Archive of Our Own

Eva Stratt entered his life without warning, like an asteroid colliding with Earth, a cosmic explosion that forever changed him.

She walked into his classroom with her head strung high, hands clasped neatly in front of her body. Her hair reflected the afternoon light, fiery wisps that called for his attention.

Outside, the weather turned gloomy, rainclouds looming all day long, a rainbow reflected through his window.

He whipped his head at her as he recognised his thesis, why the heck was she holding that. And then she introduced herself. 

“My name is Eva Stratt and I'm with the Petrova taskforce.” 

How steady she appeared as she explained their need for a lowly scientist like him, how unwavering she was in his uncertainty. A pillar of hope in this wholly unknown reality.

Sure, she practically kidnapped him in front of his workplace, and maybe he should've fought against it more. Yet for some reason, he wanted to do this, to impress Stratt, to redeem himself from his fall from grace. 

His life was uprooted since then, and yet as cowardly as he was, Ryland knew he wanted to be a part of this. He couldn't stand the thought of his students growing up in a dying world. 

-

He met her again after proclaiming new life from his three cells, a miracle really after recreating the conditions of Venus in a plywood box. Carl barely even warned him before being effectively crammed into a fighter jet to be transported across the ocean.

Stratt was waiting on deck as he stumbled out, retching into the nearest traffic cone. There goes his good impressions. 

The wince in her features juxtaposed her shoving him in another room filled with what were basically the smartest people in the world. 

And when his stumbling mind scrambled to explain his shoddy experiment, her hands reached out for him, a blessed mercy as if instinctively, their fingers wrapped around each other's, her unused arm hovering over his back. 

The contact sent ripples down his fingers, despite how short it was. His seat was next to hers, and without much protest, she allowed him to slide even closer. 

-

Seated across her desk, Ryland stared as though captivated from the charms of Stratt—she stood near the corner of the cramped room, phone balancing between her ear and shoulder, hands skimming through a document as she dictated orders to whoever was on the other side.

Only the desk lamp was on, bathing the room in its yellow tones—one of the very few things he had learned about her in his short time knowing her, she preferred warmer lighting over the oppressiveness of the overheaded white.

But under this glow, her edges seemed softer, her frame somehow lighter, even as she paced in small circles, foot tapping the metal floors. 

The caller obviously was getting on her nerves, with the way her eyebrows pinched together, in all fairness, he was summoned to her office, yet clearly she was behind on her schedule. 

All Ryland could do was watch, professionalism layered over her voice as she grew more impatient. He's seen her lead meetings, observed as she commanded a room—he never grew tired of how everybody around her fell into line, waiting for their commander's orders. 

It's fascinating just how sure of herself she was—Stratt never pretended to know all about the intricacies of prokaryotic life, of engineering and technology, or what it took to be an astronaut, yet she listened whenever an expert was around, easily making notes to then make her next strategic move. He thought her akin to a chess master, and everyone else her pawns.

He saw as her lips pressed into a thin line, the roll of her eyes as she listened to whatever rambles came from the caller, how her hands shifted to grip the phone as she leaned her hip against the wall. 

Again, her hair caught the warmed light, now shifting more golden than the copper he saw in his classroom. She, the stars, a mystery to be unravelled.

After another minute, she ended the call. “You're staring,” she said as she crossed back to her seat.

“I'm not—” 

She blinked at him. “You are.”

“Just thinking about the astrophage,” he mumbled, caught off guard, darting his eyes to anywhere but her.

The raise of one brow made him think that she didn't believe him.

His mouth turned dry before stumbling, “I'd like to sequence its genome, figure out its replication cycle and if we could insert copies of those genes to speed up its growth—but no other life on Earth is remotely similar to these little guys, so we'd have to sequence from scratch, and the reassembly process would take days, if not weeks—” He rambled on about his laboratory update until Stratt seemed satisfied. 

Okay he wasn't technically lying, she did want his report, but admittedly, he was staring—how could he not, she truly was interesting, sue him for being curious.

Eventually, she waved a hand of dismissal, and all Ryland did was retreat back to his lab, he couldn't afford to be distracted.

-

The lead members of the project were assembling with the heads of various nations, and Ryland was expected to interact with these incredibly politically powerful people. Totally not nerve wrecking at all.

Unfortunately for him, his American brain only knew English, so while most of his colleagues were dispersed trying to gain favour for the project's name in a multitude of languages, he was stuck as Stratt's sidekick whenever she needed him to dumb down the science. 

Thankfully, she was not so cruel to leave him at the whims of his own president. He was very proud to be from San Francisco, but he could also admit that his country did not always have the brightest leaders.

But that also meant he had the privilege of seeing a new side of her. 

Ryland thought he knew just how charismatic Stratt could be, but tonight she amplified it ten times over. 

She wore minimal makeup, but the light bouncing from the chandelier made the slight glimmer of her lids more obvious, the red of her lips, how her lashes curled even more. 

The smile she plastered, although fake, gave her a youthful glow. She spoke with the highest authority she was allowed, easily scrubbing down these men in high powers. Her clothing, though simple, was tailored fit, a deep red button down, black dress pants, she even wore short heels.

To put it simply, Ryland was extra grateful to be able to see her like this.

The mingling slowed down, her eyes swept the room, hands clutching tightly to the bag she was holding. He looked closer, and saw just how white her knuckles became. 

“How are you holding up?” He leaned into her ear, turning his head for only her to catch.

Stratt cleared her throat, licked her lips, and that action alone should not have made him so dizzy. “Fine,” her accent thicker than usual.

She thrummed with nerves where his hand settled on her elbow. “Stratt.”

Her breath lowered, “this event determines the direction of the project, if we don't garner enough support, we'd be set back by months.”

And he was aware of what that implication meant, Dr. Leclerc had explained a timeline of events to come should the project fail—it may still be the earlier stages, but any setback proved detrimental further down the line.

“You're doing great,” he affirmed, and though he could not predict the success of tonight, he believed in her nonetheless. She peered up at him through her lashes, softer than her previous stiff posture. 

He had one last trick to try loosening her up, fishing through his pocket to grab the lava Earth beanbag.

When he presented her with it, he swore he heard her snort.

“Of course you have this,” she muttered, taking it as he extended it to her.

“It's very good for stress relief.” And the smile she gave beamed through his heart.

-

Eva Stratt felt more otherworldly the longer he knew her. A light in the dark, the blink of the north star that guided sailors home. She was a beacon, and he, a ship. Without her, he thought he'd lose his way.

-

More often than not when he wasn't cooped up in his lab, Ryland was somewhere within Stratt's vicinity.

The moon and its tide, she went and he followed.

Most of her meetings pertained to subjects outside Ryland's understanding—politics and agriculture, talks with high ranking military officers. 

He technically didn't need to be present, yet he wanted to stay as long as she'd let him. But then again, Stratt was the one to drag him to and from, and with little push back on his end, she'd do so easily. One nod of her head told him to follow, a glance in his direction made him attuned to her attention. 

This particular meeting held in one of the many conference rooms had focus on the propulsion systems, Ryland hadn't even meant to sit in on this when he was walking past. 

Sitting opposite to the door was Stratt, she caught his eyes through the small window and jerked her head to the empty seat at her side. He passed a quick nod to Dimitri who's explaining his current findings, quickly circled around the table and sat where she motioned. 

He took note of her appearance now that he was near her—the bags under her eyes seemed deeper, her fingers drumming where it laid against her forearm. Her hair was hastily pulled back in a bun, looser strands framing her face, and he wondered if she even slept last night. 

That shouldn't even be his concern, she was very capable of taking care of herself, yet he couldn't shake the thought of wanting to be there for her. Her jaw shifted, tight. 

Pulling his chair even closer, he entered her bubble. Their knees knocked together inconspicuously under the table, nobody would notice but her. The chill of her body seeped into his. She shifted back in her seat, her shoulders drooping from its rigid line. The victory was enough to make him stay.

-

“Is it alright if I work here?” He asked her one late night after giving another one of his updates.

She raised her eyes from the tablet that was always in her hands, searching his face. “You have your own space.” 

It wasn't a denial yet, simply a statement.

“Yeah, well the lab lighting is way brighter—it has to be for safety reasons you know.” 

And when she didn't immediately respond he continued, “I work better near people I'm comfortable with—the other scientists are good at their jobs and all but they don't really approach me outside of work, I think they're intimidated for some reason, I don't know—and Carl can't exactly be around all the time,” trailing off at the end. 

There really was no reason, but something about Stratt made him gravitate towards her.

He saw as she considered his words, the turn of cogs and gears moving in her head. 

“Alright, if it boosts productivity then you may stay.”

A grin formed on his face, a smaller, more tired one reflecting in her own press of her lips. 

“Just don't distract me,” she ordered, “I have a call with the US Department of Defense in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes ma'am,” he replied, giving a flick of a salute.

Pulling a file from his bag, he moved to the couch that occupied the opposite end of her office, settling as she began typing on her monitor. 

And then he remembered the bag of Skittles in his pocket, Ryland threw some in his mouth, and when he noticed Stratt watching, he offered, “you want any?”

She scrunched her nose as if he offended her, wrinkles tattooing her eyes. That wry smile appeared, but it made her look more carefree than he knew her to be. Without much warning, his ears twinged in heat, and oh, the expression was almost cute.

The director of the most important project in the history of the Earth, and Ryland Grace thought she was cute.

-

Sometime during her call, he must have fallen asleep. His eyes blinked slowly awake, taking stock of his surroundings. Ryland found a throw blanket sitting across his lap, the scent of her perfume lingered on it—he hadn't noticed it in the room before, where did Stratt pull this from? The notes he was taking were laid at the side table, while his bag was propped against the couch.  

Did Stratt do this for him? He stretched his aching back, checking his watch—an hour had passed since he arrived, the room now vacant except for him. 

Sitting up, he felt something sticking to his forehead—a note from Stratt. Emergency meeting, don't know when I'll be finished. You're dismissed for the day.

The disappointment seeped through him, it shouldn't have, yet he couldn't help the feeling. Ryland gathered his items, folded the blanket, and neatened her desk before leaving.

-

He did not see her in the morning, nor the one following that. Ryland had a rough estimate of her schedule memorised already, yet when she should've been moving across the ship's halls, he did not find her. 

Then again, he didn't look, it's not his place to worry. He spent his hours locked in the lab, but when he left for the mess hall, she was never there either.

A quick pass by her office, the door remained closed, behind it her voice mumbled something in German. He stayed for a moment hearing her talk, a touch deeper in her native tongue, smoother too, like summer rain chasing the heat, and he'd give anything to listen to her speak all day. 

-

It's been a little over a week since he's had that revelation, and Ryland did not know what to do with it. He couldn't quite do anything anyway, considering Stratt was still currently the highest ranking person in the world—and he really could not afford this distraction. 

As well as the astrophage breeding was going, they were still highly dangerous, he needed to put his best in the game if he wanted to ensure everything went smoothly. 

After all, Stratt trusted him with this, and he didn't want to disappoint her.

He hasn't really seen her since that night, besides the mandatory meetings and scheduled updates, and even then, he tried to not stare at her direction, didn't let himself push into her space beyond simple greetings. It wasn't in his best interest to be preoccupied with thoughts other than his job. 

And yet, Eva Stratt stood here in his lab, observing how he and his other team members worked. Apparently, some of her investors thought the money she was spending were for unnecessary items, the end of the world and all these sharks calling themselves businessmen could think of was money. 

Now, she was taking stock of all the equipment she brought in over the past month before representatives of those investors would be flown in later that week.

Letting the others take charge of explaining what each apparatus does, he continued his experiment, observing the astrophage underneath a microscope.

He nodded her way when she reached his station, patting the back of his chair, but otherwise did not let himself pay her any more attention. 

Her company was something he was quite familiar with at this point, almost a year into his stay. The seasons shifted as well as it could in a world turning cold, but he knew it was the tail end of spring. He also knew when she left the room, how the air somehow became colder without her here, a little unnerving. 

Ryland was not used to being this distant with her—it was for the best, he reconciled with himself.

-

At the end of the day, head still buried in a pile of more readings, Stratt re-entered the lab. The rest of the biologists checked out, leaving only him in this sterile space. Almost instantly, the air stilled despite the windows being open, the door creaked, the clack of her boots caused him to jump. 

His arm knocked against a rack of drying test tubes, shattering as they hit the ground. Glass shards splintered across the floor, he's lucky they were empty, save for some droplets of water.

“Dr. Grace, are you okay?” Stratt called, the sound of her boots speeding up.

Shoot, he wasn't ready for her to be here, “yeah fine—don't come any closer, there's a lot of shards here.”

“Leave them alone, I'll get someone to clean up.”

“No, no, I got it.” He crouched, and as carefully as he could, gathering the larger pieces into one pile. Admittedly, he was too clumsy for his own good, the palm of his hand slicing on a particularly sharper edge.

“Ah crud,” he hissed, blood quickly seeping out, it stung under the open air.

A hand landed on his shoulder, “Dr. Grace,” Stratt now hovering above him, she exhaled, “come, I've called for a cleaner.”

“It's dangerous here, I don't want our director getting hurt.” he joked, but it did not land, Stratt tilted her head at him, squinting her eyes, scrutinising.

“I should be saying that to you, my boots are sufficient in protecting myself.” 

A tug on his arm, pulling him to his feet, maneuvering both away from the now useless test tubes. 

She dragged him over to the sink, Ryland all but frozen in her presence. Yet, she paid no mind, pulling out the first aid kid from the cabinet above the washing station. 

He cleared his throat, “it's alright, I can clean it myself.” 

But when he reached over, her hand swatted his. Stratt guided him to sit, pushing a stool over, and he followed her directions, he always did.

Pulling her sleeves back, she turned the tap on, nudging his still bleeding hand under the warm water. He sucked in a shaking breath, and she took his wrist in one palm, thumb gently pressing his hand open, keeping him from moving. 

Her fingers were much colder than his, but realised he did not mind it. She swiped soap around the cut’s edge, before removing any remaining small shards with tweezers. The motion made him wince, and he heard her murmur an apology, ironic considering this was his mess.

She tugged his hand closer to her chest, where she twisted it under the light, trying to see if she'd miss any. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “didn't mean to break anything, you don't need to replace them, there's plenty still.”

He saw the tension return between her brows, her avoiding his eyes. “Money isn't the issue, I'll order anything you need.”

“But the investors—”

“They're not important, I have entire militaries behind me, Grace, I can afford whatever this mission needs.” A huff left her lips, “their threats of pulling out means nothing, all they want is to know that their money will return.”

Silence fell between them as she continued this work, her hand still a tether, he didn't want to admit how comforting her touch felt, nor tackle what it meant for him.

His palm still red, iron twisting in the air, she pressed gauze to the wound, causing him to tense.

“You've been avoiding me, why?” She asked, and he was all but trapped, “did something happen?” 

Finally, their eyes met, hers glassy with something other than utter exhaustion, and his gut twisted with guilt, mouth turning dry.

“Not at all,” he defended, “just uh, thought I was bothering you, I've been taking up too much of your time lately, like now. Sorry.” That's not the full truth, but it's all he's willing to confess.

Stress seeped out from her shoulders, if he didn't already know her, Ryland would've missed how her muscles dropped. 

Sighing, “you're not a bother.” 

His lungs burnt as she spoke, he hadn't even realised he stopped breathing for a moment.

Eventually, the blood stopped flowing, and she bandaged it with clean strips. Her hand remained against the gauze, well after finishing her self appointed task, both hands encapsulating his. Feather light, it weighed tonnes in his chest.

“Thank you, for doing this,” looking up at her still standing above him, he felt the heat return to his cheeks. The harsher light behind her casting shadows on her face. 

“Don't—” Stratt started, taking in a breath, before starting over, “be careful, Dr. Grace, you are my leading astrophage expert, I need you in good health.” 

She glanced down to her watch, then met his eyes again, this time there's more clarity in them.

And with a squeeze to his wrist, she's out the door.

-

Stratt was walking by when she introduced the members of the Hail Mary. The astronauts in their yellow jumpsuits, a burning star in this dreary ship, and she led like the sun and its planets in her orbit.

Honestly, how were these folks willing to give up their lives so easily? The situation on earth may be dire, but to die for the cause was not something he thought himself willing, nor capable of doing.

“I don't have that bravery gene you all have.” He commented to Yáo as they straggled behind.

The pilot looked at him with an expression too light for a man doomed to his death, “it's not a gene, you just need to find someone to be brave for.”

Could he do that? Be brave enough to die for someone.

His eyes found Stratt at the front of the group, her hair tumbling soft waves. Her back turned from him, but he could imagine the set of her jaw, how her hands moved as she talked. Yáo bumped his shoulder slightly, he glanced at the man, who searched his own eyes like he was reading through him. 

Before he could say anything else, Stratt called for his attention, and he perked his head up as he found her side again.

-

Days blurred together, the sun rose and fell. Stratt kept him busy, pulled at the whims of her. Whatever feelings he discovered, he had tied into a little box, storing it in the deepest pockets of his mind. 

She, as always, was too preoccupied to notice when the moon reached its peak at the end of every day, stars dotting the abyss above. 

Ryland didn't think he'd seen her leave the lower deck in over twenty-four hours. He knew for a fact she did not eat, not since the small granola bar he's passed her this morning, yet currently, the bin below her desk was filled only with empty coffee cups.

Standing in the mess hall, he ordered two containers to go, hers with lighter foods, something she could pick at, his, the usual dinner menu. 

And for good measure, he threw in a cake slice, hoping she'd indulge herself this once. Ryland made the trek back to her office, most have already turned in for the night, few stragglers on this particular floor.

“Knock knock,” he announced, opening the door with one hand, the other balancing their food. 

Stratt does not look up from the pile of papers she's reading, waving one hand to let him in. 

Internally, he sighed, trying to pull Stratt away from paperwork may as well have been a suicide mission.

Another mug of black coffee made its way in front of her, the steam curling around her face as she bent over her documents. With the door now shut, the room stilled with static air, only the hums of the pipes, creaks of the carrier, and the scratch of her pen can be heard.

For a moment, he took in the sight of her, her shoulders raised as she read, her head resting in her other fist—there's a tiredness to her frame that never truly left. Ryland sat in the chair opposite her, these days, it's practically reserved for him.

“Hey,” he greeted, “you should eat.”

She hummed a noise beneath her breath, “later.”

Ryland knew what that had meant, she'd push it off until her hands started shaking, or her vision started blurring. Instead, he opened the containers, placing hers within arms reach. 

Stratt peered at him for a second, he busied himself with his own food, and after a beat, she reached over to grab the sandwich he brought for her.

And while she was distracted, he made a grab for her coffee, removing it from the desk.

“I need that Grace,” Stratt warned, using the same grave tone reserved for executives and governments who refused to listen to her scientists’ advice. 

“Are you aware it's almost one,” he questioned,  okay technically Vat time 2300, but the point still stood, “I know you have all this work to do, but this habit is not good for your heart.”

She popped a grape into her mouth, “my heart will be fine, the Earth, however, will not be if I'm not efficient in my efforts.” 

“You can come back to it in the morning, you can't be efficient if you don't sleep either.”

“I do sleep,” she reached across the table to grab an apple slice from his tray, Ryland did not stop her.

“Your desk barely counts, that can not be good for your back.” 

“While I do not need to defend myself to you, I'll have you know I slept last night.”

He chuckled slightly at her leaning back into her chair, arms crossed while she finished the remainder of her fruit, cheeks puffing as she chewed. And dang it, the expression made sparks come alive in his chest.

“That was almost twenty hours ago, on that couch,” he pointed to one in the office, “I was the one to wake you, and that isn't the most comfortable nap spot in this boat.” 

He remembered his own time napping there, how his shoulder was messed up for the rest of the night.

Stratt rolled her eyes at him, but his impromptu plan was working, seeing as she even ate a piece of the cake. In the end, she finished most of the meal.

She appeared less lethargic now, eyes more focused even though the bags remained. In these little moments she'd let her guard down, if only a touch when he was near. He felt his chest warm, the fire that was Eva Stratt could not be contained within him, a blaze of pure glory. Ryland turned his head away, hand swiping at his mouth to hide the dopey grin that fought its way through his face.

Her coffee grew cold, but the space between them near electric.

-

“What's the deal between you and Stratt,” Ilyukhina dropped her food tray next to his, and less than gracefully, fell into the seat beside him. 

When he lacked the words to respond, Ryland shook his head.

“Oh come on,” she pulled her knee to her chest, how she was comfortable twisting herself in these metal chairs, he did not know, “do you even notice how much she watches you.”

He choked on his water, coughing, “the deal is, she's the director and I'm just a scientist, she's my boss, and she's yours too.”

But all she did was laugh, “we're friends Grace, it's okay you can tell me,” and in a small whisper, she giggled, “I won't tell.”

“There's nothing to tell.”

“Okay, fine, but do you know how you look at her?” Ilyukhina wiggled her brows.

Ryland did not feel the need to respond, and when she realised, continued, the tease slipping from her tongue “alright you little lapdog, I'm sure you'll figure it out yourself.”

He did, however, push at her shoulder with his, and Ilyukhina returned the favour. 

-

He found her in an isolated corner of the upper deck, the last rays of the setting sun behind her. The first thing he noticed was her hair reflecting flames, its dance in the wind. The second thing he saw was the complete exhaustion in her posture, Stratt leaning over the balcony, head hung low. 

She looked ready to collapse at any given moment.

Without so much a greeting, he jogged to her side. And as if pulled out of a trance, her head whipped as his footsteps grew nearer, straightening her back rigid. She gave a weary smile, though it did not reach towards her eyes.

His throat felt thick with unsaid words, he swallowed hard, “are you okay?”

“Mm,” a mumble, “what are you doing here?” 

A deflection, she pressed her spine against the railing. The wind picked up its pace, her loose strands flapping. She shivered.

“You didn't answer my question,” gathering the courage to enter into her space.

“You needn't concern yourself with me Dr. Grace.” She cocked her head, though pulling herself in, as if she wanted to make herself smaller.

“Eva,” he whispered, “it's just us,” tilting his head the way she did.

And that was enough for her face to crumple, her arms pulled over her chest. In his eyes, this impossibly strong woman looked too small. Ryland opened his arms, and it took one second for her to decide to close the distance. 

He remained unmoving, like if he shifted she'd retreat back into herself. Her face buried into his chest. His hands hovered over the expanse of her back, afraid to touch, but the vibrations of her mumbled words into his shirt snapped him out of his daze. He lowered his palms, resting them over the thick coat, and he swore he felt her shudder against him.

Her muscles felt tight where he held her, Ryland tried rubbing out the tension, hands making broad strokes over the fabric. Eva exhaled from her nose, eyes closing as she relaxed her weight.

She fit into his arms so easily, and the deepest corners of his brain wanted her to stay there forever. Her forehead pressed against him, right above his thudding heart.

“I'm tired, Grace.”

One breath, two, “I know.”

-

Something shifted that evening, the lines between professionalism blurring. He knew she noticed, but neither made any move against it. 

When she needed him around, he was sure to be there. If there were to be a meeting across the globe, Ryland was confident their seats were adjacent. To anyone else, she was still Eva Stratt, director of the Petrova taskforce, and he was her leading expert on astrophage biology. 

The moon and its tide. 

-

Carl texted a message to his phone immediately after he and Stratt returned from a schedule on land, the one time she insisted on him not going, she was attacked, stabbed in her arm, apparently okay, but how could she be okay after being literally stabbed. He tried calling him then and there, even though his ongoing experiment was still in the middle of being run. 

Every message went to voicemail, and dang it Carl, he's worried now.

Ryland virtually ran across the Vat, well sped walked since he was told to keep it on the down low. He hated how far his lab was from the medical ward.

Oxygen felt like it wasn't reaching his lungs from how much he panicked, chest burning as he moved. She's fine, he told himself Carl wouldn't lie to him. As soon as he reached the medbay, he barged in, colliding into the door to push through. 

He was met with the wall that was Carl himself, who stepped in front of him, blocking his view of Eva. 

“What happened?” his voice raised, hands trying to push Carl away. The arms around held tightly, he wasn't getting anywhere like this.

From his minimal glimpse, he saw Dr. Lamai stitching Eva's arm as she was laying on one of the beds. 

“This is a sterile space, Dr. Grace,” Lamai addressed him, “and a private room,” she stressed. As nervous as she first was around Stratt, she knew when and how to get something done.

Stratt raised her uninjured arm, waving Carl's grip on him, “let him through,” grunting through her teeth. 

She sounded worse for wear, the nerves made him jittery.

His friend, though relented, said, “while we were leaving some extremists attacked from behind,” and dimly continued, “I wasn't fast enough.” 

Ryland felt his blood rushing through his ears, noise almost muffled, he was angry of course, but he couldn't blame Carl for something out of his control. He pushed past him, settling at the chair on the other side of the bed,

Eva screwed her eyes shut, hand pressed against her forehead, the unwavering director he knew withering in bed. She was out of her usual thick coat and sweater, remaining in an undershirt with its shorter sleeve rolled up. 

It made her seem so much more exposed. And Ryland hated seeing her like this, hated that he couldn't do anything for her—that he wasn't even there when it happened.

“Holy heck, how long have you been bleeding?” The sight of the blood made him queasy, but he could stomach it for her.

Lamai answered as she continued her work, halfway through finishing the stitching, “the director refused to be treated before returning, though thankfully the wound has clotted, it is still particularly deep.” 

Now that he was up close, he estimated the cut to be around three inches across her upper arm.

“I do not want word getting out of this,” Eva gritted. 

“So you walked around with an open wound?” his hands fidgeted, he wished he had his Earth ball with him.

“It's been cleaned, and I'll monitor for signs of infection,” Lamai finished her job, plastering her arm with thick gauze. “I do advise that you remain here until the fluids run their course, otherwise, please do not overexert yourself.”

“Thank you Dr.” weaker than she should ever be.

Both her and Carl exited the room, though he suspected Carl would remain on the other side.

She seemed paler, sweat accumulated on her brow, Ryland swept the hair out of her face, and even under these circumstances, his heart skipped a beat when she leaned into it.

“What happened, Eva,” his own brows furrowed with stress. “Why wait for treatment?”

Her hand found his, and oh it was so weak. She barely had the strength to squeeze around his fingers, and Ryland grasped hers like it was the last time she'd let him touch her.

She sucked in a breath, “there are people who do not like what we are doing, groups and conspiracies who believe that the Petrova Line was manufactured as a way to gain political power.”

“Stratt, what—” 

“Let me finish. The attack was opportunistic, and only against me—it's a good thing too, I made sure only my name is attached to the destruction I caused.”

“We, Stratt, everyone here is responsible, and you're trying to save the dang world. How are people against that?” 

A surge of anger rose, dread like stones settled in.

“My name will be dragged to kingdom come, it's the least I deserve.” She barked unamused. “People will question this project, they have the right to do so, but what we're trying to achieve cannot be publicised just yet—and I cannot have nations wondering if I have the capabilities to lead.”

All his words left his throat, he pulled his seat closer, Eva shifted to better grip him.

“Do you know of the glass cliff? It's when women are promoted during times of crisis, setting them up for higher risks of failure. If anything goes wrong, if the Hail Mary falls through, I am the one to blame.” 

And he felt so helpless in the face of her struggles.

“I trust Dr. Lamai to not let word spread, and I trust you too, Ryland.”

So badly, he wanted to yell, the injustice of it all, how dare anyone treat her like that.

But he wouldn't, so he kept his palm on her face, and when Eva did not pull away, swept his thumb across her cheek. 

“I'm sorry.”

Her eyes opened wide, “for what?”

For a second, he remained silent, trying to come up with what he really wanted to say, “for not being there, for not noticing how much weight is on your shoulders.” 

He felt her hand raised, softly resting to keep his in place. “It's something of a miracle you weren't there. I can't afford you being hurt.”

“I could've protected you.”

She raised her eyebrows, “if Carl struggled to do so, then what could you have done?”

“Hey, I can throw a mean punch when I'm ready.” He half laughed.

The corners of her lips turned upwards, and there's nothing that brought him more joy than knowing that he's the only one to make Eva Stratt smile.

“Oh I'd like to see that.”

He let her do whatever she needed to be comfortable, and if that led to her twisting their fingers to be intertwined, or her tugging him to sit on the mattress next to her, then he was glad to do so. 

-

She recovered under the dutiful nagging from himself and Carl. Whenever he could, Ryland refused to let her out of his sight in the time it took for the worst of the injury to heal. He brought her coffee every morning and meals every night, and when he was in the lab, Carl was there to see to her needs.

Her meetings were shifted to be online, anything else delegated or postponed and no one else ever heard a whisper of Eva being injured.

She called them both overkill, but even she could admit to the method in his madness.

-

Their hands found each other's more often, under tables in meeting rooms, in the quiet of her office. A lifeline, a gravitational pull, the earth and the moon, one could not exist without the other. 

And when the night bled later, the constellations as their company, she'd lay her head on his shoulder, resting her eyes for a moment.

It felt oddly domestic, and he thought he wouldn't mind doing the little nothings of life if she were there too.

-

He thought he might love her, when his eyes caught hers in a crowded room, when she sang so sweetly like the words were only for him. He wanted to believe, in that chance, in that maybe, everything will be alright.

But he could not say it, no, Ryland was much too great a coward to admit his feelings.

-

Ryland waited for Stratt to finish getting ready as he sat in the sectioned living space of her hotel room. They were called, more forced by their beneficiaries, to hold a gala. He was told it would be good for team building, that the public deserved to know who was behind the Petrova taskforce, and hopefully cut through the less savoury conspiracies. 

Eva seemed less than thrilled when she announced the event two days ago, but the Vat came alive in a way they haven't in quite some time. Drunk karaoke can only do so much to boost morale after all.

He heard her move about in the bedroom, her grumbles in German when she bumped into something. Honestly, he didn't know why she wanted him here.

But then she walked out in a navy dress that reflected stars. 

It cinched at her waist, contouring to her hips as it flowed around her body. Sheer sleeves covered her upper arms, leaving the curve of her shoulders bare. A silver necklace sat perfectly between her clavicles. She wore her hair half up, waves of gentle fire cascading down her back.

And good heavens Ryland was memorised. 

She smirked, and with a little bite “close your mouth and put these on for me.” 

Heat crawled up his face, and he's sure his ears were burning red. “Yes ma'am.”

He quickly snapped his jaw shut, taking the pearl earrings she extended. When he stood, he realised that in her heels, her lips were almost exactly the same level to his. Snap out of it Ryland.

Eva gave him another look, eyes glistening with something close to teasing in them. Schooling himself, he swept her hair to the side to clip in the accessories.

And if he thought his heart reached its limit, Eva then reached up his sternum, finding the tie around his neck. Belatedly, he noticed that it was the same fabric of her dress, a small connection between their outfits.

Her fingers were so close, he thought she might feel just how much his heart hammered. 

But if she noticed, she didn't say, adjusting his tie until she was content, her hand patted his shoulder, fingers sliding to his chest, “let's go, we're almost late.”

“Uhh, right, yes we should leave,” fumbling as he extended an arm for her to hold. 

-

Promptly into the event, he and Stratt were separated, she was swept along by politicians who were bragging about their roles in the project. She wore her fake smile, and he saw as the line of mouth grew thinner as the night progressed.

Every time he tried to intervene, another one of those crooks came along. And then he's being dragged by Ilyukhina to the bar, who's definitely more than tipsy. 

He really should stop accepting the drinks she gave. But the night was also for her and the other astronauts, so he took another shot when she and DuBois asked him to.

By the time he reached Stratt's side again, his head was still spinning. 

“You seem to be having fun,” she cast her eyes up and down his length, downing the whiskey she was nursing.

“It's stuffy in here,” complaining as he pulled the tie looser, “remind me to never drink with Ilyukhina again.”

In the corners of his eye, he saw DuBois and Shapiro making out, before less than subtly escaping the room, seemed like nothing would pull them apart with the time they had left. 

“The media's gonna have a field day with this.”

“The rest of the world will see just how human we are, they'll see what we're trying to protect.” 

For the years he has known her, it never failed to impress him how she's able to say the right things.

The music around them slowed, and in his dizzy haze, wished he could ask her for a dance. It seemed, however, that she also had that idea, offering her palm for him to take.

“I didn't know you danced.”

She lowered her voice, “there's a lot of things you don't know about me, Ryland.”

He flushed again, and he wished he could blame it solely on the alcohol running through his system. The sound of his name on her lips, how she smiled up at him, surely she's aware of her effect on him.

“Well, I don't know how.”

But she didn't answer that time, taking his palm in hers, dragging him out to the floor. 

“Why?” he whispered, dazed as she guided him to follow. 

Most of the crew would definitely see them, as dimly lit as the room was, and as drunk as he knew them to be—all eyes would inevitably be on Eva.

“Hmm, because, it'll look good in the public eye,” she responded, “you are very likeable.”

And he cleared his throat, “ah, of course, totally for pragmatic purposes.”

“Yes, of course.” But that glint as she stared at him told him something different. That was the nature of their relationship, whatever it was, there was no need for labels.

Clumsy as he was on his feet, she took hold of his hand until she rested it on her waist and instinctively, he found the small of her back. His thumb worked circles into her side, and she sighed into the collar of his shirt. Her breath sent goosebumps down his spine.

She smelt like jasmine and spices, whiskey on her breath, and if he weren't in a room full of his colleagues and politicians, he'd bury his face into her hair.

He only tripped once, but this time he concluded that it was the vodka and not because Eva Stratt was in his arms, her hand sliding up the base of his neck, nails scratching against his skin, and dang it this woman would be the death of him.

He'd always known she was beautiful, but under the glow of this dim lighting, she became more ethereal. The dance was more of a gentle sway, and even after he sobered up, they remained in that untouchable pocket, his eyes only on hers.

-

Eventually, they had to leave, the night had come to an end, but as they made their way back to their hotel rooms, their hands lingered on one another's, unwilling to let go.

“I suppose this is good night.” He stood in front of her door.

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Then, I'll see you in the morning.”

She squeezed his hand, sliding out of his grip, opening the door.

But before she closed it, “Hey Stratt.”

“Yes?”

He inhaled deeply, “sleep well.”

Another pause, “Grace.”

“Yes?”

She pushed the door further, “just come in.”

-

They passed out in each other's arms, Eva well past the brink of exhaustion. He should have expected it with how weary she'd been, halfway through their dance, her head rested on his shoulder, eyes closed as he led them.

She was a furnace as she slept, and though she pressed a cold nose into his neck, Ryland could not complain, not as she curled into his body, legs tangling the sheets.

-

As the crew were making their way back to the Vat, Ilyukhina punched his back, DuBois slinging an arm over his shoulder.

And when he made a noise of offense, she showed him her phone with twitter open.

“All our devices were scrubbed, how'd you get this?” Ryland fixed the glasses on his face.

She smiled so wide, eyes hers scrunching. “Ah please, what engineer doesn't know code? Anyway, dude we're literally viral.” Ilyukhina beamed, near vibrating when she handed him the phone.

“What.” 

He scrolled through the tweets, people celebrating a hope for their future, many about the astronauts and how, not his words, fricken’ hot they were, a clipped video of DuBois and Shapiro, and okay he did not need to see all that.

“Send me that,” DuBois said to his side.

And then there were some blurry pictures of him and Stratt dancing, at least her face was turned away, and in the darkness of the room, it was almost impossible to see the red of her hair. That relieved the breath from his lungs, that was until—

Wait a minute, he recognised those names, one tweet quoting, dang Mr. Grace, didn't think he'd ever bag a woman, another, so that's where my science teacher went, and, of course Mr. Grace fumbles around a pretty lady.

He groaned into his palms, of course his students found out.

-

They moved into Baikonur as the Hail Mary was gearing for launch, the final stage of this project nearing.

His cabin was situated nearest to Eva's, even he couldn't ignore that it wasn't intentional. The sleeping arrangement between them seemed to stick, when it was only them at the end of the world, when meetings dragged on and reports were due.

She confessed once that she slept much easier with him around, and Eva being herself suggested that they continue to share the bed, if only on the worst of nights. It made sense too, she became less snappy during the day, more efficient as she led her soldiers in the battlefield.

He wouldn't have said no, not when her head laid on his chest, arms lazily draped on her waist. Not when he breathed in the scent of Eva, her sweetness and spice. Certainly not when their limbs tangled under blankets, her weight drifting him to sleep.

-

Here, in the less trafficked edge of the Cosmodrome, the night sky sprinkled with constellations. He saw Hercules up above peeking through the wispy clouds, walking besides Stratt towards their cabins. 

Their shoulders bumped together, hands near brushing, and he understood this to be how she'd let her walls down. Vulnerability was a rarity with his director, but in the past months alone, even time bore through her thick skin. She was human, after all, as little as she'd let herself be, even Stratt could not deny how her heart bled too.

He was worried, always was, but with her especially so. She kept her eyes on the ground, stiffness in her steps. And he was keenly aware of how much weight she held in her shoulders, Atlas in flesh, all of humanity in the palm of her hands. They've barely had time to see each other, her at the endless meetings, him training the astronauts, paperwork or reports kept them busy.

But he saw when she left the main building, and decided then that work can wait until morning.

He didn't even need to say anything, as they approached her door, her hand wordlessly slipped into his, tugging him inside. She left him for a minute to change into sleepwear, and he's glad he left a change of clothes for himself some weeks ago.

When she returned she donned a turtleneck and soft grey sweatpants that he was pretty sure was his. It's endearing how these clothes engulfed her body, his hands found hers in the darkness, no moonlight spilling through. She remained where she stood, looking down to him sitting on the bed, a pensive knit between her eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” Ryland asked.

One inhale, held and let go. “Nothing, everything, there's so much to be done.”

Her eyes met his, her expression unreadable.

“Less than a week,” tightening his hold on her palms, “I trust you'll lead us to the end of the line, no matter what.”

That almost not-quite there smile reappeared, tilting her head, she leaned into him, staring. He noticed how she breached his space, face inching closer, he dared not breathe.

“I'd do whatever it takes to see this project though.”

He breathed, slowly, “I know you would.”

She peeled away from his grasp, hands sliding to his shoulders, trailing up his neck. The touch alone sent chills across his skin. Ryland had an inkling as to where this could go, and as daringly as he could, laid a palm on her hip, idly running his fingers along her side. His other hand raised to meet her jaw. 

Again she moved, slotting herself between his knees, tilting her head down, and he moved with her, stopping until they were mere centimeters away. 

He did not want to force her, uncertain as he was. If she wanted to pull away, then he'd let her make that choice.

Eva's breath on his face, their lips so damned close, her nails found his scalp trailing the base of his skull. She lightly tugged at his hair until his neck craned up. And oh, she was beautiful, she always was. Red locks falling loose over one shoulder, eyelashes fluttering as she looked through him. 

If she were the moon, he'd dedicate himself to orbiting her, wherever she'd go, he would follow, her tide, her stars, her pull on him. 

Eva closed the gap, that inch felt too vast. Her lips were slightly dry, yet incredibly warm, soft as she pressed even further. 

Ryland sucked a breath against her, slipping his hand underneath her shirt, feeling the softness of her skin as he crawled nails up her spine. He felt her fingers tangle into his hair, running across his head, this woman really might be the death of him. 

She sighed even more as she pulled back for air, a second that felt too long, before returning her lips to his. Her teeth grazed his bottom lip, and he melted under her touch, her in his arms, breaths becoming one. And nothing in the world felt more right than this.

He felt her smile as she continued to press more kisses, her first one all day, and he smiled back into her.

-

The day after, the sky turned gloomy, grey clouds obscuring the light of the sun. He walked up to Eva, two coffees in hand. 

Her eyes were distant as he observed her, like she was drifting into the dreary cold. But then he saw as she lit up when he came closer, her frame losing its stiffness, waving at her before handing her a cup.

Her crows feet appeared as she ordered him to take a compliment, her easy grin warming his heart. The way her defenses fell with him nearby, Ryland thought oh, he does love her, he'd spend all his days with her if she wanted him to.

“What are you gonna do for the next twenty years?” If only he had the courage to say it.

But she never got the chance to respond, the world engulfing into flames, shockwaves sending them both to the ground. 

For a moment, his ears deafened with nothingness, the heat of explosion the only thing he felt. His first thought was Eva, was she alright, injured? And he reached out, always reaching for her, wanting to pull her in, keep her from the fire that she so desperately tried to run into.

She was already ahead, feet sprinting towards the destruction, a madness to her steps. But as the blaze grew bigger, the heat permeating the devastation, she fell to her knees, body failing to hold herself up.

Dread filled him then, a buzz in his head. He ran after her, as far as she'd go, fire reflecting in the tears that she shed. 

-

DuBois and Shapiro were dead.

-

He sat in her office, cold, limbs feeling heavy. She didn't meet his eyes. Detached, clinical, she refused to look at him. Her face puffy, her shoulders raised, she sunk into herself and he should've seen this coming.

The news of his execution, she the deliverer.

The moon fell out of orbit.

But he couldn't, no, he was a coward born fool who'd rather rot with the Earth than to leave her. Thirty more years with her, thirty more he wouldn't get—

“You'd die with the rest of us.”

I want to die with you. He felt like screaming, to cry out to anyone who'd listen, please Eva, don't send me where I can't follow you.

Ryland glanced between Yáo and Ilyukhina, neither coming to his defense. His stomach dropped again.

“Can I think about this?” 

“You have three hours.”

-

He should've known there was no escaping, when Eva Stratt had her eyes fixated, it was impossible to escape her grasp.

But even as he was slammed into the ground, the Earth turned a violent thing, he caught her face staring through the window. The fiery red of her hair, the softness of her lips.

He wished he told her, wished he held on longer, wished he memorised her face and all its curves and edges. I love you, even when he was injected, body growing heavy with sedation, I can't do this without you.

His last thought was her, the smile she reserved for him, her in his arms, of jasmine and spice, of the moon and its tide.