Chapter Text
The first time he notices it without the gift of hindsight is rather dramatic.
She stumbles, starts to look around-- panicked --in the small hallway to one of the labs. The scientists, the ones that have been working on... and oh god, Grace already forgot their names, continue to talk in English about what their parents would do to them when they failed tests. She reaches for the wall to steady herself, and before Grace can react her back is pressed against it. She slips until she can brace herself on the railing, breathing in sharp, short bursts. The way she shouts gives the impression of a swear word, but its not in a language familiar to him.
The two scientists turn and Grace reaches to catch her. She takes his arm with a tight grip and quickly rights herself, only the stumble toward the same wall less than a second later. It's like the gentle stability of the Vat in the ocean was more tumultuous than she could handle. Grace steadies her again.
She looks at him this time, really looks at him, with far more emotion than he's seen on her face before. More panic. She stammers something out, first a one-worded apology and then a sentence that almost sounds like German, but distinctly isn't. The other two scientists look just as baffled. Eva practically pushes Grace off of her and starts back the way they came, stumbling the whole way. First to one side of the hall, and then the other. He follows, obviously, waving the other two scientists on ahead. Grace thinks he says something about rescheduling, but his thoughts are elsewhere.
It's about halfway down the incredibly long hall and attempting to follow her without being too close and offending her that it hits him. The zig and zag from one wall to the next. It's with the gentle roll of the ship.
It's a ship.
He'd been on it for so long he'd forgotten. Sure it's heavy, but the ocean is a lot heavier by far.
A particularly harsh swell, and Stratt nearly goes into a trash can. He picks her up and this time, he doesn't let go. She has that same pull of her eyebrows and big wet eyes. He would never describe her eyes as big or wet and yet, in this moment, she looks small, like a scared child. She says something again, instinctual and quick definitely not German, but certainly the same language she swore in. Okay, what other languages does she know? English, obviously, Chinese, Russian, and-- Oh, she's speaking Dutch. Why is she speaking Dutch, especially to stupid little undereducated American him? She repeats the question, the inflection sounds like a question at least, does Dutch use a similar inflection? He's thinking too much, taking too long, she's waiting for an answer.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand. In English please? Stratt?" He searches her face for any sign of recognition, and she perks up at her last name. There are a few questions then, rapid fire, and not a single one he can give an answer to. Something sounds like the word "problem".
Yeah, clearly.
"I don't speak Dutch." He says. She looks like she really doesn't want it to come to this. The ship creaks. Who's taking too long to answer this time? Finally, with all the confidence of an American high schooler in their first immersive language class, she speaks.
"Where-" there's a long pause as she attempts to conjugate, then shakes her head. "Go out?" She speaks with a much more noticeable accent than usual. Grace nods.
"You want to go outside?" She nods. "Are you going to be able to walk there?" He says it too fast, or maybe the sentence is confusing. She looks confused, at the very least.
"Again?" He shakes his head. She'll get it.
"Need help?" She breathes a sigh of relief as she understands, this time.
"Yes." She says. Small, scared. He offers his hand and she takes it, offering what support she'll take the rest of the way down the hall. And she does, even with how much she nearly falls or tilts towards the wall suddenly. She says sorry every so often, when she thinks she's used him too much or pulls him towards the wall with her. But they make it, at least to the staircase, and Grace falters. Inside the small room, once the door is closed.
"Are you going to--" He stops himself. There's time for full sentences and relearning English later. She still looks like she is on the verge of tears. "Stairs?" He shoots her a thumbs up and a thumbs down. She shakes her head and points to his thumb pointed down.
"Val." She says, which sounds suspiciously like fall. He nods, then softly asks:
"Can I carry you? Uh- pick up? Lift?" She smiles-- smiles, what do you mean she smiles? --in recognition at the last word. It's wide and glowing and doesn't match her at all.
"Lift." She says. He reaches down to pick her up and she steps back, confused. The moment of miscommunication stretches as he tries to figure out if this was normal Stratt finickyness or a language barrier. His face scruntches. Oh, Lift is what the brits call an elevator. Maybe Norwegians do too.
"No lift." He mimes holding a baby. "Carry. Up stairs. Outside." She seems to get it this time and nods. Now he has to figure out the best way to carry her up the stairs. He isn't the strongest guy, and--
No, hold on, she's agreeing to let him carry her? Stratt isn't one to accept help, doesn't give him wide smiles, none of this makes sense and--
Stop. It can be worried about later.
He could hoist her on his back, but if he falls they're both screwed. The image plays in his mind, and neither of them come out unbattered, but she certainly comes out worse off. The same thing but forward seems compromising, at least, more than any other option, but if she can hold herself up it leaves his arms free to steady himself and lower the chance of him cracking his skull against the bottom step. Looking at her, though, that's unlikely. Not that she's not strong enough, but that shes so out of sorts. Bridal style might be functional. She can hang on his neck and he can support her legs so he has a hand free to hold the railing. Best of both worlds.
He stands next to her, decision made. She seems to understand, like she's been carried that way a thousand times, more recently than just in her childhood. He only can turn that idea over in his head once or twice before she wraps an arm over his shoulders and the other around his neck. She smells nice, which feels like an odd thing to think about in this moment, but what is he supposed to do? Like Patchouli and bergemot. With a quick movement he sweeps her up and-- hey, she's lighter than expected, even as the ship rolls under them. Grace makes a mental note to ask if she's been eating enough when she can speak in English again. Then he starts up the stairs.
He's surprised at how easy it is, and maybe he doesn't have to start hitting the gym. Or at least, he thinks that until he's up a flight and a half of stairs, but she wanted to go outside, so he's going to take her outside. His hand feels slick on the railing and he's kicked a step at least twice, but he isn't stopping now. A few steps later, her grip starts to loosen and her head starts to nod. He's forced to take his hand off the railing to support her. He isnt a religious man but all he can do is pray they don't experience a sudden wave. He staggers a few more steps and reaches the landing. Her head knocks against his, breathing slowing from the panic to a crawl.
Did she fall asleep in the middle of a panic attack? Grace us no psychologist, but that isn't how that works. He tries to look, but he can't see her face from here. This is the floor where the med bay is anyway, realistically he should just take her there. They can give her a quick check, send her to the mainland if she needs some kind of CT scan. They might have an easier time finding someone on the boat who can speak Ducth. And if she's lucky, the episode won't strip her of her position for Project Hail Mary.
She will kill him. She will actually kill him, and there's only one flight of stairs down to her room. Maybe if he takes her there, she'll wake up and be able to speak English and chew him out for waiting like a sad dog on the floor by her bed. And if not? Well that will be a perfectly fine time to take her to the medical bay. He has never seen anything like it, how do you forget a whole language? Multiple, possibly. At no point did she try to speak to him in anything but Dutch and the most bare English, but it's a good sign she recognized him. Then again, that doesn't make a whole lot of sense either. Well, going to the medical bay can be her decision in the morning. She will be fine in the morning, right? He starts to head down the stairs he just climbed.
Voices come up the stairs, and he stalls for a moment. It's too late, there's nowhere to go. She's unmistakable, and unmistakably sleeping in his arms. Word will get around. Word apparently already gets around despite their strictly professional relationship. He curses himself internally and tries to speed up. Going down is worse, actually, he can't see his own feet, and the voices sound like they reach the landing before he can. The door doesn't open. They keep heading up the stairs.
"Oh fudge." He groans. Guess he just has to grin and bear it. Or at least pretend like he isn't struggling, so it's as unembarassing as possible. He keeps going down one, trying to account for the pitch of the ship with each step. It is Ilyukhina and Yao. Of course it is. At least Yao is respectful enough to pretend he didn't see anything. His eyes flit away the moment he spots them. Allowing space for what is clearly a private moment. He is walking with Ilyukhina. She grins.
"And why weren't we invited to your lucky day?" Yao glares at her, and she cackles. He can feel his face flush red and he continues down without saying anything.
The interaction is short. Thank god. He takes Stratt the rest of the way to her room. It takes him a moment to figure out opening her door, and even longer when he realizes it's locked. Her key must be on her badge, which is on her hip. He struggles for a long moment until he finally gets a hold of it. Finding the right key takes several attempts. Eventually, they make it inside, the door closing behind them with a click.
The room is littered with papers and binders. There's a ridiculous number of laptops for one person's tiny quarters. He lays her down on her bed, right on top of the blanket, and brushes her hair behind her ear. She doesn't wake up. She's breathing fine, her pulse is slow. She's forgotten all but one and two-fifths of a language. She was behaving as though she suddenly realized they were on a ship. Grace sighs and sits on the floor by her bed.
Something is wrong with Eva Stratt.