Chapter Text
One of the engineers is staring at me.
I think he thinks I don't notice because of the protective eye cover, or just assume he has some weird variant of lazy eye because he is still working on something in the meantime, soldering something or other together on his workbench - but I can tell alright. And it's cool, it's fine, I know I'm the new meat Stratt dragged onto her cosy little aircraft carrier lab, and everyone wants a piece of me. I'm hot stuff, the It Girl, for proving the Carl Hypothesis of Astrophage Reproduction (without even dying or losing any astrophage in the process, yay us) and making a little baby star-eater. The first to be born on earth. Woah. And I gave it away for further testing.
...are Carl and me deadbeat dads?
Never mind. Focus. Engineer Stalker, still staring. I can think about my firstborn later.
What I mean is, I understand that people on the Petrova Taskforce are curious about me. It's been a week, half of which I spent sleeping off the flight, and people have come up to talk to me constantly, with the flimsiest excuses, and it's okay, really it is. I kind of hate it - attention loses its lustre if the most of it you get for years is people laughing you out the door at scientific conferences, these days I can't deal with attention unless it comes from kids who are pestering me for another game of Earth Is Lava - but I can endure it. It'll calm down whenever Stratt brings in the next bright mind with a bright idea, and I'll become old news, quietly slaving away in my little plastic cubicle until the apocalypse gets really apocalypt-y. I'll bear it until then.
But this guy.
He's not coming up to me. He's just sitting there, hunched over his electrical- metallic- something, I'm not an engineer, I can't recognise the grisly innards of equipment on sight. And he's watching me.
So. I could probably keep ignoring that. Ignore him. He'll go away eventually, probably? Or, I could be a big boy and ask what his problem is. Or, uh. Maybe introduce myself instead. Say hello. And once Engineer Stalker fully internalises I'm not some sort of strange and magical alien species but just some guy in an Apple Pi shirt who hasn't stopped gnawing on the same twizzler for the last fifteen minutes, he'll hopefully leave me alone.
I wave. Awkwardly. But I wave.
The engineer doesn't even blink. He takes one gloved hand off his soldering tool, and waves back.
Huh. I kind of thought he might come over once acknowledged. I angle my head, kind of jerk it to indicate he could come into my space.
The engineer mirrors the gesture.
Oh. So that's how we're doing it, huh?
I mime a silly little dance move with my arms.
The engineer's lips twitch, the first I've seen his face move. Still holding the soldering iron - is that safe? - he copies the dance move.
I snort. Okay, maybe this guy is alright.
I get up from my little lab corner. The engineer turns off his equipment, and strips off his protective gear as I make my way over. He looks... about my age, maybe a bit older, or perhaps his flyaway hair is just greying early. Kind of attractive, objectively. I think. I'm honestly not that great at judging these things.
"Um. Hi," I say. Smooth, Ryland. Real smooth. Tell him you called him 'Engineer Stalker' in your mind next, really fudge up the social interaction.
"Hi, Grace," says the engineer. It comes out a little breathless. Might have something to do with the way he's grinning at me now, like I'm the best thing to ever happen to him.
I'm definitely not. Best thing - that's just not me.
"Do we- sorry, do we know each other?" I try. I'm not surprised he knows my name, but I'm a bit irritated he's leaving off the doctor. I mean, I'd be fine with Mr. Grace, it doesn't matter that much to me, my kids never used the title and that's fine, but this is a bit, uh. Personal? Familiar? I'm only barely on the 'ready to approach this guy without mace spray in my hand' stage of this relationship, I feel like the engineer has skipped some steps here.
"Professor Engstirn deserved everything you called him," says the engineer, and woah. Deep cut. Stratt knowing what got me fired is one thing, but this random guy agreeing with it, that's a different matter. I'm pretty sure my eyebrows go all the way up into my hair, and my mouth drops open.
"You-" I stutter. Is he- is this a fanboy? Holy shi- shingles. This whole Petrova Taskforce experience has already been so goshdarn weird, this might as well happen. "You- my theory- you agree with my-"
"Oh! No." The engineer is still smiling, like he can't stop it. He has very perfect teeth. "Your hypothesis is probably wrong. Sorry."
"...okay." I feel a little lost. I stick out my hand. "Uh. Ryland Grace. Me. You knew that already, but- yeah."
The engineer takes my hand. His skin runs hot. Very hot. He doesn't let go at what I would gauge as a socially-acceptable handshake time interval. Are we just holding hands in the middle of the lab-workshop space? Guess we are.
"I'm Rocky," he finally introduces himself. He has a hint of an accent, something lilting, melodic. I can't really place it.
"Rocky," I repeat, slowly. "Like the movies?"
"No," Rocky deadpans, giving me a look like I'm stupid. Rude. "Like the rocks."
"Ah. Hah! Joke!" I weakly shoot him fingerguns. Well, fingergun. He's still holding my hand hostage. "You probably get that a lot, huh? To have that response ready?"
"You're the first I've used it on." He's still smiling, but there's something achingly earnest in it. Jiminy Cricket, what did some blurry phone footage of me cussing out some uptight know-it-all at a conference do to this guy!? "Thank you."
"F-for what?" He's kind of freaking me out.
"For giving me an opening to do my joke. Obviously." That comes out sounding like a lie. Yeah, scratch that, he's fully freaking me out. I need to find a way to extract myself from this situation. Actually, I should start with extracting my hand from his grip. He's got amazing grip strength - he's not hurting me, not exerting any real pressure, but my weak attempts to take my hand back don't succeed in moving the fingers it's encased in even a fraction of a millimetre. Rocky's still smiling at me. His eyes are big and earnest and haven't moved from my face. I don't think he's even blinking.
Okay. Okay. Okay okay oka-
"Dr. Grace. I see you've met the Project's second engineer."
Oh, thank GOD, I think, and turn to where Stratt is approaching us.
"Yeah, we've really, uh. Connected," I smile weakly, trying to blink "GET ME OUT OF HERE" in morse code.
"So I see." There is a faintly amused look on her face as she glances down at our still-joined hands, and then sweeps her eyes over Rocky, who-
Who has glanced at her only long enough to give her a bombastic stink-eye, before turning back towards me, clearly determined to ignore her. Ignore Stratt. Eva Stratt. Head of the Petrova Taskforce. Woah. Does Rocky have some sort of death wish!?
"Mr. Rockwell," Stratt continues, perfectly unbothered by the display of blatant disrespect. "I'm afraid I will have to borrow Dr. Grace for a meeting."
Having said so, she turns around, clearly expecting me to follow.
I shrug apologetically at Rocky, who is glaring at Stratt's back with open suspicion, finally twist my hand out of the too-long handshake, and hurry after her, scrambling to catch up.
"Grace, I'm happy we met," Rocky calls after me. I think I can hear him repeat "happy happy happy" under his breath. I don't look back.
"You are full of surprises, Dr. Grace," Stratt mutters to me under her breath as we're both walking down one of the endless metal corridors that all look the same to me. I only got lost twice, then Stratt gave me a handy notecard with phrases in various languages to show the guards so they would lead me to my room, the lab-workshop, the mess hall, the nearest bathroom, or the big meeting room. "A shame that whatever powerful effect you have on Mr. Rockwell will likely not be useful for the purpose of solving the astrophage crisis."
"Yeah, I've got no idea what that was even about." I sigh. "Is he usually like that? So, uh." I grope for a word that doesn't insult either him, me, or, somehow, Stratt. "Attentive? Eager? ...intense?"
Stratt gives me a Look. She gives me so many Looks. I'm going to start a collection, and label this one 'presumably for ritual purposes' because I've got no idea what to do with it.
"Mr. Rockwell is brilliant, but he keeps to himself. Nobody on this vessel has seen him smile before today," she tells me, and then walks faster towards the meeting room.
"Right. Cool." I say, a little helplessly, and follow.
When I come back to my lab space, some other engineer is working at Rocky's station - and there's some little metal figurines left in front of my computer. I think they're supposed to be a little spaceship, and a little human - I think, but maybe I'm holding it upside-down - and something that might be a little stand that the spaceship is supposed to balance on...? Or it could be a five-legged metal bug. I'm honestly not sure, and for the rest of the day, I keep fiddling with it, holding it at random angles to see if that makes it make more sense.
In the end, I place it with the little legs in the air, and balance my mini earth beanbag on it. Looks good that way.