Work Text:
Curiosity killed the cat. A well-known expression used to convey a situation where being too nosy comes at a cost, some things are better off left unseen — to be left alone.
And yet Grace couldn't help himself; it's his natural propensity as a scientist to be curious about the unknown. Eva Stratt is one of the unknown variables he's drawn to uncover.
Wherever Stratt is, there's a 50% chance Grace followed beside her; it was as though she had her own personal scientist, happily unwillingly leashed beside her. He always stood there beside her, sat beside her, and now even eats beside her in the cafeteria.
They make it a habit to grab lunch together every day, to fill in their findings of the day, dot the I's, and cross the T's. Grace always sat across from Stratt on the corner of the cafeteria, right beside the window.
No one dares to touch their seat; there is this unwritten sign believed amongst the crew, that the table in the far back is reserved for Stratt and her leading expert in Astrophage.
Today, Grace found himself staring at Stratt more than usual; she hasn't called his name or discussed the mission. She was simply enjoying her lunch. He has no concrete reason to keep his eyes on her; they weren't conversing, but he kept on staring.
He doesn't even realise it himself that he was staring, or maybe he did, and he's getting bolder, bold enough that maybe deep down he wants her to notice that he was staring.
His thoughts were filled with things he had never noticed about Stratt. She has quite the lush lashes for one, same for her hair, very thick. He knows she wears light makeup; he had seen her lipstick once it dropped out of her coat pocket. He read the bottom of the tube before returning it to her; it was something mauve.
He concluded that the soft, muted pink on her lips right now must be the same mauve shade. It's her signature lip color, he thinks. Muted colors are her signature color when he thinks about it again.
"Is there something on my face, Dr Grace?" Stratt asked, and her voice snapped him right back to reality. She tilted her head slightly down, "I don't appreciate the staring."
The cat was killed indeed by his own rampant curiosity.
"Oh, sorry. I zoned out a bit there hahaha..." Grace graced her with his charmingly awkward laugh, "Hahaha…"
She was left unimpressed, but also curious. "You did not answer my question. Is there something on my face?" she asked yet again, always so persistent.
"Oh! No, no, there's nothing at all," Grace waved his hand across his face, fanning away the red hue on his skin.
It delights her to see him flustered; she doesn't know why, nor does she want to know why.
A can of worms she does not want to open, perhaps under different circumstances, she would love to explore more. Sadly, not in this lifetime.
Yet she is still, undoubtedly, curious. "Then why stare? Your food is on the table, it's not on my face now, does it?"
"Y-yes..sorry…" Grace looked down at his plate, scrambling not to look at Stratt's face. Her alluring icy stare beckoned him to stare again, but also not to stare, quite the paradox.
He can't even hold eye contact; he merely plays with his food. Peas and corn rolled across his plate, waving his fork right and left while trying to think of a way to escape the growing tension.
"All is forgiven, don't turn it into a habit," Stratt dragged her knife across her roasted salmon.
"Yes, yes of course," Grace nodded.
It was her turn now to stare at him, his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he kept his face down, "So, care to tell me what the reason was? For the staring."
"You're very nice to look at," he said, looking away, staring at the sea. He can't stare at her, or else his heart will beat out of control.
"Oh, I see," Stratt answered without a sliver of emotion. Still as neutral as ever. It pisses him off as much as it calms him.
"Y-you're pretty is what I mean," Grace continued. He dug his grave deeper, lips bitten red before he could stop the words from coming out of his mouth.
Stratt tilted her head to the side, mimicking Grace's gesture. "I understand what you mean, Dr Grace."
"I said that with the utmost respect! I'm not trying to make a move or anything. I was just y'know—" he rambled on before she cut him short.
"You don't need to explain yourself. Thank you for finding me attractive," she offered her gratitude. Grace can see a sliver of a smile etched on her lips from his peripheral vision.
God, he wished he had the courage to look at her fully.
"Oh, you're welcome,"
This time it's her turn to confess.
"I find you attractive too, Dr Grace,"
Hearing that, he snapped his face back to her face, "You do?"
"Yes, I do. I think the majority of people would agree that you are conventionally attractive," Stratt said, as confident as saying the grass is green and the sky is blue.
"Ohh okay okay, I see," Grace doesn't know how to respond to that. Externally, he might seem confused, which he was, but internally…he was also confused.
He was overthinking it. Does being conventionally attractive mean he is attractive? Was that a backhanded compliment?
"You don't seem like you 'see'," she read through his expression.
"Bahh, I don't know, I won't go as far as agreeing that I look conventionally attractive," he covered his blushing face with both of his palms.
"But you do," Stratt tried to convince him. Grace knows she was sincere, maybe…
"Says who?" he puts his hand down to see her again.
"American beauty standards, no? Tall, blue eyes, blonde," that's not comforting at all. Might as well tell him he's just another run-of-the-mill white guy.
Well, sadly or fortunately, he does check all of those boxes, but he doesn't care about what others deem attractive; he only ever truly cares about one person's opinion.
"Those standards don't interest me," Grace huffed.
Stratt cocked her eyebrows, "Then whose standards are you interested in meeting?"
"Yours," he truly has the loosest tongue known to mankind. He didn't mean to confess that to Stratt out of all people!
"My standards?" she wanted him to elaborate further. Like hell he will!
"Aww shucks! That was an inner thought, ignore that, will you?" he scratched his head.
Grace truly believed that Stratt has the ability to pull out his thoughts, like a truth serum, or perhaps she has been using some nifty psychological tricks on him.
"Alright," Stratt doesn't pry further. He was surprised that she didn't push further. Now, this feels like those reverse psychology tricks.
"Thanks," he won't fall for it this time.
They spent the rest of the time eating their lunch in a comfortable silence. Unbeknownst to Grace, Stratt has also been stealing glances at him; she was stealthier compared to his blatant staring, though. As she stared, she was assessing him.
His hair was messy, but fashionably so. He has a strong nose, he always keeps his beard groomed, not too thick, not too thin, just right so that it doesn't hide his jawline, and she particularly likes his aftershave, it smells nice, sandalwood.
She knows that he always kept a chapstick on him, vanilla-flavoured, probably the reason why he has those soft kissable pink lips.
After a couple of sessions of stolen glances between bites, she came to a conclusion. She stood up from her chair, his eyes quickly followed her movement.
"You fit my standards. Goodbye, Dr Grace," Stratt offered him a courtesy nod before walking away with her food tray, leaving him once again absolutely red and alone at the table.
Curiosity killed the cat is the well-known expression, but what a lot of people might not know is its continuation. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. In this case, satisfaction did bring him back.
Perhaps Stratt does like him more than she leads on.