Chapter Text
The second day of the conference was nearly over. All attendees retired to their rooms, relieved that there was only one day left. Ryland was too, though he'd miss some parts of living out of a hotel. The bed, for one, was luxurious compared to the mattress he had on the Vat.
But there was a hiccup that evening.
"This isn't necessary—"
"The entire world now knows you are the leading expert on astrophage, Dr. Grace, I will take no risks. You will have a team with you at your 'dinner.'"
"It's– It's not a big deal. I'll ask Tom if we can just go in a different room and order room service or some—"
"You think I would let you spend time alone with that man?" Stratt actually narrowed her eyes, nostrils flaring. "I do not trust Thomas Ryder. I definitely wouldn't trust him in the same hotel room as you." She straightened up, facing him head-on. "It'd be more apt for me to drop him into a river. Sad, isn't it, that it's winter?"
Ryland knew she was joking. He did. But there was something in her gaze that caused a chill to go down his spine.
"So I'll have guards at the restaurant." Ryland used his hand to ruffle through his hair. "I mean— That's not so bad. At least I'll be around people, for once. Civilians. These celebrity types, they're not real people. Not that they don't have rights or rough experiences! Just that they don't behave by standard societal norms."
Stratt looked at him as if he was dumb. Ryland shut his mouth, lest he ramble more about how celebrities were a terrifying breed that humanity created willingly.
"You will not be dining with civilians," she said curtly. "That is too much of a risk. There will be no one else in the building aside from those I clear. Mainly, personnel that I trust with your life. Your dinner will be prepared and tested before it is brought to your table."
Ryland shook his head, a smile of disbelief on his face. "Pshwa, it's not like anyone will poison me."
Stratt's stare told a different story. It was unsettling for her to look at him as if he was being ignorant. Ryland wasn't! He knew his place; he stayed in his boundaries. Stratt was the one who was dramatizing everything.
She walked away first, the slight click of her heels echoing through his bedroom. She was leaving to go to her own—or to attend a meeting. Ryland didn't ask. He was scared to, because despite how long the first day of the conference was, tomorrow would only be longer.
There were two more days for the conference. Ryland didn't have to speak any further, but he and Stratt stayed on the ground because there might be questions that needed to be addressed. It was simpler to stay in one spot, than to fly them back and forth from the Vat.
Ryland secretly thought Stratt was trying to be kind.
She was letting him smell fresh air that wasn't laced with the musk of fish or sea salt. She allowed him to eat food that wasn't prepared from the Vat's cafeteria staff. He had tried more dishes from the room service menu than he could remember.
It was kind, though he could never say that, or else she'd take it away. Stratt was the type of person who would not acknowledge it. She would be rather upset when it was known, and take it away as some sort of attempt to make the well-meaning accusation a lie.
He sighed, flopping against the mattress underneath him. Ryland had no need to worry. The rest of this trip was basically a vacation. He should enjoy it to the best of his ability, even if there was the slight speed bump of a date with Ryder.
Goodness, Ryland didn't know what came over him. He shouldn't have bargained to have a date with a man in a relationship, even if Ryland knew that it was likely a PR stunt. He covered his face with his hands, his cheeks flaming red, the burn bringing him back to reality.
He should have told Carl that Ryder was antagonizing him. Carl would have had Ryder dragged out, kicking and screaming, if Ryland asked him to.
Now, he had a deal to uphold.
"Wow, uh, you look stunning," Ryder said upon walking up to the table.
Ryland's eye twitched uncontrollably. Ryder was wearing a gawky outfit: a shiny gold jacket to match his rings, sunglasses that were likely worth more than Ryland's old apartment rent, and a shirt that he was almost positive was Colt's.
Colt must not know that Ryder raided his bag. Ryder wouldn't have shown up here if he did; he'd have been in the morgue.
At least the shirt looked good on Ryder, a little loose, but at least Ryland wouldn't focus on Ryder's chest for the night. The man was known for wearing tight shirts that made Ryland second-think every decision he made when Ryder strolled up to him. Ryland couldn't help but look. It was right in front of him, what'd you expect!?
Ryder stood off to the side of the table, as if he was expecting Ryland to stand up and hug him. Ryland refused to uphold any expectations. This was a transactional deal, nothing else.
Ryder patted down his thighs awkwardly, as if clearing off dust, and said when he glanced back up, "I knew you'd dress up for me, but I didn't expect you to wear the shirt you wore when we were on our first date."
What…? Was something wrong with this man?
Nervously, Ryland glanced down at his shirt. He wasn't going to wear a suit or dress up for this pitstop. He slid on the only science pun shirt he took with him to the mainland, and then put on his fox cardigan. It was lucky—and now he wondered if it was too lucky, not for him, but for Ryder.
As he looked down at the shirt, he realized with horror that Ryder was right. This was the same shirt he wore a few years ago. The barbecue stain had washed out, and with it, so did the graphics. They were a hazy gray, no longer containing the solid black lines of the periodic table.
Ryland dressed comfortably because he was going to be in an uncomfortable situation. Now, he wished he had worn one of the shirts that he was fitted for. He wouldn't have Ryder looking at him with a sappy, demure smile if not for that.
"Oh…"
Christmas Eve! Ryland couldn't just say that it was a coincidence. Ryder would tease him about it, or even think he was lying, telling a fib to save face. Dang, Ryland couldn't believe he did this. It was a comfortable shirt, that's all! He didn't mean to—
"Didn't Jean-Claude use slobber all over it?" Ryder sat down casually, chuckling during the exchange. "He misses you, you know, Rylie."
Ryland could feel Carl's eyes on him. The raised eyebrows, too.
Carl was sitting at the table next to theirs. He had a radio placed on the table by a glass of water. He was looking after Ryland and Ryder—for Ryland's protection, of course. Stratt's orders and all. Nothing new there. Ryland was squishy and killable, Carl was there to protect him.
"Jean-Claude… He's a dog that I only met a couple of times. He does not miss me," argued Ryland.
"Maybe he senses his owner misses you, then," Ryder said, firing off lines that made Ryland's face flush in second-hand embarrassment. "Animals are smart, you've said so. He can sense my longing for you."
Carl coughed into his hand.
"Can you just… shut up?" Ryland was this close to ordering soup so he could place his face in it and drown while on land.
Ryder replied in a chirp, "No. I want to talk to you." He propped his elbows on the table, and then rested his chin on his hands. "We have lots to catch up on. Have you seen—"
"I have not watched your movies," Ryland lied.
He did watch Ryder's movies, but not for Ryder. Never for Ryder. It was for Colt, and then Jody, but mostly Colt. Colt, who performed Ryder's stunts. Which led to Ryland analyzing Ryder's scenes more than the average person did.
Ryder's face almost seemed to glitch. He sat up straight, hand waving in the air, saying, "I wasn't going to ask that. I was asking if you've seen any aliens that don't rely on water to live. That was your entire thesis, wasn't it?"
"Oh." His voice was small, more than shocked. He was stunned, and it hurt more than the buzz of a tazer.
Ryder paid attention to that? He remembered Ryland rambling about his thesis, and how he was right?
Ryland never considered that Ryder actually listened to him. He talked a lot, especially back then, when he was upset and certain that he was in the right and everyone else was in the wrong.
Thankfully, the crackle of Carl's radio coming to life caused Ryland's attention to snap.
"Is the asset secure?"
Carl reached out his hand, grabbed the radio, and replied back, "Secured."
Ryland waved, giving Carl a self-deprecating smile. Carl set down the radio and picked up the glass of water, a single finger sticking out, moving, shooing Ryland away to focus back onto the date.
Gulping, Ryland turned to Ryder, who was looking at him with devoted attention as if Carl didn't exist.
Ryder looked around the room, caught the sight of Carl sitting at the table next to them, and promptly turned away. He would continue to ignore Carl's presence, just as he ignored all of guards and security he had to pass through earlier.
He was going to make the most of this night.
He had a couple of minutes to think of how to make it better. Of how to make this a memory that would last and linger in Ryland's mind for the rest of their lives.
Ryland had just left, an apologetic yet wobbly look on his face, as he said he needed to go to the bathroom. Ryland wouldn't lie about that, so Ryder waved him off, promising not to let him miss out on any fun in the meantime.
It was a lie. An accidental lie.
A woman entered the restaurant just a few moments after Ryland had left. It was timed nearly perfectly. Carl didn't so much as blink, or even turn toward Stratt as she entered, so Ryder knew that this was planned.
Stratt sat down in Ryland's chair. She did not touch the table, going nowhere near the food or drink. She didn't fix her blazer or push back her hair, as most did as a natural reaction to sitting down.
Instead, she locked her eyes on him. Stratt looked him up and down, taking apart his appearance with a smooth glide of her gaze.
After what had to be at least 25 seconds, she said in a calm voice, "You will not contact Dr. Grace any further."
What bullshit was this!?
"Why wouldn't I contact him? This is going well." Ryder couldn't believe how well it'd been, honestly. He couldn't stop smiling all night. This warm feeling in his chest was powerful; he didn't want to give it up. "
"You will not contact Dr. Grace," she said once again, not stumbling over her words. But then— "He may contact you first, but not the other way around. Are we clear?"
Ah, this was what Colt had warned him about, wasn't it? Stratt was the dictator he must've mentioned. Colt said that Ryland was well-liked by his boss, but Ryder had no idea that it fell into personal matters as well.
"Got it," he mumbled after a long pause, only remembering that Stratt wanted to hear him say it after her eyes blazed toward him.
Stratt exhaled, and Ryder did too. He released a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding. How funny, he thought. Ryland was so loved by his boss that she was willing to put herself in front of a person she didn't respect so that she could outline the boundaries to him.
"This was a one-off event," Stratt told him as his hand petted the silverware in his hand anxiously. "Dr. Grace will not be able to enter restaurants easily, nor will he be in this country for much longer. If Dr. Grace chooses to continue the relationship, your dates will not look like this."
Ryder already understood that. He could tell from how Gail nearly dropped her martini glass during Ryland's presentation that he was more important to the world than Ryder could properly comprehend.
Ryder knew that Ryland was smart—you couldn't date him without seeing it—yet he never would have thought Ryland was the world-saving type.
It was amazing, wasn't it? That they could be stars together, just both in their own ways. He was sure that Gail was already determining how to spin the story of him taking Ryland out for dinner ever reaching the public eye.
"I will not wish you luck," Stratt said, standing up, not giving him more than a cursory look, refined but disinterested. "I am rooting against you. I'd like for you to fail. Dr. Grace is prone to being distracted, and being in a relationship will not help."
It wasn't a slap to the face, but it was close. If Ryder hadn't known how to school his face, to smooth his features perfectly, then he would be gaping at Stratt and demanding her to answer his questions.
But Ryder knew he was less than what Stratt was worth. She commanded the room like directors did, just with much more authority and ease, as if she had power at her fingertips and would use it against those she saw as enemies.
"We need him back in the room by 2200," she told him as she passed by his shoulder, walking away from the table. "Any later, and I'll make Dr. Grace host a surprise closing ceremony tomorrow."
Ryder let out a shaky breath.
Stratt left, her steps never slowing or speeding up. She left the room, and no one moved. Even Carl, who had been fairly loose and inviting when Ryder was sharing a meal with Ryland. Stratt's presence was heavy, and it lingered with a gravitational force.
He shouldn't be surprised that Stratt used Ryland against him. Ryland would spin himself into a nervous breakdown if he was told to give another speech or presentation. He never liked speaking publicly, always saying that a classroom was much different.
Children judged you, but they didn't mean true harm. They merely said the truth. Adults, on the other hand, could make someone feel small without meaning to. They could try, too, and it would be worse. Ryland had said that parents were more difficult to speak to than hyperactive children with no understanding of the world.
Ryder would get Ryland to his room on time. Then, he'd have to hope that Ryland reached out, or else Ryder was going to be the most annoying man on Earth.
He wasn't below bugging Colt enough for him to reach out to Ryland in a desperate plea for peace. Ryder couldn't talk to Ryland first? Fine. If 72 hours passed after the conference with no word, then Ryder would make Colt wish he never signed the contract that made him Tom Ryder's number one stunt man.
The last day of the conference came. With it, were two conversations.
The first, a farewell between brothers. The second, a call between a stuntman and a soon-to-be director.
"I'm going to miss your stupid face," Colt said, his bag hanging over his shoulder. He was thankful that he wasn't carrying Gail's or Ryder's. With people leaving the hotel, vehicles were pulled up, and there was less of a haul.
Ryder and Gail were already in the car. Colt was the hold-up, firmly set in not leaving until he said goodbye.
"Gee, thanks." Ryland pressed his glasses up more securely on his nose, leaning against the frame of the door to his hotel suite. "That makes me feel great. Take a look in a mirror sometime for me, will you? I think it'll change your opinion."
Colt shook his head. "Nah, my face is different. I've broken my nose too many times for us to be mistaken for the other."
Ryland pursed his lips. His brother had a point, not that he'd admit that…
"Just go before I rethink my career and try to get fired," Ryland said, shooing Colt away.
Colt's face went through a myriad of emotions. He thought Ryland was really fucking dumb for thinking he had the capability of quitting. Stratt was a dictator, did he forget? And she liked Ryland. She wasn't going to let Ryland flake on her. He was her science guy; there was no replacement.
He needed to change the subject to something light. Something fun. He would crack a joke.
"Hey," Colt said, "at least you didn't kiss Ryder."
Ryland froze like a deer in headlights. His eyes went wide, too blue and too surprised. He stood away from the door, no longer slouching. In one instant, his fight or flight response had been activated, and his body chose to freeze instead.
Colt froze too. His heart skipped a beat.
"No."
"You see—"
"No." Colt pointed at Ryland. "We are forgetting I ever heard this. Don't you ever mention this to me. I will have to erase it from my memory again, and do you know what that implies? Drugs. Because I'd rather see unicorns than remember that my brother sucked face with Tom 'A-Hole' Ryder."
"Colt, please, don't—"
"I'm gone." Colt turned around. Ryland fumbled, but didn't walk off that far. He stood in the hallway, watching as Colt went to the elevator. When Colt turned to press for the elevator's buttons, Colt said, "Remember that I warned you off of that dipshit more than once."
Ryland bobbed his head, not truly listening. He had that blank look across his face. He'd probably message Colt later with a long-winded reply of why everything would be okay.
And then Colt knew nothing more of his brother. The elevator doors closed, Ryland's face frozen at that moment. Colt nearly gagged as he tried to reconcile with it.
He needed someone to talk to. Someone he could trust that would have his back. He pulled out the phone he received while they were checking out earlier. Unsurprisingly, Gail sent him a dozen messages demanding that he come to the car before they left him behind.
Colt dismissed those notifications, pulling up Jody's contact. The call picked up three rings in. Jody wasn't able to say anything before Colt was released.
"I can't believe it," he told her without any context. "My brother kissed that stupid fuck. What is he? In his twenties again? No, he's not. He's a fucking school teacher—no, worse—he's our dictator's favorite lapdog. Yet he spent his weekend kissing Ryder."
God fucking dammit. No wonder Ryder had behaved so well today, not picking any fights with Colt just 'cause he could. He was happy, nothing more than a cat who got the cream, pleased and content with his life.