She cannot have him, not now, not never.
“I have to go.” She says, breaking the moment.
Grace looks at her like an abandoned dog, sad and raw. She tries not to dwell on the implications of that, but it’s a herculean task when her heart is beating his name. Maybe, in another life, this could be different, but in this one they are destined for different paths.
She leaves the deck of the ship.
ix.
The next morning, there are two cups of coffee for her in her office. Inscribed on one of them is "For Eva" along with a smiley face. She caressed the writing slowly. She’d recognize the loop in the letters anywhere, after all, it’s the one she’s been reading for months.
There’s something wild and untamed about being seen for the person that she is, instead of the institution she represents. And somehow, he has seen her, truly seen her, since the first moment they laid eyes on each other. It was not an exercise of tearing down the layers, but of carefully learning every single one of them.
x.
She overhears him talking to Carl on her way towards her office. They are in his personal lab, eating candy while Ryland experiments on something new. She’s told him countless times that he cannot do that, that there’s protocols and lab safety’s standard that even he must follow.
She’s about to enter the room to tell him that, once again, when she stops in her tracks, her heart beating faster and faster by the second.
“You should tell her.”
“And tell her what? That I like her so much that I literally can’t sleep at night? That she is the first woman I’ve ever wanted like this?”
Eva has to bite her tongue to contain the gasp she almost makes, her heart pounding at her chest. She promised herself that she would not dare to hope, but the last weeks have made her someone she is not. Someone optimistic and hopeful. Someone eager to believe.
“You know what is going to happen after the mission is over, right?” She hears Carl sigh.
“Yes, I know.” Grace’s voice is small.
“Then, you should try to talk to her and tell her about your feelings. You need to make the most of the time you have left together.”
“She doesn’t deserve that, after all she’s given to this mission. It’s not fair.”
“Nothing about this is buddy.”
All her hopes come crashing down at Carl’s word. Grace doesn’t want her, he wants Olesya. And, of course he does. Olesya is witty and beautiful but she is more than that, she is the kind in an effortless way Eva has never managed to be. The sort of person someone like Grace would naturally gravitate toward.
Her eyes begin to sting almost immediately. Humiliating, she thinks, to be caught so openly in the middle of her own delusion.
The worst part is that Grace has not done anything wrong, and still, he is the one to suffer the punishment. He never led her on, never made promises he didn’t mean, never crossed a line. Every hopeful glance, every moment of patience, every soft look she had taken apart and reassembled into something more, has been of her own doing. She had mistaken kindness for longing, affection for desire, and now the realization burns hot beneath her skin. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment so intense it feels almost unbearable.
Her chest aches painfully, but even that is eclipsed by the sickening guilt curling inside her. Because if Grace is miserable now, if he is trapped in this impossible situation, then she is the one responsible for it. Entirely. Whatever happens to her once all of this is over, she thinks distantly, she will deserve it.