Chapter Text
Ryland Grace loved his life. Well, maybe not all of it. But the good outweighed the bad and therefore he loved it. He loved the cool morning breeze that ruffled his hair as he rode his bike to work, loved the taste of homemade soup from his thermos on lunch breaks, but most of all he loved his students. He woke up every morning knowing that he had found what he was made for, that there was nothing else in all the world that he would rather do.
One day, as he was about to leave the school to go admire the ocean, he was interrupted. A tall-ish woman with wavy auburn hair had reminded him of the most bittersweet moment of his life; she placed his most controversial hypothesis on his desk. It was something he still stood by, but had gotten him kicked out of his original field of work. This was the bitter; he'd loved his job studying micro organisms and learning about them. But he would love what came after his exile much more. The sweet arrived when he found his place at Grover Cleveland Middle. The article before him was something he used to dread being reminded of. But now, as it lay on his desk, cluttered with gifts from his students, models, and other teachery junk, Grace was grateful it all unfolded the way it did.
So when the stone-faced lady with the piercing blue gaze asked him if he stood by it, he said yes.
He didn't know it would lead him to a boat in the middle of nowhere.
The plane ride there was awful. Grace regretted shortly after they took off not taking the mystery pill he'd been given. He regretted it even more as he vomited into a traffic cone. But it was exciting, in a way, being back in the field he'd enjoyed all those years ago.
It was a shame he had such a predicament.
Ryland Grace had fangs. He hid them well, usually (it helped that they were retractable); never turned them on anyone who didn’t deserve it. But they would become a real challenge in the event that he’d be stuck on a boat in the middle of the ocean with no one who knew. Which was exactly where he was.
He wished it was easier to tell people. It wasn’t as if he was reckless, cruel, or terrifying. Quite the opposite, actually. Grace was careful–gentle, even–with his fangs. They were what he hated most about himself, so he was cautious and deft about who he told and what exactly he said. The select few who knew were immediate family and sometimes dear friends. No one else.
His students didn’t know. Obviously. He knew there was no way they would be able to keep a secret, but more importantly, he’d never want to risk scaring them. He hated how he would seem to them. He hated the way he pictured a kid looking up with scared eyes as blood trickled out of her nose, worried that something as miniscule as that would set him off. It kept him up at night, on occasion. Dreams were not often kind to him.
It wasn’t that he was violent, either. Not at all. He was legally registered, and therefore a crimson pouch double-wrapped in packing paper and sealed tightly in a cardboard box would show up at his door twice a month. He never had to be violent. Never even wanted to. It was a shame that’s all he’d be seen as.
He’d have to tell Stratt eventually. There was no getting around it. But if he did, he’d surely be kicked off the mission, maybe even fired from his teaching job. Grace had learned that people like him were not easily accepted by society. It was going to be a hard and embarrassing conversation.
So Grace decided to delay it as much as possible.
…
It was fun, studying the astrophage. Grace met many interesting people as he worked. Dmitri, a tall and good-spirited Russian. DuBois, the smartest oversharer Grace had ever met.
But best of all, Eva Stratt. At first glance, she looked cruel, cold, and heartless. And while her actions were swift, decisive, and assertive, they were not done out of malice. Stratt was an incredible woman, as Grace would come to understand. There was so much more to her than just what met the eye. She was insanely trustworthy, and also an incredible singer. Grace couldn’t help but admire her from a distance. It wasn’t romantic, he didn’t think, partly because he knew she’d never reciprocate. But mostly because he wasn’t all that interested in that sort of thing.
He’d dated in college. It was more stressful than anything. It honestly felt like a chore to keep the relationship going, and Grace already had enough on his plate. Sometimes people would make comments about it, but he always shook them off. It didn’t matter; he was happy as-is.
He was shocked to find out that’s what it looked like to the outside world. He was not, in fact, banging Stratt. What a terrible way to phrase that. He’d almost choked upon hearing it.
He had to take five outside afterward. He’d always loved the sea; it was one of the upsides of being relocated to a boat in the middle of nowhere. Grace could stare out into the deep and endless blue for hours, his thoughts quieted as the salty breeze brushed by him. It was something he’d done since childhood. A habit of sorts, to sit on the shore on overwhelming days and simply breathe.
Unfortunately, the peace and solace of the moment didn’t last long. Apparently, taking five was a very literal phrase used by everyone in Stratt’s Vat. Shapiro came out looking for him, lightly smacked him for his lateness, and told him to come inside. Grace complied with a sigh as he stood up and followed her inside. Some other time, he promised himself.