Work Text:
Eva Stratt strode into one of the small rooms that had been converted into a conference room on the Vat, Grace a half step behind her. She left him to close the door while she sat down at the table, pulling out her laptop, quickly setting it up for the conference call scheduled to take place in three minutes.
“Thank you for joining me on this call, Dr. Grace,” she said, loading up the meeting invite before tucking her hair behind her shoulders and straightening her collar. “I’m sorry I interrupted you from your work.”
“It’s okay,” responded, waving a hand as he took a seat next to her, “but why do you want me here again? I’m not even really sure who this meeting is with.”
“It’s with a delegation of leaders and government officials from North and South America,” she explained, “discussing mining contracts and materials needs for the project. This meeting is entirely unnecessary, I already sent them an email with the details — but they’re thrown a fit, and so I’ve allowed them fifteen minutes, and told them to use them wisely.” She sighed, shooting him a look. “You are here, because one of the men is particularly misogynistic, and is incapable of taking me seriously. However, if I show a man,” she gestured to him, “sitting next to me and agreeing, he won’t have any problem with what I say. So, just nod along as I talk, and all will be well.”
Grace made a face. “That’s ridiculous — not you,” he corrected, “I mean, the fact that you have to do this to be taken seriously. You’d think the whole ‘the sun is dying’ thing would move the human race past some of these prejudices.”
“Yes, well, some people would still be screaming their prejudices even as a nuclear bomb detonated in front of their face.” She studied him, taking in his appearance — his hair stuck at odd angles from raking his hands though it in the lab, and she reached out, smoothing down the worst of the tufts. “There.”
“Oh.” He smoothed his own hand over his hair, giving her a sheepish look. “Thanks. Wasn’t prepared to be camera ready.”
She shrugged, and then the meeting notification chimed on her laptop — someone had started the call.
Instead, she sat, staring at it, and she watched out of the corner of her eye as Grace looked between her, the meeting notification, then back to her. “Are you… going to answer?”
Stratt looked at him, giving him a small half smile. “I like to make them wait.”
He laughed, reaching out to squeeze her knee, the only sign of affection they allowed themselves before Stratt straightened, set her face to neutral, and joined the meeting.
The meeting was going as well as could be expected — she kept her voice short, terse, discouraging needless questions and interjections, and for the most part the officials respected the boundary. Grace nodded sagely at her side, a gesture so absurd to her that she wanted to laugh, but the bit fooled that particular Chancellor into keeping his mouth shut. It seemed, for the first few minutes, that everything might go smoother than she expected.
But then, to her utter frustration, she began to shiver.
She cursed wildly in her mind, tightening her core almost painfully to keep the tremor of them out of her voice as she continued the meeting. Chills slipped down her spine like ice water, sending her thighs quivering, her shoulders shaking, and she could only pray that the computer’s camera was low enough quality that the other meeting attendants couldn’t see.
Grace was subtly eyeing her — she could feel his gaze flicking between the screen and her, and she covertly reached under the table, quickly squeezing his knee, a silent not now. Luckily he listened, his gaze returning to just her laptop, but she could feel his body, now tense beside her, like he was poised to leap out of her seat and to her aid at a moment’s notice.
She breezed through the rest of her talking points, answered the few questions that interrupted her — she needed the meeting to end quickly now, for once the chills started, she had thirty minutes, if she was lucky, before the migraine pain started, and the rest of her day would be much better if she could take painkillers soon, hopefully keeping the edge off the pain.
Finally she reached the end of her agenda, and Grace nodded once more for good measure. “Now, are there any pressing questions that absolutely must be addressed immediately? Otherwise, please direct your followups to an email — Dr. Grace and I have a very packed schedule to return to.”
Her teeth nearly chattered with the chills, God she just wanted to boil herself in a hot shower until the shivers passed. By some small miracle, none of the delegates spoke, and after several seconds of silence, she quickly shut down the meeting, ending it before any of them could think of something to ask.
Closing the meeting invite, she slammed the laptop closed, and finally let the chill she’d been stifling wrack her bodily. She reached for her bag, quickly finding her tin of ibuprofen, at the same time that Grace was reaching for her, halfway out of his chair, his hands on her shoulder and arm.
“Eva? What’s wrong, God you just started shaking out of nowhere, are you sick?”
She thought his fingers were surreptitiously on the pulse in her wrist, and she let him have it, fishing out four pills with her other hand, popping them in her mouth. “Migraine,” she muttered around the pills, and swallowed them with her coffee, grimacing when she’d realized it had gone cold. “Attacks sometimes start with chills — I’m alright.”
The fluorescent light of the room was becoming harsh, her eyes becoming sensitive — she may be too late to stop this one.
“Oh,” he sighed, sounding relieved, and she nearly glared at him — she was glad someone could be relieved. “I've heard of migraine chills, never seen or experienced them before, though.”
She started to gather her computer, tuck it back into her bag, when Grace stood, his hands shifting as he moved to stand behind her. He began to run his hands firmly up and down her shoulders, her arms, the drag of his hands generating a warmth even through her pullover that made her sigh, leaning into his touch until her head rested against his stomach. That too was warm, and she had a sudden urge to crawl into his arms, wrap herself around him until she was warm again, where he could hold her together until the shaking stopped.
Then his hands were gone, and she wanted to whimper, her eyes slipping closed. No, she told herself, that was foolish — she was fine, she would be fine, she needed to get back to work, in any case. Like a list, she ran through the steps in her mind — gather her things, then walk to her office, shut the door. She had another meeting in twenty three minutes, enough time pull out the heating pad she kept in her bottom drawer, maybe ask someone to bring her coffee, hot—
Before her list could continue any further, Grace’s hands were on her again. This time they pushed her forward, just an inch, and then something thick and warm wrapped around her, just as another chill slid down her spine. She looked down, and saw foxes grinning back at her — his beloved cardigan, warm from his body, now wrapped around her like a hug, a prayer, a devotion.
“Here,” he murmured, adjusting the fabric on her shoulders, “slip your arms in.”
She did, then wrapped the garment more securely around herself, taking an indulgent moment to burrow into it, tucking her chin as though she tried to huddle in on herself for warmth. It smelled like him, citrus and soap and something distinct to him, a comforting scent that alone seemed to seep some warmth into her bones. The fiber of it was soft against her chin, well worn and cared for, and the feel of it gave her a sudden desire to slip back into sleep, wrapped securely in his warmth and scent.
He sat back down, turning so that they were face to face, and he reached out, rubbing his hands over her knees again to warm her. “How long do the chills normally last? I’ve never seen you have them.”
She shrugged, closing her eyes, allowing herself another moment to just breathe in that scent, Zuhause. “By the time the pain starts, typically, they’re gone. Sometimes they last a little afterwards. Depends on the type of migraine, I think.”
He nodded, stroking his thumbs over her thighs in comfort, and she blinked her eyes open to look at him, despite the sensitivity of her eyes. There they sat, studying each other for a moment, eyes flicking across the other’s features, learning, wondering, a rare quiet moment in their days otherwise filled with such chaos. She was reminded, just then, of over a year before, when he’d first learned of her migraines, had stumbled his way through offering to help. How far they had come in that time, where he could gaze at her so freely now, could help her so effortlessly. Could know her so well to warm her with his hands — could love her so much to offer the clothing off his back.
Then, to her great amusement, she watched a faint blush creep across his cheeks, his gaze drop back down to her knees. Perhaps not everything had changed, then.
He cleared his throat, then looked back up at her, peering over the rim of his glasses. “You could go back to your room, take a hot shower? Would that help with the chills?”
She stared at him, lifting an eyebrow, and he huffed out a laugh, dropping his gaze back to her knees, a faint trembling still running through them. “Alright, alright, I know you won’t take a break midday. Can’t blame a guy for trying though.”
She just hummed, then sat up, keeping the cardigan wrapped tight around her. “This helps enough, for now.” She gestured down at the garment, saw a little flash of pleasure and pride in his eyes. “I do need to get back to my office.” She took one more moment for herself, closing her eyes against the lights. She still shivered lightly, but something about the garment wrapped around her really did seem to stave off the worst of it — maybe it was placebo, but nonetheless, she was grateful for the relief.
“Can I do anything else to help?” he asked, standing when she did, and his hands came to her upper arms, rubbing once more for warmth. “I could fetch you coffee? Before I head back to the lab. Something hot maybe, help warm you up? And the caffeine, might help.”
Eva smiled, wide, almost aching — perhaps it was a simple thing, but that he could think so much like her to offer her a warm drink when she had been wanting one, warmed her in a way no drink or cardigan or heating pad ever could.
“I would like that,” she murmured, and couldn't help but steal another moment, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”
He grinned, his eyes gleaming. “Anytime. Anything, always, for you — yeah, of course.”
His babbling made her smile, and then rolling her shoulders, she picked up her bag, made her way to the door. Just before she could open it, though, she paused, hesitating.
Ryland nearly ran into her, put his hand on her lower back to stop himself. “What is it?”
She fidgeted with the cuff of the cardigan where it hung over her hands. “I didn’t think about walking through the halls wearing this. It’s rather… identifiable.”
“Oh.” He didn’t sound disappointed, but there was a slight tone in his voice that she took note of, to consider later. “Want me to take it back? Give it back once I get your coffee? Then you can keep it the rest of the day.”
She thought for a moment, considered more. She knew rumors about them had circulated for a long while, before they were together — knew too, about the rather exorbitant party that was thrown in celebration of the crew’s betting pool being won. “No,” she decided. They weren’t a secret, as professional as they kept it in public. Besides, a little feeding of the rumor mill never hurt morale. “I’ll be alright.”
And he beamed, that wide, bright smile that never failed to make affection well up in her belly. “Ah, well, ah, good. I, uh,” he cleared his throat, his gaze sliding away from hers briefly before returning, “I like you in my clothing.”
The words came out in a rush, at the same time his cheekbones pinked, and she raised her eyebrows, rocking back on her heels to look at him. Another thing to consider, later, when she could play with that information.
“Well. I’ll certainly wear it, then. Perhaps, as you said, the rest of the day.”
And leaving him blushing, stammering, she strode out into the hallway, wrapping the cardigan more securely around herself against her chills. “A large coffee, please — the day is yet long.”