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I didn’t mean to say the things I said.
That’s the embarrassing part. I didn’t walk into the room planning to upend my professional integrity, my dignity, and probably several international laws governing mission leadership fraternization. I walked in with bullet points. Good ones.
They just… evaporated.
Stratt was standing by the table, tablet dark, attention fully on me.
“You’re out of arguments.” she said.
“I’m not.” I replied automatically.
“You are.” she said. “You’ve been circling the same ones for hours. You’re smart enough to know when you’re rationalizing.”
I swallowed. My mouth felt dry, like my body had decided hydration was no longer a priority.
“I can help more here,” I said. Again. “on Earth. You know that.”
She tilted her head in a studying way. “That’s not the argument you think it is. It’s irrelevant.”
I exhaled, slow and shaky. “You don’t get to just dismiss that.”
“I do.” she said calmly. “Because you’re not actually talking about utility.”
My chest tightened. “Then what am I talking about?”
She didn’t answer right away. She stepped closer instead, closing the distance with deliberate slowness, like she was approaching something skittish.
“You are afraid.” she said. “And you are lying to yourself.”
The word afraid landed, but it wasn’t the one that hurt.
“I am not afraid of the mission.” I said. “I’m afraid of...”
I stopped.
The rest of the sentence refused to organize itself into something defensible.
Stratt’s gaze sharpened. “Of what?”
I laughed weakly. “This is the part where I’m supposed to say ‘dying in space,’ right? Or ‘being forgotten’? Very poetic. Very human.”
“And?”
“And it’s not true.” I said, and my voice cracked, it ws traitorous thing. “That’s not the main reason.”
Her eyes flickered as if she hadn’t expected that.
I thought about a hundred things I could say... clever deflections, more moral arguments, professional distance. Instead, what came out was the truth, unfiltered and badly formatted:
“I know this is inappropriate,” I rushed on, because if I stopped talking I might never start again. “and unprofessional, and statistically stupid, and you can fire me or arrest me or whatever it is you do when people break your rules. But I don’t want to leave because I...” I stopped. The word sat there, enormous and dangerous.
Because I have feelings. My vision blurred. I hated that. I hated losing control in front of her of all people.
“I don’t want to part ways with you. I never thought I’d say this.” I whispered. “I never thought I’d let myself say it. But the truth is… you’re the reason. You’re the part I can’t rationalize away.”
Stratt inhaled sharply.
And there it was: surprise. Not discovery but more like recognition.
Lije she had known. Of course she had. Eva Stratt missed nothing. But she had never expected me to cross that line. I thought that I had always been so careful, good at containment.
“Ryland.” she said quietly. Not Dr. Grace this time.
I shook my head. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m not asking you to change the plan. I know you won’t. I just... needed you to know that this isn’t fear. It’s attachment. It’s… you.”
For a moment, she looked like she might step back.
Instead, she reached for me.
Her hand came to my jaw, thumb brushing there.
“This,” she said softly. “is a complication.”
“I know.”
“You should not feel this way.”
“I know.”
She closed her eyes. Just for a second. When she opened them, something different was there... something raw.
“You were never supposed to say it.” she admitted.
“I wasn’t.” I said.
Her hand tightened.
When she kissed me, it wasn’t restrained. It was decisive, almost angry, like she was punishing herself for the weakness and me for provoking it. I kissed her back like I had nothing left to lose, which, functionally, I didn’t. She pulled back to breathe.
“If I let this continue,” she said. “people die.”
I put my hand on her waist, before I lost my nerve, pulling her back in. “And if you don’t… I leave thinking the last thing between us was strategy.”
She kissed me hard again like she’d been denying herself oxygen. As if she meant to memorize the shape of my mouth and never allow herself to forget it. From that I knew she was going to and me away anyway. Dispite that I kissed her back again, with all the things I’d never said, every restrained look, every calculated silence collapsing at once.
When she pushed me back against the table, it wasn’t gentle, but it was reverent.
Her control fractured in pieces. A sharp inhale when my hands found her breasts. The way she said my name under her breath, like it surprised her every time. We moved together with urgency, with hunger sharpened by inevitability.
I felt her everywhere, heat and tension and intention. The way she pressed close. Every touch said now, because there was no later.
I wanted to tell her I loved her.
I didn’t. Love was permanent. This was temporary by design.
We made love on the table. I pushed into her warm wetness and she gave up controll, her fingernails dug into my shoulders. I memorized the way she fit against me, the way her control slipped when she let herself feel. For a little while, there was no mission.
Just us.
After, she stayed close longer than I expected. Her forehead rested against mine, breath warm, uneven. For a moment, Eva Stratt allowed herself softnes.
“I could stop this.” she said quietly.
My heart stuttered. “You won’t.”
“No.” she agreed. “I won’t.”
“I meant what I said.” I told her. “I don’t want to leave you.”
Her lips pressed against mine for a last time. I felt a teardrop run down my face.
Then she straightened, already reassembling herself. I watched it happen: the armor sliding back into place.
“I will carry this with me. This moment.” she said. “But I will still do what I must.”
“I know.” I said.
She met my eyes. And for once, she didn’t look like she was calculating outcomes.
“I am sorry.” she said.
The needle prick was almost gentle.
“Eva...”
“Sleep, my love.” she said, hand steady, voice not. “You are brave. Even when you don’t want to be. You’ll forgive me. History will.”
The room dimmed. I felt was her hand on mine, gripping like she was afraid she might let go too soon. Gravity failed. The last thing I saw was her face, unreadable again, mission intact, eyes wet despite herself.
My final coherent thought was painfully simple.
She loved me.
But she loved humanity more.