Chapter Text
Eva Stratt knew she wasn’t a nice person to be around. She knew she wasn’t good.
Her intentions were more than good in the long run, and the full picture was simple: Saving Earth. But nothing was that simple.
Her actions were evil in the short run, and each tiny part of the picture was complicated: Save this person, or save the world? Send the astronauts to die, or wait until they could breed enough fuel to come back? Save the climate and the planet, or save humanity?
And she always chose what she, as a very straight-forward, blunt person, saw to be the best option. It was always to prioritize the lives of the many over the few.
As a child, Stratt had always heard the saying "Take care of the pennies, and the pounds will take care of themselves." And she’d always found it to be absolute bullshit. The little things didn’t matter if you were to view the bigger picture. It didn’t matter if the three-anused sloth died out, so long as humanity remained thriving as best it could in whatever conditions it was to be thrown into.
Ryland Grace, however, clearly didn’t have the same mindset. Or, really, the rest of humanity. Stratt wasn’t blind, of course she’d seen the looks shot as she passed people on the Vat, read the social media posts questioning her authority, and heard the whispers and conversations in languages people thought she didn’t know. The conversations that cut off the second she walked into the room.
No, she wasn’t blind. She knew people hated her. It didn’t particularly affect her, however. She didn’t care that the world hated her and would use her as a scapegoat when it all went to shambles. She was saving them, after all. If she hated humanity back, she wouldn’t be doing all this.
She was evil.
That’s what the headlines told her, what the whispers told her and what some particularly bold world leaders told her. The president of Cuba, Miguel Díaz-Canel, who she’d been speaking to about the resources in his country, had outright called her a demonic woman in Spanish. She very curtly called him a useless trade partner right back.
Stratt was perfectly okay with never having any public appearances and being hated by the world.
And it seemed her media relations team had a very specific hatred for her, as they kept nagging her about a stupid gala. She finally caved after a week of relentless emails about why it was essential to gain support with the project.
“Is this really necessary?” Grace asked, again, as he spun on a chair in Stratt’s office. She was looking through files to find the best tailor to order his suit for the party.
Yes, obviously she was taking him. He was, as the crew on the Vat put it, her ‘Science lap-dog’. And she found a small amount of joy in tormenting him. He got oddly cute when he was irritated.
“Yes, Grace, this is an incredibly important event, and as the leading biologist on our team-”
“I have better things to be doing!” He cut in with a groan.
“- you should be making public appearances.” She finished, raising an eyebrow at him.
“I should be in the lab!” He protested, stopping his spinning to glare at her. She finally settled on a tailor.
“Ah, this’ll do. Stand up, Grace, I need to take your measurements.” She stood, pulling a tape measure from her desk drawer.
“Wait, what?” His eyes widened slightly. “You’re measuring me?”
“Yes, Grace.” She chided. “We don’t have time. It’s purely convenient.”
“R-right… convenience.” He stammered out, standing.
She wasted no time, wrapping the tape measure around his waist. She marked down each measurement as she took it, biting her tongue slightly in focus. She could feel his eyes tracking her, and how tense he was. She placed his hand on his shoulder as she measured his bust.
“Doctor Grace, you need to relax. If you’re tensing your muscles, the suit won’t fit nicely.” Her voice was chastising, slapping his chest lightly. She heard him inhale sharply and felt his forced relaxation under her touch.
The rest of the process didn’t take very long, and Stratt eventually stepped back. Her eyes scanned over the paper she had been writing on in her neat handwriting, the edges of her lips quirking up slightly in what could be interpreted as a pleased smile.
“You may leave now, Grace.” He stared at her.
“What? Do I not get to choose my own suit?” He tilted his head, and she couldn’t help but note how much he looked like a curious owl. So, he was annoyed at his time being wasted, and now he was annoyed that he didn’t get to spend more time on this? This man confused her in an incredibly frustrating way sometimes.
She let out a small scoff. “Grace, you expect me to trust you with selecting your own formal wear? Unlikely. You’re getting on a plane tomorrow at 1400. Now leave.” She returned to her laptop, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. He stuttered over a protest for a little while, before groaning in irritation and storming out of her office.
She spent the rest of the evening emailing back and forth with the tailor to get the specifics of Grace’s suit confirmed. She could almost hear the dislike of her in each email she received. The slight snarky tone in their words as they described the specific shade they thought would go best with Grace’s complexion. They never called Stratt by name, always using “ma’am” if forced to address her. Not out of respect she could guess. It was either fear or general hatred of her name. She wouldn’t have been surprised if you told her that her name was taboo in some places.
Between emails, she worked on separate things - mostly organizing living quarters for Grace and herself. The hotel closest to the party venue had almost booked out, and the best she could find was a suite with two separate beds. One room, yes, but it was good enough for her. Walking distance (though they definitely wouldn’t walk) from the venue and the highest rated hotel in the area. It would do.
The next morning, Stratt packed the small bag she would be taking with her. It housed no more than a laptop, tablet, diary and some spare clothes. She ensured Grace had been conveyed the information he should bring this little as well.
She spent her time until 1400 working. She had much work and not much time, thus was determined to cram every spare moment of her life (of which there were little nowadays) being productive. The plane landed exactly on time, and she was also on time. Despite her constant reminders, Grace wasn’t there within 5 minutes of the expected time. She had predicted this, and sent Carl ahead of time to drag the scientist out of his lab.
A whole ten minutes later, Ryland Grace came dragging his feet, bag slung over one shoulder.
Ah, so he was still in a mood. Good to know. For the second time in 24 hours, Stratt was amused by Grace’s frustration.
She couldn't help it, his little pout was both so pitiful and adorable. He was… He was like a cat in that way, she supposed. A pitiful, soggy stray that she picked up off the side of the road and dragged home with her. The thought of it made her smirk slightly. Or, as close to a smirk as Stratt ever got. A small twitch at the edge of her lip, at most.
Grace raised an eyebrow at her amusement. “What made you so happy?” Interesting. He'd noticed. “I personally think I could be doing very important research right now.”
“Nothing. Please, get on the plane, Grace. We're already late.”
So Grace dragged his feet up the steps, huffing and complaining the entire way.
The private jet was elegant inside, if not a little cramped. Stratt sat down, taking out her tablet immediately. And, despite there being multiple other seats available, Grace took the seat beside her. He pulled his notebook out of his bag, reading over his notes and making new ones.
They sat in silence for most of the plane ride, Stratt occasionally confirming reports with Grace.
It was nice, for a while. Having their dynamic intact despite the upcoming media storm of an event.
Then the plane landed, and Stratt let herself sigh. For the next three days, their life would be entirely out of order.
She couldn't wait.