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It had started out innocently enough. A single drink now and then at the end of a hard day, nothing that would raise eyebrows. In fact, given the amount of alcohol being consumed elsewhere on the ship, it barely even registered.
The hard days started coming more and more often, and the drinks came with them. They stiffened. A small glass of wine became a large one, became a whisky on the rocks, became a neat shot of vodka, became two, became three. It didn’t impact the work, though, never that. She would tip every drop overboard before she would allow that.
She didn’t think anyone had noticed. If the quartermaster noticed the rate of consumption increasing, he was smart enough not to say anything. No one else would dare, she thought.
It was a Tuesday night as she sat at her desk, the bottle sitting in the corner of her peripheral vision, calling to her. It had been such a hard day. They were all such hard days now.
There was a knock at the door.
”Enter.”
Grace walked in. He looked tired, but that was no real cause for concern; everybody looked tired now. She raised her eyebrows at him, encouraging him to speak. Instead, he pulled his own bottle of vodka from behind his back.
”It’s never a good idea to drink alone,” he said, his eyes drifting to the identical bottle on her desk then back to her.
She barked a laugh.
”Are you speaking from learned experience, Dr Grace?”
”I am,” he replied, raising his eyebrows toward the chair opposite her. She nodded to give him permission, and he sat down. “You’re going to end up killing yourself if you keep this up, you know?”
”So what, you’re here to supervise me?” She challenged, not bothering to ask what he knew or how he knew it.
”You drink, I drink,” he said coolly. “And you wouldn’t want your little science lapdog getting too dangerously intoxicated, would you?” He held her gaze for a second and then poured a shot into the spare glass she kept by her bottle. “But then if you’re keeping this reasonable, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
They looked at one another across the desk, and Stratt felt a smile start to creep across her face. She could see how desperately Grace was trying to maintain this cool, aloof exterior. Feel him fighting the urge to crack a joke or fidget with something. He was trying so, so hard, bless him.
She poured her own shot and lifted it, clinking glasses with Grace, then downing her shot in one as she watched him. His face twisted and pinched as he forced his own shot down. She knew she could push this, make him drink a second and a third. He’d drink the whole damn bottle if she made him. If it had been anyone else, she knew she would do just that purely as punishment for daring to act this insubordinate. But she knew Grace; knew what this was costing him, knew that he’d probably spent hours, days, working up the courage for this little performance. Knew he was only doing it because the man genuinely cared.
She put the glass down.
"Go to bed, Grace."
He cocked an eyebrow at her. Looked at the two bottles and then back. She took hers and put it on the shelf behind her. He nodded and stood up, picking up his own bottle.
”Same time tomorrow then?” He asked.
”I don’t think that will be necessary.”
He smiled and turned to walk away.
“Grace?”
”Yeah?”
”Thank you.”
He smiled again.
”What for?” He mimed zipping his lips closed, and that got a proper laugh from her.
”Go to bed; that’s an order.”
"Yes, ma’am.” He walked out of the room and closed the door.
Eva Stratt leaned back in her chair. It would be so easy to pour another drink right now; he would never know. Yet somehow she suspected he would, and she would, and she owed him more than that.