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One ordinary Wednesday afternoon, Doctor Ryland Grace is sitting in his classroom after school has let out, just minding his own freakin’ business, when Eva Stratt barges back into his life and changes everything (again).
Okay, surprise pop quiz, kids, he thinks idly, watching with raised eyebrows as she knocks on his open door and strides up to his desk, perfectly casual and put-together, as if she didn’t walk out of his life five years ago and never speak to him again. Who would Mr Grace be more surprised to see strolling into his classroom? The President of the United States and his entire entourage? Or, drumroll, his ex-girlfriend?
“Hello, Ryland,” she greets him. “It’s been a while. How are you?”
“Well, I’ve just ended a long day of classes, mostly spent reassuring children that they aren’t going to starve to death in twenty years because the sun is dying, and now my ex, who I haven’t seen or spoken to in half a decade, is standing in my classroom for reasons unknown to me,” Ryland replies blandly, trying (and failing) not to let any sarcasm drip into his voice. “So, you know. I’m peachy keen.”
Eva doesn’t turn a hair, of course, just levels her gaze at him; nothing’s changed there. “I understand that this is unexpected - “
“Queen of the understatement, as usual - “
“But I am here in my professional capacity, because we need your help.” Her posture shifts, her spine straightening, her shoulders pulled back - Ryland recognises those movements, how she would slip into Administrator Stratt mode before going on the job. “Doctor Grace, many years ago you wrote a thesis proposing that water was not necessary for life to evolve - “
“Yeah, I know that, Eva, and I know you do too, because you spent a lot of hours in our apartment listening to me complain about my nightmare of a PhD,” Ryland interrupts. “You also know that thesis made me the laughingstock of the scientific community and it indirectly led to the end of our relationship, so I prefer not to be reminded that it exists. So if you’ve got a reason for bringing it out, could you get to it, please?”
Eva inhales a steadying breath, well-held irritation and impatience clearly simmering under her skin. “Fine. If we are talking about things we know, then let me chime in to say that I know you still believe in what you wrote, and I know it makes you the right person to investigate the Petrova line samples that splashed down last night and tell us what they are and how they work.”
Ryland raises his eyebrows. “Wait, who’s us? How are you involved with the Petrova stuff? When did that happen?”
“It’s a very long story. I am leading the Petrova Task Force, hence this visit to you.” She folds her arms, terse. “Time is of the essence, so I’d like you to make haste and come with us.”
“Why me? I’m sure there are a thousand other people who’d be chomping at the bit to help, who aren’t disgraced ex-scientists teaching in a middle school - “
“It survives on the surface on the sun,” Eva cuts in, ignoring his self-deprecation entirely. “Does that sound like a water-based lifeform to you? Ryland.” Her voice softens by degrees, and Ryland knows she’s trying to gently manipulate him into coming with her, but Christ, if it doesn’t still work on him. “Of course I remember you complaining about the PhD. I remember you being passionate about it as well, about your hypothesis, to the point that you never backed down despite everything that came with it. I am offering you a chance to prove everyone else wrong, and maybe be a part of helping to save the sun at the same time. Please take it.”
And God, it’s ridiculous, how after all this time, he still can’t say no to her.
Which is how he ends up in a box full of argon, being the first person on the entire planet to experiment on alien lifeforms that operate like nothing else they’ve ever encountered, while Eva and a pack of bureaucrats watch from a safe distance. He focuses on experimenting, testing, of course (everything aside, holy moly! The fact that he’s actually working with organisms from another planet! He’s still a nerd for life, okay, it’s incredible) - but every so often, he’ll catch sight of her through the glass, separated by two panels and a tunnel between them. Unlike the bureaucrats, who get visibly more bored as the hours tick on and start nodding off, she never looks away. Feeling her gaze on the back of his neck makes his skin prickle. Ironically, it’s the first time she’s getting to see him at work; he couldn’t exactly invite her into the lab just for funzies, after all, back in the day. He wonders what she’s thinking, whether she’s waiting with bated breath for him to prove her right - that maybe his findings could help to save the world.
When he finally confirms it’s a cell, she wakes all the bureaucrats and makes them clap for him, and the applause gives him a silly little rush until he runs the sample to check its constituent elements and -
Argh. Seriously? Dang.
Eva finds him sitting in the tunnel later, chin in his hands, feeling stupid (for multiple reasons, not least the frustrated mini-tantrum he threw and the chair he broke by slamming it on the floor like a kid). She hands him what’s obviously a consolatory bottle of soda (his favourite flavour; of course she remembers). “So. Made almost entirely out of water, huh?”
Ryland nods glumly. “Great to know that I’m still wrong about the only original idea I ever had.”
“Well, did you learn anything else?”
“They give off infrared light when they move,” he shrugs. “A lot of it - I don’t know how they store all that energy. And their wavelength is exactly the Petrova frequency.”
Eva says, thoughtful: “The light is how they move.”
“Yeah, they consume the sun’s energy, and then they expel it for propulsion. They toot to scoot, basically.”
She snorts, and Ryland can’t help but crack a smile. She always used to roll her eyes at his jokes, but it’s nice, somehow, to know that he can still make her laugh.
The moment passes; she grows serious again. “Why did it go to Venus?”
He holds up his hands, wishing he had the answer. “I don’t know.”
Eva replies: “Would you like to help us find out?”
Ryland squints. “What does that mean?”
“It means the same thing I said from the very start - that I want you on this project, on the task force. I am mobiling 347 biologists in 21 countries as we speak, and I would like to add you to that number.”
He searches her expression, even though he isn’t exactly sure what he’s looking for. He asks, hesitant: “If I said yes, what would that mean for me?”
Eva nods towards the anonymous grunts packing away most of the equipment and samples. “I would leave minimal equipment and a few of the cells with you, along with one of my assistants. You would have free rein to test them how you like. Once you make any important discoveries, give me a call, and we’ll take the next steps from there.”
“How about you? Where are you going?”
“You’ll find out when you give me something good,” Eva replies. “Until then, we have to keep things under wraps. But I believe in you, Ryland. Go forth and work.”
Now you believe in me? Ryland thinks. I could have used that five years ago. He doesn’t say that out loud, just nods and holds out his hand to shake hers. “Works for me. I guess I’ll see you soon.”
“I hope so,” Eva says; her hand lingers in his maybe half a second longer than it should, and then she walks away.
Things happen relatively quickly after that, thanks to Mr Assistant Carl-No-Last-Name’s big brain and his brilliant hypothesis about the Astrophage (he coins that term - pretty catchy, he thinks) seeking carbon dioxide. They build a box, they confirm the hypothesis, and Ryland knocks Carl off his feet when they figure out how Astrophage breeds. Ryland’s hands shake as he sits hard onto the floor of the lab, grabs his phone to give Eva a call.
She picks up on the first ring. “Ryland?”
“Hey, Eva,” he says, unable to hide the exultation in his voice. “Remember when you told me to call you after I got you something good?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I got you something good.” He grins when she inhales sharply on the other end of the line. “Carl and I figured out how Astrophage breeds.”
Silence for a full five seconds. Eva’s voice filled with urgency and emotion when she finally comes back on: “Don’t move. I’m sending a jet; be ready to go at any time. I’ll see you soon.”
“Ooh, a PJ?” He asks, but she’s already cut the call. Killjoy.
Decidedly not a PJ. Ryland tumbles out of a fighter jet onto an aircraft carrier in the middle of nowhere more dead than alive and takes two wobbly steps before Eva somehow manifests from the ether and catches him by the elbows to steady him. “Welcome on board. How was your flight?”
“Oh, just great,” he says weakly, looking around for an appropriate receptacle into which he can empty the contents of his stomach. “Can you grab me one of those traffic cones before I yarf all over the runway, please?”
Eva obligingly picks up a cone and pops it into his arms so he can retch in peace. “So, Astrophage reproduction. Can you do it at scale?”
“In theory,” he manages, despite being a little busy horking his guts out. “Just get a bunch of elbow-shaped pipe, put sunlight in one end, and IR light and CO2 in the other. Repeat. And whoomp, there it is!”
“Hmm.” Eva turns, attention briefly occupied by an officer who runs up to her with three large coffees in his arms; she passes one to Ryland and wedges the other two in the crook of her arm. “In two minutes we will be joining a very large group of scientists who are interested in hearing more. I would like you to share your findings with them, and when you do so, please do not repeat ‘whoomp, there is is’.”
“Still not big on fun, I see,” Ryland grumbles, but lets the perfectly-made coffee settle his nerves (and his stomach) as she guides him to meet her experts. And she was not kidding, there are a lot of them crammed into one room, and more listening in via video call. Ryland trails behind her as she steps up to the front - all eyes immediately on her - and says: “Everyone, this is Doctor Ryland Grace from the United States, and he figured out how to breed Astrophage.”
Dead silence - probably the shock, Ryland surmises - until Eva very deliberately claps her hands together, clearly expecting everyone to follow suit. He receives an awkward round of clapping, which is quickly abandoned in favour of questions being called from every corner of the room. “How long does the process take?” “Does it reproduce by mitosis or meiosis?” “What is the incubation period?”
Like being in the classroom all over again, Ryland thinks. Almost on instinct, he glances at Eva, who’s taken a seat at the end of the table; she just gestures for him to go on, so he takes a deep breath and forges ahead. “Okay, uh, well, to start, Carl and I made a mini Venus out of a plywood box, and as soon as the samples recognised the spectral signature of CO2, they…” He holds himself back from saying the four words that desperately want to come out of his mouth. “They moved rapidly towards the CO2 emitter. When we entered the box to secure the samples, we discovered a fourth organism. And… we think that’s why they’re going to Venus - they’re going to breed.”
He’s expecting more curious chatter, but instead, the scientists just nod, like he was confirming something that they already knew. “While your experiment was crude and clumsy, our scientists have replicated your results,” one of them pipes up. “We estimate an eight-day doubling time under optimal conditions.”
Ryland almost asks how the heck they knew about his experiment, and then immediately remembers who’s in charge of the whole project. She probably got all the details from Carl and disseminated a report before the jet even left the ship to pick him up; if there’s one thing Eva Stratt is going to be, it’s efficient. She beckons him over to take a seat, and another scientist continues as he wanders over: “How long to make two million kilogram?”
That stops him in his tracks. “Two million?” That is so much Astrophage. “Why on earth would you need that much Astrophage?”
Glances and hushed whispers between the scientists. “Nobody told him?” “He has no clearance - “ “What is he doing here, then - “
“Please stand up, Doctor Grace,” Eva’s voice cuts through the rising hubbub; she stands too, and he follows. “I hereby grant you top-secret clearance to all information pertaining to Project Hail Mary.”
And Ryland asks, suddenly, heavily aware that doing so is going to change his entire life in ways he can’t yet grasp: “What’s Project Hail Mary?”
He spends the next thirty minutes just listening to Eva summarise the project for him - the pattern of infection, the potential of Astrophage as fuel, the desperate plan to send three astronauts on a suicide mission to a distant star for the faint possibility that it might save them.
He listens to her. He absorbs. He also watches - watches the way she commands the room, capturing everyone’s undivided attention; the way her hands gesture to the screen, elegant and precise; the steadfast strength and belief in the curve of her shoulders. It reminds him of the times he sat in on meetings that she conducted at the ESA, speaking to crowds very much like this one, albeit on subjects that were much less dire. He’d loved it then, seeing her in her element, hundreds of people hanging on to her every word - and then meeting her in her office twenty minutes later to see her only having eyes for him, melting into his embrace for a kiss before they went out for dinner. What do you want to eat? He’d ask, eager to please her after a long day, but inevitably she’d squeeze his hand and reply, you pick. When she still cared about his thoughts, his opinions. That was a very long time ago - long before her declaration that he now lives on a boat in the middle of the ocean. Without a word of warning before he left his entire life behind, of course (not that there was much, but - principle of the thing).
“I wasn’t made aware that you were trapping me on this ship,” Ryland comments, after the meeting concludes and she walks him to his new quarters. “I don’t have a problem being a part of the project, but advance warning would have been nice. I mean, first you up and leave me without looking back, and now you won’t let me go? That’s ironic, right?”
Eva slows to a stop in the hallway and stares him down, cool and steady. “Doctor Grace, we are working on a project that could define the fate of the entire world, and we are professionals. I am asking you, as a fellow professional, to please put aside your personal feelings for the sake of our work.”
“Yeah, I know. Story of our lives, right?” He intends it to come out more bittersweet than it does - too much wistful sadness in it for that. “Fine, Director Stratt. For the sake of the ‘entire world’, I’ll be professional.”
She lets him into his room, but before he can close the door, she says, voice softer, the professionalism dropping for one brief moment: “For what it’s worth, Ryland? I’m genuinely glad you’re here.”
She leaves before he can respond, and all he can do is watch her retreating figure, not at all sure what he’s supposed to do with that.
Once they figure out the most efficient way to safely breed Astrophage, production ramps up exponentially, and Ryland finds himself in the lab most of the time that he’s awake. It becomes the centre of his life. The only times he sees Eva is when she pops in to discuss things about shipbuilding with Lokken, or when she takes him with her for meetings so he can translate the hard science to politicians who only speak in currency.
Which, admittedly, is a lot. It’s nothing like his PhD days, when he would spend weeks running experiments and writing reports in the university building, and she’d be busy at the ESA; back then, they could actually go days on end without seeing each other in person, only exchanging texts when they had spare moments to breathe. On the ship, he sees her more often than that. Well, he sees Stratt, tall and commanding and as ruthless as she needs to be. Not Eva, not since that glimpse he caught of her outside his bedroom door the day he ended up on the ship.
It took him so long to stop missing her, long enough that he’d mostly forgotten what it felt like. But he recognises it now, the twinge in his chest when she sweeps into the lab to speak to Lokken, nods at him on the way out and calls him ‘Doctor Grace’. He learns that it feels much, much worse to miss her even when she’s standing close enough to touch.
In some of the meetings he’s asked to join, she faces crowds of politicians and leaders and experts who try to shout her down, tear apart her findings or her orders; she never wavers, holding firm to what she believes, what she knows is right. Ryland watches and wonders why she left him for doing the same. A familiar seed of doubt growing another few buds in his mind - did it end because of something else? Something I couldn’t see? Why is it that after five years, I still can’t figure it out?
They’d worked so hard to build a language between them, one that had seemed to totally break down after the UNESCO incident. Does she still speak it? Would she recognise it if he tried to reach out again? Maybe with distance, they might finally be able to talk. Maybe with the sword of Damocles hanging over their heads.
But - he promised to be professional, and they’ve got bigger priorities, and she’s never been interested in second chances, after all.
Right?
They orbit around each other, off-kilter, balancing on a livewire, a tension that never eases. Ryland doesn’t think anyone notices, but is proven wrong one day when he chances upon two junior engineers in the mess, laughing about some incident that happened in the construction of the life support systems. He isn’t paying attention, focusing on his meal, until their conversation turns to Eva and he catches words that still send an involuntary flicker of rage down his spine. Such a bitch sometimes, right? and be careful not to piss off the ice queen; before he can tame his tongue he says, harsher than he’s used to: “Don’t talk about Stratt like that.”
Their mouths immediately clamp shut, expressions transforming to terror and guilt. “S-sorry, Doctor Grace,” one of them stammers meekly. “We forgot that you have - history with her.”
Ryland blinks, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. How did they - is that shipwide gossip or something, how do they know - “Where did you hear that from?”
They gape, mouths opening and helplessly closing like a pair of fish. “Uh, I saw… um, pictures… in this article. Before I came onboard,” the same man squeaks. “I mean… you’re both pretty famous now, outside… people just talk, and write stories, and post clickbait, and… sorry. We won’t bring it up again.”
Of course - naturally, even when the end of the world is nigh, people still want to gossip. He’s suddenly glad that Eva prohibited personal devices on the ship so he doesn’t have to deal with seeing this crap first-hand. “Just - don’t talk about her like that, okay? Not just around me, not just because we - “ The words die on his tongue; he doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. Because we used to date? Because we were in love? Because I think I’m still in love with her, never really fell out even when she broke my heart, never will? “She’s making a lot of sacrifices for the good of the entire planet,” he says instead. “Her job isn’t easy. You don’t have to like her, but have some respect.”
They nod madly, looking cowed, and quickly scurry from the mess. Ryland puts his head in his hands and wonders how, with Astrophage reproduction and interstellar shipbuilding and the end of the world on his shoulders, this could be the most stressful, confusing part of his life.
It’s a little pathetic how much he means it, how true it is - that he’s never actually gotten over her.
The thing is - they were together for so long. They’d met in university, though not as students - he’d been TA’ing while completing his Masters’; she’d been invited back to deliver a couple of guest lectures. He’d been struck by her from the start - her beauty, her intelligence, her steadfastness, her grit. He’d never thought she would give him a second glance, not him with his weird, nerdy brain, even weirder way of seeing the world; nowhere near as brave nor brilliant. Let alone fall in love with him like he did her, end over end with no chance of coming back up.
She’d seen things in him he’d never been able to see in himself. She’d been the one to push him to get his PhD, to dream bigger for himself, and he’d always thought that was the worst part of it all, when that was ultimately what tore them apart. She’d had esteemed colleagues at that UNESCO conference, sitting there watching him explode on a more distinguished scientist mocking him for all the world to see - his actions, the sole person to blame, but he wasn’t the only one who’d had to pay the price. Part of him had thought, even then, that maybe it was better for her to walk away, so at least one of them would keep their careers. It had hurt - he’d thought it would hurt for years - but whatever he might say to her in a moment of anger, or grief, he’d never really blamed her for it. She’d always deserved better than him, after all.
She’d deserved better, and yet she’d wanted him, chosen him; he has countless memories of her - head pillowed on his chest while they looked up at the stars in a grassy field out in rural Germany; hand in his as they wandered through the halls of the ESA, walking her to her new office her first day on the job; kissing her goodbye in the doorway of the apartment that they shared when she left for work. Feeling lucky, grateful, in every one. Seeing a lifetime filled with more of those moments - he’d seen her in every vision of the future, until he hadn’t, and now they (and everyone else) might not have one at all.
Loving her had become a part of him, one he’d managed to bury in the years since it ended, but here, now, with every tiny wound that reopens when he sees a flash of her hair, the line of her jaw, the way her fingers wrap around her ever-present coffee cup - he knows that it’ll live in him until the day he dies. Even if she never loves him back again.
His gut twists when Eva introduces him to the flight team. Yao is calm and good-humoured and quick with his wit; Ilyukhina is the brightest, sweetest soul he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting; DuBois is whip-smart, so easy to talk to, with a friendly word for everyone he meets. He likes them immediately, and he hates that they’re going to die. They stand so proud and unwavering in the face of a death they know they’re coming closer towards every single day, a death they’ve signed up for in service of the greater good. When he tells Yao he appreciates what they’re doing, Yao smiles and says: “You would do the same,” and Ryland knows, beyond a doubt, that he couldn’t be more wrong. “I would choose just not to go at all. I don’t have the bravery gene that you all have, trust me.”
“It’s not a gene,” Yao says sagely. “You just need to find someone to be brave for.”
Ryland’s gaze shifts involuntarily to Eva, lagging behind them as she talks to the secondary flight crew. He swallows past the dull ache in his chest. Absurd to think he would be courageous enough to die for her - not when he can’t even find that courage to talk to her, to ask for her honesty, to get the answers to questions that have lingered in his mind for years.
He wishes he could be as brave as them. (As brave as her.) (He knows he never will be.)
A month before the Hail Mary departs, they sail towards the launch facility in Russia, where they’ll work towards the final stages of preparation. The crew goes to Eva with a request for a celebratory bash in the lounge and are delighted when she approves, even more so when she turns up at the start with a box of free caps, emblazoned with the Hail Mary mission emblem; within minutes most everyone in the room has a cap shoved firmly on their heads. There’s a general atmosphere of chaotic delight, everybody helping themselves to cocktails and picking songs to desecrate on the karaoke machine and sharing dances in the middle of the room. Ryland lets himself be twirled around by Carl (surprisingly good at waltzing and flatly refusing to tell Ryland where he learned it), Dmitri (makes a game of stepping on his toes as many times as he can get away with), and Ilyukhina (terrifyingly strong and agile, nearly dislocating his elbow when she spins and dips him with vigour). He escapes to the bar once Ilyukhina lets him go, realises only after he pours himself another gin and tonic that Eva’s disappeared from the crowd, unnoticed.
He blames the alcohol for the impulsive decision to find her. She’s in the first place he looks - up on top deck, leaning on the safety rail, looking out at the setting sun, darkening sky, endless sea. There’s that familiar squeeze of his heart when he’s brought back to the past - he’d thought she would be here precisely because he remembers how much she loved the open air, the peace that came with being alone, with nothing but the clouds and stars above her head. There were so many nights when he would get home late and find her on the balcony, standing in the exact same position. He’d walk up to her, wrap his arms around her waist; she’d lean back against him, wait for him to brush a kiss to the top of her head, and say, welcome home.
(After she left, he’d never gone out on the balcony again. He’d sold the apartment three months later, moved back to the United States. The crappy little place he’d found in San Francisco didn’t have a proper kitchen, let alone a balcony, and he’d been grateful for it.
But he’s missed standing out here like this, feeling the wind on his face.)
“Hey,” he calls, before he can think better of it. “Permission to come aboard?”
She turns to meet his gaze, and her expression doesn’t seem to be telling him to butt out, so it’s a good start. “You’re already aboard,” she replies, which he easily reads as an invitation to join her. He keeps a few careful inches between them when he rests his arms on the rail beside her, sucking in a breath of cold air through his teeth. “Decided to escape the party?”
“It’s not for me,” she says. “It’s for them.”
“It’s sort of for everyone. I think that was the point.”
She laughs; there’s no mirth in it. “I’m aware that most of them are uncomfortable around me,” she says. “Camaraderie helps them do their job. Not so much me. It was for the best that I made my exit before I overstayed my welcome.”
“Huh. Is that what you were thinking when you broke up with me too?”
He knows, the second the words come out of his mouth, that he’s gone too far. She goes perfectly still, fingers tightening around the steel rail, and he can tell from the tension seizing her limbs that she’s going to step away and leave; Ryland tamps down the panic flaring in his gut and lightly wraps his hand around her wrist before she can move. “Wait, wait, no, don’t go, just - I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I don’t know what I was thinking, I - “ Ryland spans his free hand across his face, huffing a sigh. “Sorry. It’s the drinks. I know that wasn’t professional.”
She doesn’t look at him or acknowledge his apology. Ryland doesn’t push; he deserves that - but he doesn’t let go of her wrist either, doesn’t want her to walk away (again). He’s still trying to find the right words to continue when she gets there first. “Is that why you think I left?”
“No, of course not,” he immediately replies. He sighs, trying to draw courage (or at least a looser tongue) from the gin in his system. “I know you left because it was the practical thing to do, that your career would probably have suffered otherwise - and I get it, okay, I got it then, too, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt, and I wasn’t angry about it, but - “
“I didn’t leave you for my career,” Eva interrupts, tight and clipped and, Ryland realises after a beat, his stomach dropping a mile, genuinely hurt. She inhales shakily and exhales again, deliberately slow, through pursed lips. “I know we didn’t talk about it the right way, and that was my fault, but I never thought you would really believe, even after all this time, that I left to protect my job. Did you really think so little of me?”
“That’s not what I mean,” he gapes. “And the point is that I wouldn’t have blamed you if it had been the reason. You were rising so high, Eva, they were giving you all the promotions that you earned, you were getting everything you deserved, and - “
Eva barks another harsh laugh. “Did you really feel like that, back then?” When he nods, bewildered - of course he did, always; whatever else might have happened between them, he was so proud of her and her brilliance, the entire reason why he fell for her - she just gives him a sad smile. “It never seemed like it. After Denmark, after you lost your job, you just always seemed resentful over mine.”
His first instinct is to protest, but he keeps a lid on it, struggles to think back to the grey fog that surrounded his life in the months after he was fired. So much of it has been blocked out, consciously or not, so that he could go back to living a mostly-normal life, do right by the kids. He realises it wouldn’t be fair to go on the defensive, so he listens quietly as she continues, “I didn’t leave because I was choosing you over the job, Ryland. I left because you spent months just miring in your misery, your cowardice, your self-pity. I was so proud of you for standing by your beliefs,” she whispers. “Even if you were punished for it. I wanted to be right there by your side, letting you lean on me while you navigated your way out of the darkness and found something new to fight for. I even tried to help in the ways I could. I tried,” and it feels like some of the fog clears, Ryland recalling brief, faded flashes - concern written on her face; her hand squeezing his shoulder; her voice offering reassurances, advice, a listening ear, suggesting therapy, a break, a career change, a thousand other things. Let me help, let me be there with you, let me in - but he hadn’t, not once. “You were bitter, Ryland,” she says. “And it became very clear that you would never be anything more than that as long as I stayed, because I wasn’t good for you, not any more. You would never heal, or move on. So - I left.”
He can’t catch his breath, can’t stop staring at the haunted, quietly heartbroken veil in front of her eyes. “I thought that once I walked away, things could change and improve for you. And I was right - I knew I was right when I watched you in your classroom, working with those children, even when you were answering questions that you found so hard to answer. That was a life that clearly fulfilled you and made you happier than I ever did.”
Nothing has ever made me happier than you, he wants to say. She looks away from him, back at the horizon, her voice breaking just the tiniest bit when she finishes: “If I had a choice, if I didn’t truly and honestly believe you could help us save the world, I wouldn’t have taken you from them. I mean it.”
They’re silent for a long, long time. Ryland closes his eyes, breathes deep, and decides, eventually, that he’s going to need a little more than a minute to re-process five years apart from the most important person in his life, five years of heartbreak that were a little her fault, a lot his, all theirs. For now, he tugs gently at her wrist and says: “Come back to the party with me.”
She stares at him, bewildered, like he’s lost his mind; Ryland squeezes gently and adds: “Please. Just for five minutes. For the crew, if not for me.”
“They don’t care if I’m there or not - “
“Yes, they do. And they care about you, just like you care about them.” She cares so much she would give up her life in a heartbeat if that was what the mission needed, and it breaks her heart that it never is. She cares so much that she would always put humanity above herself, even if she suffered for it. She cared so much about him, enough to leave, and he doesn’t want her to spend another day believing that he doesn’t care about her right back.
And by some miracle, she trusts him enough to finally say: “Okay. Fine. Five minutes.”
Ryland makes a beeline to the karaoke machine the second they walk through the door of the lounge. His heart pounds in his ears as he skims quickly through the song selection; he knows the right choice the second he sees it.
He thinks about her voice when he loads it up. About her telling him more about her childhood three months into their relationship, opening up to him over a shared bottle of wine - singing in her East German youth choir, using music as her escape when things got bad at home. She’d stopped when she got older, because it stopped relieving her burdens as they grew heavier. She’d refused to sing again until she met him, and even then, never in public, certainly never at karaoke nights - but sometimes at home, especially when he was ill or particularly tired. He’d close his eyes and let her voice, clear and sweet, take him away. He’d never done the same; she’d never asked. But right now, it feels like the only way to rediscover the vocabulary they used to share. So he brings the mic to his lips as the melody rolls in, looks straight at her across the room, and sings. “Just stop your crying, it’s a sign of the times…”
The crew cheers, but he can barely hear them. He only has eyes for her - for the soft smile that curves slowly onto her face, the distance between them gradually closing, wounds mending. A new understanding between them, now with space and time to grow.
Maybe. Maybe they can begin again.
They’re side by side just beyond the gates of the Research Centre, a mere week after their feet meet dry land for the first time in years. They’re catching a breath before they go back to their separate tasks, looking out at the expanse of the launch facility. In three days, the Hail Mary leaves Earth and takes the hopes of eight billion people with it. After that, all they’ll be able to do is wait.
“Eva,” Ryland says softly, fingers curled around his cup of coffee, shoulder brushing hers where she sits beside him, no breathing space between them. “What are you going to do for the next twenty years?”
“Keep going,” she answers without hesitation. “We still have work to do.” She looks at him, soft and open. “How about you?”
“The same, I hope. Specifically with you.” He hopes she can hear the question in that, and when she smiles, genuine, eyes crinkling around the edges, he thinks she does. “Four years ago, when I came to you, you asked me why you. Do you remember?”
“Yeah, of course. And it was because you didn’t have a choice - or because I was the right choice.” The same thing, in the end.
“Yes,” she agrees. “But if I did have the choice, I would have still wanted you with me. Because there are only two ways this ends, Ryland Grace - we succeed, or we die. If we succeed, there is no one else with whom I want to spend the rest of my life. And If we don’t, there is no one else I would rather die beside.”
His eyes water. Ryland thinks about his years upon years of loving Eva, a universal constant from the day they met, and the fact that, despite everything, she’s never stopped loving him too. He presses his lips to her forehead, the words coming so much easier now. “Thank you for doing what was right for me, even if I didn’t know it then. For believing in me. And for walking back into my life.” He doesn’t say it yet, but he knows now that he can, he will, one day: I love you.
Her hand finds his without needing to look. Ryland holds on tight, knowing that he’s never letting go again. Not for the next twenty years; not for the rest of their lives, no matter how long that might be.
TWENTY YEARS LATER
They’ve been sailing for days towards the designated coordinates, the icebreaker doing its job to carve its way through the ocean. They’re eating warm toast in the mess, multi-tasking paperwork, when a tall, twitchy slip of an assistant pokes his head past the doorframe, radiating excitement that he can barely keep out of his trembling voice. “Director Stratt-Grace, Doctor Stratt-Grace? Um! Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but it’s urgent! We’ve just gotten word from the observation team on deck - they have visual on the Beetles!”
Chills run across his skin, hearing the words they’ve been waiting to come for years. Eva puts down her fork and gets up from the table, Ryland following suit. “Thank you for the prompt update, Salling. We’ll head up straight away. You can go back to your work now.” She strides with purpose towards the hallway as he scurries off, reaching behind her for Ryland’s hand - an instinct now, born from two decades of finding each other by touch, over and over and over again. Her grip is strong, certain, warm aside from the cold band of metal around her ring finger. Ryland falls into step beside her, grins wide, and sees it mirrored on her face. His heart races faster at the thought of what the Beetles might contain, but he knows that, whatever it is, they’ll face it together. Just another day of saving the world.