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Eva Stratt was not sick. She didn’t have the time to be.
The scratch she felt in her throat was from the dry air of the jet cabin, that was all. The exhaustion dragging at her was just jet lag. The few sneezes she’d had that day were just because it was spring in Japan, and she wasn’t used to the pollen.
She had told Grace all of these things, and yet he still studied her suspiciously from his seat next to her on the jet as they flew to their next stop in China.
“Are you sure you don’t want some cold medicine?” he asked, offering her the blister pack he brought with him on every trip now. “Can’t hurt.”
“I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not sick, I told you. You’re the one who gets sick when we leave the ship.”
He raised his eyebrows at her, gave her a look that she was certain would have been over the rim of his glasses, had he not currently had them hanging off of one ear.
“I’m not,” she repeated more firmly, and jabbed him with an elbow when she thought she saw him suppress a smile.
“Okay, okay” he acquiesced, laughing as he leaned out of her reach. “I’ll pretend to believe you.”
She sneezed suddenly, explosively, burying it into the crook of her arm.
When she looked back up, he had slid the cold medicine onto her table, the bastard. She shot him another glare, which he took implacably, just raising his eyebrows at her again before turning back to his computer, burying himself in the equations he was always working on.
She took the blister pack, slid it into her pocket, damn him.
It didn’t mean that she needed them — just that she wanted him to be quiet about it.
~~~~~~~~~
Eva Stratt was, indeed, sick. She finally admitted that to herself about the time they had landed back on the Vat and she had nearly run out of tissues trying to keep up with her nose.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t work through it.
Sure, the scratching pain of her throat was bad enough that swallowing anything felt like shards of glass, to the point that she didn’t even want to drink coffee. But Grace was always pestering her about having a more healthy relationship with her caffeine intake — this was just forcing her to do so. And yes, coughing fits overcame her periodically, for minutes at a time, but with a never ending supply of cough drops, she could keep that mostly in check. It was hard to breathe out of her nose, but if she kept upright and dosed herself liberally with the oxymetazoline spray she’d been given by medical, she could breathe well enough to stay focused on the work in front of her.
But then came the sinus headache.
It started as a dull ache in the center of her forehead — an annoyance, but she could put it aside. Then it spread, radiating out along her sinuses until it hurt even below her eyes, making her feel like her head was so full of pressure it might explode.
And then, as if her body gave her one last fuck you, came the sharp pain down the back of her neck, the ice pick on the left side of her skull.
She groaned softly to herself, dropping her pen to cover her eyes with her hands. The darkness there was a small comfort, the pain of her head lessening just lightly with it, but even that relief was pale compared to the throb, throb, throb of her head, threatening to consume her and drive her mad.
Could they relieve the pressure with a needle, she wondered? An insane thought, she knew dimly, but in the moment, she was tempted to march down to medical and demand they try.
She wanted Grace. That came to her as unbidden as her previous thought, but she felt it far more keenly. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, even if it came with a lecture on taking care of herself. She wanted him to press his fingers along the back of her neck, soothe away the pain there, even if he did make a quick comment about how he’d told her she was sick, told her to stay in bed that morning. She wanted him to kiss her temple and tell her he was sorry she was sick, and tell her he’d fetch her food and tea and order her to bed.
They were foolish thoughts, she knew. She was grown, she’d handled illness on her own plenty of times before, and had never needed anyone beyond herself.
But that didn’t stop her from wanting.
Peeking out from behind her hands, she looked at the clock — 18:34. The first wave for dinner in the mess would be moving through now, but she knew Grace typically preferred to go later. That meant, maybe…
She considered, weighed the options. She could go to him, interrupting both of their work. Though, she was already not working, and she wasn’t sure she could any longer, not with any efficiency at least. That would still mean interrupting him. But if she only allowed herself ten minutes, asked him for only that, it wasn’t a horrible amount of time…
She was just wasting time, sitting here debating. She would go to his office — if he was there, she would ask him to help her migraine. If he wasn’t, she’d go back to her work, simply grit her teeth and push through.
She traced the path to his office, and when she saw that the light was on, the door propped open with a stack of books, she caught herself letting out a sigh of relief — he was there, he could help. She could lean on him, for a time, at least.
He was sitting at his desk, typing intently, his eyes slightly squinted as he stared at the screen. He hadn’t noticed her step into the doorway, and so she took a moment to study him — hair tousled as always, but it seemed more than normal, perhaps a more difficult report. He wore a pullover today, and he had pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, forearms exposed, the muscle there well defined, attractive, she could run her fingers along—
She pushed the thought away, knew her mind was clouded and fuzzy for how easily that thought had slipped in. Softly so as not to startle him, she rapped her knuckles on the door.
He tilted his head up towards her, but kept his eyes on his computer screen, still typing until he finished his thought, then flicked his gaze to her. His expression lit up upon seeing her, a grin splitting his face, but then it shifted quickly into a humorous sort of pity as he took in the sight of her.
“You don’t feel good, do you?” he said, his voice tinged in equal parts humor and smugness.
She tried to glower at him, but knew it wasn’t effective, she couldn’t muster the energy for a proper glare. “What a keen observation, that doctorate being put to good use.”
He grinned again, waving her in, and then stood himself, moving to nudge the stack of books away, close the door. “Nothing to do with the doctorate, I think even the most obtuse person could tell right now.”
She sighed, resigned, as he came to stand in front of her. “Is it that obvious?”
He gave her another sympathetic smile, his eyes still squinted as he looked at her, and reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “It is. Even the great Eva Stratt gets sick, it seems.”
She hummed — her eyes had slipped closed, she wasn’t sure when that had happened. Opening them, she blinked at him, her eyes feeling gritty. “Will you help me? I have a migraine now on top of this cold, and I just…” she trailed off, fighting a mild embarrassment, but he was already nodding.
“Yeah, honey, of course. Always, you just have to ask.”
“I just did,” she mumbled as he guided her towards his desk chair, and he let out a short laugh.
“That you did,” he said, and coaxed her to sit down. “Just, I mean, whenever, in the future. I’ll always help you — I’m just an ask away.”
The sentiment made tears sting her eyes, and so she closed them, tilting her head forward as his thumbs ran up the back of her neck to the base of her skull, rolling in slow circles. “Just for a few minutes. Then I have work to do still.”
He made a noncommittal noise, as though to say “we’ll see about that”, but she didn’t care, not when his thumbs dug in just the right way that made the throbbing dim, sent relief shooting down her neck until a whimper rose in her throat.
“There you go,” Ryland murmured behind her, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I felt you relax there.”
She just hummed, then let herself float in the gentle roll of his thumbs, the caress of his fingers on her neck. He knew just how to touch her, how hard to press to chase her pain away, what spots on her neck would make her shiver, which ones would make her sigh, relax. The depth of his knowledge never failed to amaze her, astound her, fill her with a wonder that he had studied her so deeply, so intimately, that he knew her better than she knew herself.
And, perhaps, what astonished her more than any of it, is that he’d wanted to learn. Wanted to take in every piece and part of her and study it, examine her and take his notes. Find the bounds of her, and then cherish every piece. She’d never dreamed a love like that could exist for her, not in reality, not outside of fairy tales.
Then again, she’d never met anyone quite like him.
His hands stilled, running down the column of her neck soothingly, and then he placed his hands on her temples, gently coaxed her to lean back. The back of his desk chair was low enough that she could lean her head on his stomach, and she sighed, tilting her head back until she could look up at him. He met her eyes, smiling softly, and then he ran his fingers through her hair comfortingly.
“You’re a little warm,” he said, one hand touching her forehead in emphasis. “When’s your next dose?”
She blinked slowly — thoughts felt like they were coming to her through syrup, slow and stiff, especially now that the exhaustion of relief settled over her. “About an hour.”
He nodded, stroked his hand over her hair again. “Why don’t we go eat some dinner, then you can take another dose of medicine, and then we take an early night?”
She shook her head automatically. “I have to work.”
“You need to rest,” he stressed. “You probably shouldn’t have worked at all today, honestly. If you don’t allow your body to rest, it’s just going to take you a million times longer to recover, and it’s going to be all the more painful.”
Eva couldn’t help but give a small smile, letting her eyes slip closed — here was the lecture she’d known he give her. “A million times, hmm? Is that the scientific number?”
She heard him laugh. “It is, because I’m a scientist and I say so.” He ran his hands down to her shoulders, squeezed lightly. “It’s just one night off, Eva, to recover while you’re sick. Let yourself have it.”
She let out a slow sigh, opening her eyes again. Out of principle, she wanted to argue. But her sinuses still ached and felt too full, her throat burned, and never had anything sounded so seductive than sleep at that moment.
“Maybe you have a point,” she murmured, and he grinned down at her.
“Sorry, can you say that again?”
“Don’t push your luck,” she warned, narrowing her eyes at him, and he laughed.
“Alright, food first, then bed, for both of us. Come on.”
He turned her in the chair until she faced him, then held out a hand to her. She took it, standing, looking up at him in time to see his expression go soft with realization. “Hey,” he whispered, and then suddenly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close.
“Thank you for trusting me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Enough to ask for help.”
She leaned her head against his chest, closing her eyes. “I ask you for help all the time.”
“Not for yourself. For the project, sure. Rarely for just yourself, though. And I… well, I just… I like helping you. Like knowing you can come to me and ask.”
Eva smiled to herself, pressing closer to him as she made a note to ask him for help more often, when it elicited this reaction from him.
“You’re easy to trust,” she murmured back, and thought she could hear his heart soar.
They parted, and he guided her out into the hallway, turning them towards the mess with a hand warmly on her back. Though he quickly dropped it, walking his normal half step behind her, she still felt the itch of his eyes on her, watching carefully for any sign of weakness, and she rolled her shoulders against it.
“Stop being a mother hen — I can feel your eyes on me. I have a cold, not a broken leg, I can walk.”
He gave an amused hum, but his gaze didn’t leave her. “Not my fault, one of the chicks leaves the nest too early and runs herself ragged.”
She rolled her eyes, purposefully sped her pace, even if she felt it wind her more than it should have. “Don’t call me a chick.”
“You started it with mother hen.”
“You’re making it more difficult to ask you for help in the future.” He just hummed again, uncowed by her words, making her huff. “I admit you’re right one time, and this is what you turn into? I rescind my statement, then.”
“Too late,” he laughed as they turned into the mess and found their way to the line. “I’ve already taken it to heart.”
They quickly got their food, and to her further annoyance he wouldn’t let her carry any of it, leaving her to walk lamely beside him to an empty table.
“Least I can do,” is all he said when she voiced her annoyance, “when you get us to the front of the line so quickly. How do I get people to let me in front of them like that?”
“Be the Director,” she answered, and he shook his head.
“Never mind, then. I’ll leave that in your capable hands.”
“Capable enough to be Director, not capable enough to carry my own food?”
“That has nothing to do with capability, everything to do with chivalry.” He shot her a grin, his eyes squinted against the bright lights of the mess.
She made an annoyed noise — but hid a smile in the tea he’d allowed her to have.
They ate quickly and quietly, her symptoms worsening as medicine wore off until she would have begged on her knees just to lie down. Lucky for her that he could read her so well, for he cleared their plates as soon as they finished, then ferried her off to her room.
“You can use the bathroom first,” he said once inside, gently pushing her that way. “I’ll go after.”
She just nodded, feeling too poorly to argue, and quickly went through her routine.
Coming out of the bathroom, she found him sitting on the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, before they slid up to his hair, tugging on it slightly. She frowned, he only did that under extreme stress or pain.
“Alright?” she asked, and he popped his head up, dropping his hands.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” he assured, and stood, kissing her forehead before stepping past her to the bathroom. “Just tired. Who isn’t, you know?”
She watched him go, considering, but then a cough came over her, quickly devolving into a fit she couldn’t stop, and it was all she could do to sit on the bed, trying to breathe through it.
She was still coughing by the time he came out of the bathroom, he sat beside her, rubbing her back as the fit slowly ended, leaving her breathing ragged, her head pounding.
“Lay down, honey,” he whispered, coaxing her down, and she was powerless to refuse, especially as he followed her under the sheets, wrapping his arms around her securely, tucking her under his chin.
The skin of his neck was damp, cool, and she peeked up at him to see that his hair was damp as well. She didn’t think she’d heard the shower turn on, but then the thought slid away into drowsiness, her mind too exhausted to hold onto anything longer than a few seconds.
She was half asleep in a moment, when she was jerked back to consciousness by an incessant beeping, and she opened her eyes to see him reach for his watching, turning off a timer. “Sorry, forgot to turn that off,” he said, then sat up. “Let me just go take some more ibuprofen.”
She narrowed her eyes, watching him closely as he walked to the bathroom. So lost in her own misery she didn’t stop to think that he could be coming down with her cold — he’d insisted on staying in her bed through her illness, refusing to be convinced into going to his own bed, no matter how many times she’d argued that there was no point in both of them getting sick.
Perhaps she hadn’t fought as hard as she could have — she liked the heat he gave off at night, how she could cuddle up to it, let it soothe her back to sleep whenever she woke — but maybe, she thought, she should have tried harder, hearing him groan softly as he stretched in the doorway, hands on top of the doorframe as he leaned forward.
Sympathy and guilt welled up in her as he walked back to bed, crawling in. “You’re not catching my cold, are you?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“No, no, I miraculously dodged that one I think. You’ve been showing symptoms for over seventy-two hours now, and I’m not feeling sick, so I think I’m clear.” He smiled softly at her, brushing a finger over her cheek. “No, just a nasty tension headache, I think I was bent over the lab bench too long this morning.”
She nodded, then blinked, thought, the words catching up with her. “This morning?” She leaned back to take a better look at him. “You’ve had it all day?”
“Yeah,” he said, nonchalant, and shrugged. “It’s fine.”
Spurred by annoyance and incredulity, Eva pushed herself up into a sitting position, waving off his worried noises, his hands trying to pull her back down. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“No?” he said it as a question, and she let out a noise of exasperation.
She pinned him with her gaze, finding the energy to put heat behind it now — and with that energy she could see all the signs she’d missed before: his eyes, squinted in pain, his shoulders hunched and tight, his hair wet not with a shower, but with the cold water he’d dumped over his head in an effort to relieve the pain.
“What was it you were saying earlier?” she said, and heard the slight bite in her tone. “About liking to know that I can come to you and ask for help?”
“Hey,” he argued back, sitting up. “Nothing about that has changed — what’s the big deal here?”
“I just find it—” she huffed, struggling to find the word, “I find it hypocritical that you make a big deal about me and my comfort, about liking to offer that comfort, only to then push aside and hide your own pain, because I came to you and asked?”
“What was I supposed to do? You show up in my office, sick and exhausted and looking a little pathetic—” she growled at the word, but he just pointed a finger at her and continued, “pathetic, and was I just supposed to go, ‘nope, sorry honey, my head hurts too, I’ll help you another time’. I was never going to do that! Why would I? Pain doesn’t stop my ability to help you.”
“It doesn’t stop mine either,” she countered. “We could have been miserable together, at least. I could have helped you, too, we could have helped each other. This goes both ways, I don’t expect you to—”
A sudden explosive sneeze came over her, then a second, and she was fumbling for a tissue as she sneezed a third time, a fourth, and then she was groaning lightly, her sinuses throbbing again with a stabbing pain.
It was silent in the room as she wiped her nose, threw the tissue away. Then came his voice, quivering with a repressed laughter. “Gesundheit.”
She huffed, rolling her eyes, but as suddenly as it came, her anger drained out of her, and she had to press her lips against a smile. “Your pronunciation is horrible.”
He laughed, reached for her, and she moved closer to him again, letting him guide them into laying down again. “Well, now that that argument is out of the way.”
She snorted, groaned when the vibration of it rattled her tender sinuses, and he reached to rub his thumb firmly over the center of her forehead, massaging.
“You still should have told me,” she said, and wrapped an arm around his neck, her fingers finding the back of his neck, digging in to massage the tight muscles and making him groan in relief.
“I’ll concede, as long as you keep doing that.”
“Thus proving my point.”
“I already conceded,” he whined, laughing, “stop rubbing it in.”
She smiled, then sighed, the massage on her sinuses soothing, and all at once her exhaustion came rushing back, hitting her like a blackjack to the head.
“Sleep,” he murmured, and she twitched her fingers on the back of his neck. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”