Chapter Text
May 17th, 2019 – 16:24 – Grover Cleveland Middle- San Francisco, California
In terms of productivity, Ryland Grace has definitely done better than he is currently doing.
Children, especially his, are – believe it or not – even more curious than he is. And children, unlike him, have the courage to insist on getting what they want. That's something he stopped doing a long time ago.
They're truly scary when they work together – something they're slowly starting to understand (to Ryland's horror - although he'd be lying if he said he wasn't incredibly proud of them for figuring it out all by themselves. They'll be world leaders one day, he knows it.)
So... the kids know about the world ending. Great job, Grace!
But... they had to know some day. And isn't that what school is about? Learning things? Especially if they're relevant to you and your parents aren't going to be the ones to tell you about them?
Ugh... social constructs.
So, he's not exactly been correcting essays all afternoon. In fact, he's not even touched one.
Instead, he's been gazing - lovingly but with a certain amount of fear – at his model of the solar system, freshly upgraded with its very own Petrova Line. It's so strange to think that this thin red line is going to be what takes out God knows how many of his students in the next 10 to 15 years. He can feel his eyes burning with tears and fatigue at the thought. What do those space dots want?
Ryland is exhausted. His glasses are lopsided again; his feet are propped up on his desk, and – all things considered- he does not look like the epitome of professionalism.
Which is probably exactly why his ex-wife chooses that moment to walk into his classroom.
Tall (well, not to him, but definitely compared to the average American woman, standing at just over 10 centimetres taller than said average without heels on), classy navy-blue trench coat (definitely new), brown tote bag halfway off her shoulder (something he knows must be triggering her) and a step so light he jumps out of his seat when she finally speaks.
“Knock, knock,” she says, already halfway to his desk.
Ryland is actually quite proud of how quickly he regains composure for a man who just got snuck up on by his ex-wife, and he manages to catch the book he kicked off his desk in his fright just before it falls to the ground.
“Who's there?” he manages to get out hoarsely. His mind is racing at 300 miles an hour, desperately wondering what on Earth could bring Eva Stratt to Grover Cleveland Middle. Realistically, she should be in New York right now doing some fancy UN work or something. Just play it cool, Ryland.
Eva frowns at him slightly in a you already know this kind of way and somewhat tiredly replies with “Not good at jokes.”
God, he'd missed her voice. Though far less accented than it had been the first time he had met Eva, the tiny lilt that made her sound like she was singing was still ever present. He had realised far too late that he would never find a person with a voice so charming ever again.
Momentarily transfixed by that voice he loves, he finds his brain rushing to apologise.
Still, it's not every day that your ex-wife waltzes into your life for the first time in years, and he's determined to stay true to the conversations they had before. Before... well, they went their own ways.
“Not good at jokes, who?” he teases, adding a nervous smile to show he's only pulling her leg, and he catches a flash of amusement in her tired eyes.
If he's feeling exhausted, she looks dead on her feet. Her under eyes (although he can tell she's wearing a layer of smudged concealer) are a dark shade of purple, and she smells faintly of cigarettes – a stress-habit he didn't take part in when they were together, but couldn't completely blame her for taking up either. Not in the beginning at least.
But exhausted as she looks, he can't deny how breathtakingly beautiful she looks, with her strawberry blonde hair grown out to her waist – a lot longer than when they were still married - and her eyes the same bright, intelligent ones he'd fallen in love with more than a decade ago now.
It's a strange feeling, looking into her eyes for the first time since they'd said their goodbyes. His stomach jolts, and he can’t tell if it's sadness, anger, the aftermath of the surprise he'd felt just minutes before, or just the fact that he hasn't had lunch yet.
Still, she's not quite explained what she's doing in the school where he teaches, and after more than six years of literally no contact, he's surprised at how normal it feels for her to just appear in his life again, no explanation. She's always reminded him of a cat with her all-observing eyes, but he feels like he'd vastly underestimated the whole ‘sneaking up on others’ part. It's kinda creepy, but he's not really bothered about that. What is bothering him is seeing her for the first time in more than half a decade and getting no warning and no immediate explanation as to why she's here. He's about to ask her something along the lines of “Hey, long time no see, but what the heck are you doing here?” but she starts speaking before he can open his mouth.
“Dr Grace,”
Oh, professional names then? I can do that.
“Ms Stratt,” he fires back.
“Director,” she corrects him with a sly smile, and Ryland looks up at her in surprise. Well, clearly, she made it.
“Ah! Please accept my apology and congratulations, Director Stratt. That's incredible!” he beams at her.
She sends him a soft smile back, and his heart skips a beat. There is a sudden tension between them now, and he's obviously not the only one who's feeling it because she clears her throat and averts her eyes. She opens her mouth, hesitates for a second, and he swears he can see the wheels turning inside her head.
“I need your help,” she finally settles on.
And of all the strange things that have happened, this one takes the cake. After 5 (almost 6!) years of being married to her, Ryland Grace can pride himself in saying that he knows Eva Stratt just a tiny bit better than the rest of the planet. And Eva Stratt never asks for help.
Ryland is so dumbfounded that he just stares at her for a moment. Then, pointing at himself for good measure, he repeats what she's just told him. “My help?”
She looks almost amused for a second. “Yes, your help.”
“Wh- Are you okay? Did anything happen?”
He sees her eyes soften just slightly, and she responds quickly: “I myself am fine, Dr Grace, The Sun, however, is not. You are no doubt familiar with Irina Petrova and her work?”
“You'll never guess what my students asked me about this afternoon,” he mutters, more to himself than to her.
“You are then. And-” she pauses for a moment, biting her lip (a telltale sign of nervousness), “I'm sure you remember this...?” she trails off as she reaches into her tote bag and pulls out a bundle of papers that's been neatly bound together. Just as she turns around the booklet, Ryland realises what she's brought with her.
Oh no she did not.
His ex-wife is standing in his classroom with his paper that got him kicked out of academia.
This day is way too strange for his fairly normal life, and he's starting to wonder what the heck is going on.
Still, his confusion is not chasing away Eva Stratt. Nope, there she is, holding An Analysis of Water Based Assumptions and Recalibration of Expectation for Evolutionary Models and staring at him with that slightly curious look that always reminds him of a nervous cat.
“Listen, Eva- Director Stratt, if that's what you prefer - I have no idea what you're doing here, but you can't just show up unannounced and then start traumatising me with the stupid stuff I wrote when I was fresh out of university. You do realise that's the paper that got me kicked out of academia, right? I mean shouldn't you know that after years of-”
“Obviously, I know what this paper means to you, Dr Grace,” she interrupts him impatiently, “But let's not forget that this paper isn't what got you kicked out of academia. Your calling the board members a 'staggering waste of carbon’ was."
And she's done it again. It's almost impossible to get angry at Eva because she always stays so cool. She's not staring at him with even the slightest bit of annoyance; she just looks slightly intrigued.
“You know how I feel about alien life, Ev- Director Stratt, sorry,” he sighs. Calling her that instead of Eva is going to be difficult.
“Stratt is fine too,” she says mildly. The implication is crystal clear, though. I am not your spouse anymore, Ryland Grace. In this situation, I am a serious UN official. No exceptions.
Ryland is seriously regretting the whole no-contact thing. It hadn't been a mutual agreement; it had just sort of... happened. But clearly, a lot has happened in Eva's life since they last spoke. And although they're speaking in a civilized way, he's not entirely sure the air is clear between them.
“Look-” he tries again, “I don't know what this is, but-” he realises he's subconsciously started packing his things. Fight or flight response triggered.
“Uh...” What was he even saying? Eva's clever eyes were trained on him as he packed, but she made no move to stop him. “I think I'm not-” She reached for the crochet bean bag. “That's lava,” he said, reaching out. She just looked at him bemusedly; “It's not.”
Ah... well, whatever. She'd always had a soft spot for knitwear and crochet.
“Okay,” he sighs. He does take this as his sign to start escaping the classroom. Unsurprisingly, she follows him.
“Listen, no one in your field wants anything to do with you because you refused to back down from a very unpopular view.” He had a head start, and he takes bigger steps than her, so she's practically jogging to keep up with him. “I know how frustrating this has been for you, and I can give you a chance to prove them all wrong.”
Very clever, she knows how I hate to be wrong.
“Uh, that's-” he starts, looking desperately for a way out of this conversation. And before he can wonder if dragging poor Kevin into all of this is ethical, he's already weakly called out, “Uh, Kevin, no running!” to the poor teenager. Luckily for Kevin, he really doesn't care. He just looks a bit weirded out and retorts with a dry: “I'm not?”
Ah well, thanks anyway Kevin.
Eva is still looking at him intently, so he figures he should probably say something, but upon looking at her, he can't think of a single thing to say. “Well,” he says feebly, “joke's on them, because I don't even care, so....”
He sees something flash in her eyes, and he thinks it's either exasperation or pity. Neither is a great thing for him, but he prefers being annoying to being pathetic. Although he'd been pretty pathetic when they'd met, and she'd liked him then, so...
“I think you do care; you're just running because you're scared.” Stratt interrupts his thoughts. She's looking at him with something that is decidedly not pity or exasperation. Eva Stratt looks unimpressed. Great, now he's boring.
“Wh-, how-,” he splutters somewhat angrily, “No I'm not!”
“Listen, Grace,” she lowers her voice, “I think I've known you for long enough to tell when you're running from something. And right now, you're sprinting away from me. Stand still for one moment and listen to me.”
Grace does indeed stop fidgeting with his bike. In fact, he freezes completely. But not because she just told him to (although he did have a terrible habit of just doing whatever she asked him to do). No. He freezes because of the small admission she's just given him. I think I've known you for long enough to tell when you're running from something.
It's the first time she's acknowledged their marriage since the conversation began, and he's fairly sure it won't happen again.
“Do you still stand by what you wrote all those years ago? Do you still believe water is unnecessary for life to evolve?”
Like hell he does. “Like I said, you know where I stand. There is nothing magical about oxygen and hydrogen. Water is required for life on Earth, yes, but that does not mean this is a valid rule for a completely different planet with completely different conditions. I don't know why saying this makes me such a nut.”
Are the corners of her mouth turning up? Yup, Eva Stratt is smiling at him.
Is that affection in her eyes? Ohh, she definitely thinks I'm pathetic.
Eva doesn't comment on his minor outburst. Her face resets, and she clears her throat as a strong and very imposing man suddenly appears next to her. Grace gets the feeling that it would be a bad idea to start on bad terms with him, so he stretches out his hand politely. “Sorry, I don't think we've met?”
“Carl.” the man says not unkindly but making it clear that he's not here to exchange pleasantries. He does not shake the outstretched hand that is offered to him.
“Oh..kay..” Ryland says, feeling foolish. He's suddenly aware of the other mysterious-looking men around them, and probably more importantly, the super-secretive-looking van. Has that been here the whole time? He hadn't noticed it before, but he was also having a relatively surprising conversation with his ex-wife, so, priorities and all that.
"Dr Grace,” Eva calls to him, “I'm going to need you to come with us.”
Oh, Eva. You always had a thing for having flair. The government agents are new, though.
He could just say “Sure! I'll get into your non-intimidating black van with your non-intimidating CIA-looking agents without any questions. Did you pack any snacks?” But he's still not quite sure what she wants from him, so he stubbornly asks her why. Carl and Eva are both standing perfectly still, and he doesn't know why that makes him as nervous as it does, but he wavers on his feet a bit until she answers.
“Samples from the Petrova-line splashed down last night,” Eva explains calmly, “I want you to tell me what they are and how they work.”
Technically, brains can't explode. Ryland is fairly sure his just did, though.
“Um,” he tries, “I beg your pardon?”
She just blinks at him. They both know he heard her the first time.
“What I mean,” he corrects himself, “Is that I am a teacher at Grover Cleveland Middle. Aren't there thousands of people more qualified than I am that you could've picked?”
“You hold a doctorate in molecular biology. Your thesis posits that water is unnecessary for life. The life-forms we found live on the Sun. Does that sound like a water-based life form to you?”
Ryland can't quite believe it, but Eva Stratt – the history major - thought of his water theory before he did.
He'd considered it, obviously, but he'd thrown away the idea as soon as it popped up in his head. Years of rejection from academics in his field had led to surprisingly low self-esteem.
You're never going to be proven right. They might not even be life forms. He considers the odds of him ever being proved right a strange mutation of Murphy's law. Anything that can go wrong in the universe to disprove his water thesis will go wrong. That's just his luck.
But here's Eva Stratt telling him that as soon as she heard that the things causing this Petrova line ‘lived’ on the Sun, she thought of his thesis. Could it be possible that although the rest of the world has given up on his stupid theory, she hasn't? The thought sends a little spark of joy through his body.
He immediately tries to brush off the thought, but he can't really find a reason why she would be here otherwise. Whatever her weird new job includes, it probably gives her access to the best-trained scientists on the planet. Why would she come to him?
She probably needs a science freak to try strange things just in case no one else thinks of them. Who could possibly be more suited for that job than the guy who got kicked out of academia for sticking to his absurdly unrealistic thesis?
So, no, Eva probably isn't here because she thinks he'll be better at analysing alien material than anyone else on the planet or because she wants to prove his decade-old thesis right.
But if Ryland Grace has ever been anything to Eva Stratt, he thinks ‘her little science freak’ is a pretty accurate description.
His brain is buzzing too much to say anything coherent to Eva, and she's clearly decided that he's coming anyway, seeing as she's already getting into the car. Carl is holding the door open for him, and Ryland attempts to avoid whatever Eva's dragging him into for just a tiny bit longer by asking Carl the question that's been gnawing at him since Eva mentioned Dr Petrova. "The Sun's really dying, isn't it?”
Apparently, Carl is a man of few words, and he is not one to throw a pity party when there's work to be done. He's a bit like Eva in that sense. He does a sort of mini shrug and goes: “Yeah.”
Alright, Eva. I'd be lying if I said I was ever going to reject whatever it is you're dragging me into, because even if I had tried to, you would've forced me to go. But I'm agreeing to go, so technically it's a mutual agreement. Technically.
He slides into the car, and Carl closes the door behind him.
Oh boy, here we go again.
────୨ৎ────
July 19th, 2003- 20:42 – somewhere near the Stanford campus, Santa Clara County, California.
How does he keep getting invited to these things?
He's standing at a table, awkwardly exchanging small talk with Stanford students whose dorm bathrooms are probably bigger than his entire childhood home. They're loudly boasting about summer holiday plans in Indonesia and the Seychelles and God knows what else. They'd started ignoring him when he told them his plans included going to see his mother in San Francisco.
Linda – the evil person who keeps dragging him to these events, his so-called girlfriend, has disappeared. Suspiciously, so has Mark.
Ah, well, they won't miss me.
He excuses himself and finds himself rushing to the roof, in desperate need of fresh air. It's only once he's closed the door behind him that he notices the other person on the roof.
A young woman - his age, maybe a few years older - is leaning on the roof ledge smoking a cigarette. She's wearing a sleeveless navy-blue dress and seems to be utterly lost in thought as she stares at the Californian skyline. Her hair keeps shifting between blonde and red, and he can't tell if it's just the light playing tricks on him or if she's some kind of fairy.
He considers just walking back inside and socialising with Linda's snotty friends, but he could really use a few minutes of fresh air, and the blonde/redhead doesn't really seem like she's going to bother him. Still, it feels a bit strange to be aware of her presence without her being aware of his, so he clears his throat.
He doesn't consider himself to be a very scary person, but the woman jumps and chokes on the smoke of her cigarette as she whips around. “Jesus Chr-”
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” he cries out, rushing towards her, “You just seemed in your own bubble, and I thought it was creepier not to say anything, and I'm not a creep. I think. Well, I don't want to be-" Oh God, he's chattering away again.
“No, no, it's on me,” the woman interrupts him, blowing out the remainder of the smoke in her lungs, “didn't know there were other roof refugees at this party.” She has a strong sing-songy accent -Northwest of Europe if he had to guess - and speaks at a pace that indicates she's choosing her words very carefully, almost hesitantly. “Want one?” she says, offering him the cigarette pack.
“Oh! Thanks, but errr, I don't smoke,” he says, scratching his head, “Thank you, though!” he repeats hastily,
“Ah, my mistake,” she smiles at him awkwardly, “Not a good habit, I know.” She shrugs. “I don't usually smoke,” She clarifies, “only when I get anxious at social events. Gives me an excuse to remove myself from the conversation. Don't tell anyone, though,”
He chuckles, "Understandable, I'm a roof refugee as well. Your secret is safe with me.” She smiles at him gratefully, “So, what scared you off?” he gestures at the door vaguely, and she gives him a strange look, part amusement, part confusion.
Dude, she literally just wanted to smoke a cigarette on her own. You're ruining the vibe, man.
Ryland flushes deep red and starts stammering an apology. “Uh- that is, I'm sure you came here for some peace and don't want to talk to me, so I'll go if you want-”
She waves his apology off, “No, don't worry about it! Do you really want to hear about it? It's not very interesting.”
Ryland breathes a sigh of relief. “Yeah, of course! I wouldn't lie about pleasantries just after escaping them. Um, I'm Ryland, by the way. Ryland Grace.”
“Eva Stratt,” she smiles. She takes a pull of her cigarette before starting her story. “Well, it's like this. You know Steven Moore?”
“The history major?” he tries. He can vaguely picture him, a stocky brunette guy he's met before at another one of these parties.
“Exactly,” she confirms, “He was supposed to show me and my friend Lotte around campus? Anyway, they disappeared a few hours ago, and I've got a few ideas as to where,” he thinks he sees her roll her eyes in the dark. “So now I've been making small talk with Americans for two hours, and I think I might go insane,” She glances at him, “No offence. You're not like them, I promise,”
He laughs out loud. “Don't worry, I get you. I'm here for the same reason. We really like surface-level small talk. And I'm sort-of half Canadian, so I suppose you're only insulting half of me?”
It's her turn to laugh now. “I can tell! You're very polite.” He grins, and she smiles back at him. Their silence is comfortable enough that he could let the conversation die down and stare at the skyline with her, but he's strangely charmed by her, wants to hear her voice again, make her laugh. So, he throws the ball back to her. “Where are you from? I'll have to assume it's not from here, even if your English is flawless,”
He thinks he sees her flush. "I'm from Weimar in Germany. But I'm also half Dutch, although I've never lived there. So, I suppose we're both halves?” she adds slyly.
He barks out a laugh, “Right you are! What's a refined German/Dutch lady like you doing all the way in California? Not for the small talk, I gather?”
“No,” she laughs, “No, I'm trying to get into the German Junior Professional Officer Programme,”
“Isn't that the one that prepares you for the UN?” he asks with genuine interest. This mysterious redhead gets more interesting by the second.
“Yes!” she exclaims, “No one else knew that downstairs!”
“Ah, you shouldn't have told me that, now my ego is going to grow embarrassingly large.”
There's that laugh again, crystal clear, even whilst smoking.
“Well, it's pretty hard to get in, so I'm taking and teaching some extra courses. In theory, it's to ‘expand my knowledge’, and it is! But it's mostly something I can add to my resume. As for the California part, it's to look well-travelled and to improve my English. Also, a contact – what is it you Americans say? - 'knew a guy' who got Lotte and me into Stanford. Not too bad, right? All I have to endure are these strangely awkward parties.”
“Not bad at all,” Ryland agrees, “and a lot cooler than anything I could possibly have to tell you,”
“I'm sure that's not true,” she laughs, “You're a student here, right?” She gestures vaguely in the direction of Stanford.
“Yup,” he confirms, “Molecular Biology's finest!”
“Now that's a lot cooler than anything I have to tell you,” she says, “I always wanted to be good at science. Got stuck in humanities instead,”
“Well, I'm sure you're amazing at whatever it is you're going to teach our students,” he prompts, "Which is...?"
She takes the hint. “History mostly,” she shivers a bit as a breeze pulls over the roof, “a bit of anthropology as well, but that's what I'm taking, so I need to do some catching up.”
“Eva Stratt, the history teacher,” he muses. She gives him that strange smile again, and he hopes it's a good thing. “So, you been on campus yet?”
She shakes her head. “No, Steven was supposed to take us tomorrow, but I don't really fancy it if he and Lotte are going to be... like that.”
He laughs, but there are wheels frantically turning inside his head. He takes about a second to weigh the odds of her rejecting his offer against the odds of her accepting it, and he decides to go for it.
“Um, I could show you around? Not in a weird way! And that is, if you want to. I totally get if you don't, but I have a day off work and-”
“I'd love that,” she says simply. His stomach does a strange fluttery thing.
“In a totally platonic, non-weird way,” he adds just to be safe.
“In a totally platonic, non-weird way,” she agrees. “What time should I be on campus?”
“Um, 9:30? We can grab coffee,” he offers.
“9:30 it is,” she smiles.
He's about to go on a tangent about the coffee on campus when his phone rings.
“Um,” he says confusedly, “ I don't really know- Ohhh...”
It's Linda, probably wondering where he is. Not with Mark, clearly.
“Um, I need to go,” he says, slightly embarrassed, “my girlfriend is wondering when I am, and-” he trails off.
“Oh, no, yes, of course,” Eva says calmly, “You should probably check on that.”
“Yes, right again!” he laughs, “Um, see you tomorrow?”
“See you tomorrow,” she repeats, “Goodnight, Ryland,”
“Goodnight, Eva,”
Once he's back inside, he sneaks one last glance at her before closing the door. She's still calmly smoking her cigarette, and he feels a strange sense of relief that this isn't the last time he'll be seeing her.
His phone rings again.
Right.
────୨ৎ────
May 17th, 2019 - 18:30 - San Francisco California Center Lab
The car ride, for all its awkwardness, could have been worse. It didn't take an obnoxious amount of time, and Eva was too busy calling important-sounding people or ordering her men around to bother with small talk with him. He hasn't decided if he's relieved or upset yet.
Still, he wonders what exactly it is she's doing. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't tried to keep tabs on Eva, but the thing about working in a super-secretive part of the United Nations is that you're pretty hard to stalk online.
The car stops, and they get out in front of what appears to be the San Francisco California Center Lab. There are a lot more people here, and he can tell they're part of whatever mission Eva is on, because they have that same air of secrecy about them.
“Uhh, you just happened to be able to rent this thing on a last-minute basis?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
“Yes,” Eva says, “I locked down the street as well if you must know.”
“Yeah, no, makes sense,” he mutters. He always knew Eva would control the world one day. It came later than he expected, actually,
He still doesn't really know why she has all this authority, but he's going to assume it's got something to do with Irina Petrova. He makes a mental note to ask her later.
If she doesn't run away once you've done your job.
As they walk towards the lab, they find themselves- surprisingly – alone. Suddenly, Eva opens a door and pulls him in with her.
Well, it's been a while since that last happened. He highly doubts she's going to start making out with him this time, though.
“Whoa. E- Stratt, what's going on?” he says, rubbing the spot she grabbed and observing the room around them, which seems to be a small storage room.
“I'll be quick,” she reassures him, “I just need one favour.”
He thinks about pointing out that the whole ‘getting in an unknown van to go look at alien space dots’ thing was kind of a favour already, but she's looking... is that a nervous look in Eva Stratt's eyes? Maybe not a good time to bring out the jokes then.
“Oh, sure,” he says awkwardly, “what's up?”
She hesitates for a second. “Um,” she starts, “I get that this is really insensitive, and I'm sure you have a million questions about, well... everything, but would you mind not mentioning the fact that we're... divorced in front of the others?”
He stares at her stupidly for at least 10 seconds. Now you want to talk about our marriage?
I mean, clearly, she doesn't.
“It's just,” Eva says quickly upon seeing the look on his face, “No one except Carl knows, and I get so many accusations of favouritism or sleeping with project members or politicians to get what I want, and I really don't need the media on my back right now. They'll spend enough time overanalysing the fact that I'm a woman in power, I really don't need them to know about the ex-husband I have working for me. It's really nothing personal, and-”
Project? Media? Woman in power? Would you mind explaining-
“It's really no problem,” he interrupts her, “we've never met before, and I'm just a random wacky scientist you plucked from the streets. Don't worry about it.”
She smiles gratefully. “Thank you,”
“You are most welcome,” he says, genuinely meaning it. Her eyes meet his, and for the first time today, it actually feels like eye contact. He's about to open his mouth to say something, although he's not quite sure what. Maybe about how awful it is that she has to keep so much of her life private because the press is at her throat, maybe about what it is she's actually doing, about how weird it is to see her again six years later, but not necessarily bad. He's trying to form a sentence when her phone rings- shocking them both out of whatever trance they were in.
“Stratt,” she says, picking up. A moment passes. Then, "We're on our way. Is the lab ready?” Another moment of silence. “OK.” she hangs up.
“You're needed in the lab, Dr Grace. Let's go see what these dots are made of.”
────୨ৎ────
In theory, the storage room could have been a nice place to warn him about the hazmat suit and the argon-filled room. Clearly, though, Eva did not think it was particularly relevant to the situation at hand.
“Am I expendable?” he asks in less of a joking tone than he'd first intended, “Is that why you want me?”
“That's not the only reason.”
For some reason, the tone of her voice makes him flush bright red. He's suddenly grateful for the crazy hazmat outfit.
“It's just,” he tries again, “it kind of feels like you don't care if I die.”
What happens next is done in such a serious way that, had Ryland Grace not known Eva Stratt before this lab freak show, he would have believed she truly needed to discuss the importance of his life with the official-looking people in the room with her. He's now 75% sure that she's pulling his leg. Eva Stratt is joking around with him in a professional setting, and he's sure they're the only ones who know.
“The general consensus is that it would be preferable if you didn't die,” she retorts smoothly,
He suppresses a laugh and plays along. “Thanks guys!”
He finally turns to the very well-sealed container in front of him. It opens as soon as he presses on the button. “Oh,” he chuckles when he sees the space dots, “welcome to Earth.”
────୨ৎ────
The thrill of interacting with alien material (possibly life!) keeps him on an adrenaline high for several hours and distracts him from the fact that, honestly, he's not getting a lot of information from these space dots. He glances over to the window every now and then, and every time he finds that Eva is still standing. He finds himself worrying about her, wanting to tell her to sit down.
But he's not entirely sure that if he does, she won't order to have his suit ripped in the argon-filled room, so he just shoots her a few worried looks every now and then. She just raises her eyebrows back at him. Anything?
“Just going through the whole light spectrum here,” he mutters to himself. He can see her straighten up, though. He's caught her attention.
It's probably not a good idea, but he can tell she's getting just the tiniest bit bored, and he's kind of tempted to test her.
“Woah!” he exclaims sarcastically, “You're not gonna believe this!”
There's a glint of excitement in her eyes now, and he's almost sad that he has to disappoint her.
“Nothing happened!”
She looks up to the sky, as if asking God for the strength to deal with him and licks her lips.
Oh. Wow.
Yeah, he's really grateful for the hazmat suit.
Space dots! Space dots! Look at the space dots. Ryland Miller Grace, please look at the space dots.
Right.
“I can't see into these buggers,” he adds quickly, “Amazing.... X-rays, microwaves, gamma rays, visible light.... Nothing!” He's silent for a while, desperately pondering what to do. Then-
“Oh! I've been dying to do this all day!”
He's got Eva's attention now, and his hands shake a little as he grabs the syringe. There's a silence as he prods into the space dots and...
“It's a cell!” he exclaims.
Eva's reaction time is honestly impressive compared to the drowsy atmosphere around her.
“It's a cell!” she shouts, “Wake up it's a cell!”
Ryland is too busy exploding with excitement to notice how smoothly she takes command of the room again.
“It's a tiny alien cell! You guys!” he laughs. Never in my 38 years...
“Applause,” he hears faintly over the intercom. And to her credit, every single person in the room claps.
“This is first contact, you guys!” He sees Eva's eyes soften just a tiny bit, “with life out of-”
His eyes flick towards the screen again.
Oh no.
“Oh, it died,” he groans. The silence that follows is deafening, interrupted only by the click of the intercom as Eva turns it on.
“What?!”
Okay, save your skin Ryland.
"But!” he adds with as much enthusiasm and confidence as he can muster, “This is great news! Now we can find out what they're made of!”
Eva is still staring at him with a partly shocked, partly curious expression.
“You guys fired up?” he asks the official-looking guys in the other window. They cheer back at him. “Yeah!! Right?”
He turns back to the monitor.
“Okay,” he forces his eyes to focus on the screen, “Carbon..., Oxygen, Hydroge-”
Oh.
Oh...
Oh no.
“Hydrogen.” he repeats.
He feels like he's floating somewhere far above this room, just looking down at himself. He stutters out his conclusion once more, because he's too scared to let Eva speak.
“It's made almost entirely-” he swallows, “out of water.”
────୨ৎ────
The sun is rising when Eva finds him, miserably eating soggy, cold ramen on the side of the road.
“All right-” she starts, but Ryland interrupts her before she can continue.
“I'm sorry I overreacted in there.” He avoids her gaze. “Just, uh, realising I was wrong about the only original idea I ever had... so,”
“Don't apologise,” she reprimands him, “I know how much effort you put into that thesis. I can't imagine how it must feel for you.” Her voice is softer than anything else he's heard from her today, and he looks at her in astonishment.
“But”, she adds, her face turning serious again," what else did you learn?”
“They give off infrared light when they move?” Ryland tries.
“Mm-hmm,” she nods.
“Like, so much, I have no idea how they store all that energy.” He looks up again, and blue eyes meet grey.
Eyes grey like the San Francisco fog in the morning.
He falters for a second. “But, uh, their wavelength is the Petrova-frequency?”
“The light is how they move?” she asks, and he's vaguely reminded of their first few dates, where they'd both geeked out about their major and asked the other questions about theirs. A bit hesitant, but extremely curious, nonetheless.
“Yeah, exactly!” he says, “They consume the sun's energy and then they expel it for propulsion.” he hesitates a moment before adding, “They toot to scoot, basically.”
She badly suppresses a snort. “So why are they going to Venus?”
He sighs, his disappointment crashing over him again like a wave. “I don't know.” He looks away again.
“That's okay,” she says briskly, “We'll tell you.”
“What?”
“I have 347 other biologists in 21 countries mobilising as we speak,” she replies, starting her walk back to the building. He scrambles to his feet and follows her, because of course he does. “Thank you for your help, I'm glad you didn't die.” She pulls a walkie-talkie out of seemingly thin air and starts commanding her team to pack everything up.
“Wh-” he stammers, “Ev- Stratt!”
She turns around.
“That's it?” he asks meekly. His brain is buzzing from lack of sleep and lingering confusion from the past 24 hours. He spots Carl just behind her. “That's it, Carl? Talk to her-” he turns back to Eva, “You're taking all the stuff?”
“Well, at the school you said there were thousands of people more qualified than you, I wouldn't want to bother you any longer,” she says neutrally.
“Wh- You know I was being modest!”
“I don't need modest,” she says simply, “I need people who think they're right when everyone else thinks they're wrong. I need people who piss other people off.”
And the thought of Eva not needing him is suddenly quite unbearable, so he proudly exclaims: “That's me!” before his brain catches up.
“You want to be on the project?” she asks with surprise. Her grey eyes are piercing into him again.
“If you-” he stammers, “If you think I can help, uh-”
Carl prompts him out of his daze. “Just answer the question.”
“I want to help the world.” he settles on.
There's a smugness mixed with a splash of pride in Eva's eyes. She turns away from him again.
“I'll leave you three dots.”
Eva. He clears his throat.
“Just three, huh?” he says, trying not to let disappointment creep into his voice.
“Plus the one you killed,” she adds coolly.
He sputters stupidly until Carl interrupts him again.
“I'd take the three.”
He sighs. Fine, let Eva have her way...you always do, anway-
“Yes?” she interrupts his thoughts.
He sighs again. “I'll take- I'll take the dots.” he relents.
“Good. Get to work, Doctor Grace,” she says, a small smile on her lips as she tosses him the bean bag he didn't even know she'd taken. He knows it's not just because she wants him to have it back.
Basically, Ryland, it's your turn to be in charge, and you can't say no, because this is a lot more important than you think.
And then she's turned around, red hair flying in the wind on her way back to the car. He barely has time to blink before the car is off, and she's disappeared from his life again.
4 years without her, and he still can't explain why his heart hurts a little as he watches her go.