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"Carl!" Grace said, hopping to his feet and opening his arms. "Hey!"
"Grace." Carl acknowledged, curt even as he indulged in a hug with a clap on Grace's back.
The guard nearby cleared his throat. They didn't technically like if someone interacted with the prisoners.
"Heard, Frankie." Grace raised his hands once they let go. "Just one for the big man, you know I gotta thank him for the visit."
Carl visited frequently enough that he gave Frankie a nod as well, before taking his seat on the other side of the table.
With the fluffy hair and big, beaming smile, Ryland Grace still looked like a golden retriever. Even in prison orange. If anyone could make such a garish colour work, it was him.
"I thought you'd be Shapiro for sure." Grace said, melted-butter warm. "She's in town and come by every day this week already. She's managed to convinced the fellas to let her bring me some cupcakes. I'm still sticky."
"I don't wanna know you're sticky, man." Carl replied. He folded his hands and put them on the table. "All good in here?"
"Aw, you don't have to worry about me." Grace winked. "I'm well taken care of. Right, Frankie?"
"It'd be easier if you didn't talk your room-mates ear off." Frankie sighed, thumbing at his guard belt.
"At least the new guy got some guilt going on and seems to think I'm his divine punishment or something." Grace laughed. His stupid glasses were hanging off his ear again. Carl was surprised no one had broken them yet. Maximum security prisons weren't exactly known for their kindness, as much as Grace had wormed his way into most people's hearts — some really nasty people were locked up in there.
Carl did worry. He would never admit that to Grace, though. Instead he brought donuts to the guards every time he visited and put in good words for them to keep an eye on his boy. Grace obviously knew this, with how his eyes sparkled as he looked back at Carl.
"A divine something, that's for sure." Carl agreed. He remembered sitting in church as a child, hard wooden pew, listening to his pastor talk about grace. If Carl were to call anyone a gift from God, it'd be the man before him. "Listen. I have news."
"Aw, don't give me bad news." Grace tipped his head back, smiling idly. "Isn't life in prison enough for one man? What's next, they're taking away my birthday?"
Carl waited, sitting still with his hands folded on the table, patient as Grace's wandering gaze and tapping knee stayed erratic. When their eyes met again, Grace's expression fell.
"What?" Grace said, with more dread.
"Grace." Carl sighed, then rubbed his face. He wasn't sure how to best do this.
"What? What? Don't leave me hanging, man." Grace chewed on his lip. Carl knew he was thinking of all the worst-case scenarios.
The Project had done a number on all of them. Even considering the explosion of the lab that could've potentially wiped out their entire science lab if DuBois and Shapiro hadn't been called at the last minute for an equipment check -- there was the fact that Stratt's worst estimates of the blame that would befall them afterwards were true. She'd tried to insist that she attend the trial hearings alone, but Grace had merely smiled that charming dimple and told her that he'd stood at her side the whole time and he wasn't about to start being anywhere else.
Stratt was in maximum security too. They couldn't visit each other, but Carl went between them a lot. He knew they emailed. Stratt complained off-handedly that Grace's emails were always thousands of words long, but Carl knew she read every word because she always seemed to know all the going-ons that Carl heard in person. And Grace was constantly talking about the books he was reading that she recommended, so obviously she was writing back.
It only made this harder to communicate. He needed Grace to truly listen to him.
"You trust me, right?" Carl asked.
"Carl, I would lay down in front of a train if you told me you'd made sure it was okay." Grace put a hand over his heart dramatically. "I would follow you into traffic trusting that you would simply deflect the cars with a stern glare. I would jump off a bridge knowing you would catch me with your strong arms. Wait, that one is a bit—"
"Grace." Carl said again. "It's about Stratt."
All jest slid off Grace's face again. There was a wobble in his voice. "She's fine. She just emailed me yesterday. You brought her a new book."
"I'm sorry." Carl kept his gaze steady, steady, steady. Get the message. "The papers came out this morning. They're saying she's dead."
"No." Grace shook his head rapidly, smile gone. A mile away. "No, no, no. She just— she just emailed me. She's fine. She's fine, Carl."
"Grace." Carl said, firmly. His hands were still on the table and he indulged in turning them upwards in offer because Grace needed to get it.
The grip was tight when Grace grasped both his hands, slowly going pale. "What could've even happened? There's no way. No."
"Grace." Carl repeated, then glanced at Frankie who was pretending not to listen. "The news says she's gone."
Grace blinked rapidly, eyes glossy. Carl squeezed three times, keeping otherwise on the down low.
"Oh." Grace said. Then, slowly, squeezed back three times. "The news says she's dead."
"That's right." Carl agreed equally slow, nodding.
"Okay." The tears did fall, but Carl was fairly sure it was only because they'd built up so far that they had to spill, not because he was missing the message. It would help anyway. "Thank you for telling me."
Carl politely looked away as Grace tossed his glasses on the table and dabbed his eyes with the corner of his sleeve. Orange against pale skin, no sun. Not that there was a lot of sun to go around anyway. Frankie was looking away too.
"I suppose she won't be emailing me anymore, then." Grace said, sadly. "Aw, I won't get to attend the funeral. That sucks."
"I'm not sure if they'll be one. She's a very polarizing figure, as you know." Carl replied.
"She was." Grace corrected. His glossy eyes had that spark. He definitely got the message. That was good. Stratt would hate it if Grace was crying over her.
"I'm sure Eva Stratt will continue to be polarizing in death." Carl said, dry. "If you have anything you'd like me to bring to her grave, just let me know."
"Thanks." Grace smiled again. It was still sad, despite the immediate knowledge that the news was not what it seemed. If Carl had to guess, he was truly going to miss the emails. "And thanks for coming to tell me the news yourself. I would've hated to read that in the paper."
"I've got you." Carl said. And he meant it more than Grace knew, yet.
[]
Carl believed in the Hail Mary.
Obviously he did. He never would've stayed with the Project for half as long as he did, otherwise. But the thing about that was that it meant he believed in Eva Stratt. He truly had faith that she was capable of creating the solution to their problem. To save the world. And she'd warned him, way back when, that there would be no trophies or accolades for doing so.
Carl agreed to help anyway. It reminded him of him mother telling him to help people to make their lives better, not for the praise. The real work was thankless. The real world was cruel and unjust and it was up to him to be a steady constant of good.
It was five years since Carl was under the Project's payroll. But Stratt had set him up in advance with a pool of funds, set aside quietly, and instructions.
"Have you ever seen the A-Team?" Stratt had asked, during the fated trial, standing by her office window in a silhouette before clouded sky.
"Who doesn't love Mr. T?" Carl said, promptly.
Stratt's voice curled with humour. "Indeed. I will need your assistance, once the dust has settled. If you're willing."
When it actually came time to enact the plan, it seemed a little silly.
"You got this idea from a movie?" Carl said, sliding the book over. "Are you sure this is a good plan?"
"Either I'm right, or it's not my problem anymore." Stratt said, almost pleasantly. She curled her hands around the book possessively. Carl had visited her so often in the last five years that the guards were used to his presence, and had merely flicked through the pages to check for contraband.
He didn't put it in a cigar, though. Hannibal was rather extra for that.
Inside the spine of the Holy Bible was a small pill with just enough perfectly calculated chemicals to make someone seem dead for long enough that their body would be removed from a maximum security prison. Carl relieved her body from a cremation services building before the actual burning took place.
When she woke up, Stratt stared at the ceiling for a minute. Then she said, "Well, I'm not dead."
"You're not." Carl agreed, glad to be no longer in possession of a dead body. He hadn't quite figured out what he would do if she never woke up.
"That would be too easy, wouldn't it?"
"Seems so."
Carl knew that Stratt was wasted in a prison. But the governments had wanted an easy and immediate solution to their problem and were pissed when they didn't get it. There was still so much work to be done.
And Stratt could get it done better even while dead than any other person alive.
"There's just one more thing I need before we can return to the Vat." Stratt said, after a hot shower and a good meal. Being dead didn't look particularly fun. She was tying up her long, wet orange-blonde hair as she spoke, methodical.
Carl could probably guess what it was. Or rather, who it was. "I don't think he'd appreciate you killing him, even temporarily."
Stratt quirked the corner of her mouth. "No, I suppose not. He doesn't need to pretend to be dead, anyway. He was collateral more than anything. I wish he hadn't… anyway. I have a plan."
Carl knew the end of her unfinished sentence. Stratt had plans to hide Grace away to avoid the downfall of it all. He'd refused, stating that he wasn't about to throw his friend to the wolves.
The expression on her face reminded Carl of how he felt when he saw that Grace had quoted him as a co-author in all his internationally acclaimed Astrophage articles.
Grace didn't let Stratt take all the credit for all their broken laws, unethical choices, and damning decisions. He stood in that trial and owned his part in the process and said that if Stratt was guilty, then so was he.
Maybe Grace secretly thought they'd weigh the 'saving the world' thing over 'stomping over all the rules'. But unfortunately not.
"Do you regret it?" Carl asked, once, when he'd visited to find Grace with a black eye and split lip. He still smiled, even when it looked painful.
"A little bit." Grace said, then laughed at his own honesty. "I don't know. It just didn't seem fair to let Stratt take the fall like that. I mean, yeah, she was the mastermind of the whole thing. But I was standing beside her coming up with the best ways to exploit Astophage. I published hundreds of articles during the Project outlining exactly that. I guess maybe I wanted my claim to fame. It's selfish, really."
Carl didn't think so. If Stratt was the brains of the whole thing, then Grace was the heart. There were people from the project lining up to complain about Grace's sentence. He didn't deserve this.
"You're an idiot." Carl said, crossing his arms and frowning so Grace knew exactly how he felt.
"Yeah, yeah." Grace dismissed, waving his hand flippantly. Carl couldn't look away from the dark bruise over his eye. "Shapiro said it was selfless, like I didn't give my life for the Hail Mary like the others but instead I gave my life in prison or whatever. But I don't think I'm saving anyone by being here, so."
"You were trying to save Stratt." Carl said.
Grace laughed again, rubbing his bruised jaw. "Oh God, do you think? Maybe I am an idiot. Sure as heck didn't do much."
Not in the moment, maybe. But five years later found Carl sitting in the driver's seat of a prison escort vehicle, idling and waiting for his transport.
"I didn't even know I was getting moved." Grace complained, as Frankie loaded him into the back.
"New orders, just came up." Frankie said. "We'll miss you around here. Who else is gonna help me with the crossword?"
"As if you don't already look up half the answers." Grace grinned. "Alright, alright. Take care, then."
Frankie pat his shoulder, and straightened up to pass Carl the cuff keys through the divider. "You're in great hands."
Grace's eyebrows shot up. He looked at Frankie, confused, who raised his hands innocently and let himself out the back, shutting the doors.
"New job?" Grace said.
"I get around." Carl replied, and started to drive, pulling away from the gate. He showed his carefully made credentials to the exit guard and then they were home free.
"Are you seriously— what's going on?" Grace said, twisting to try and see the prison even though there were no windows in the back. "You're not breaking me out of prison."
"Do you want me to take you back?" Carl asked, lightly amused.
"No, I'm good, I just mean — why? Aren't you going to get in trouble? Where are we going? Can we stop and get a burger?"
Carl did that first. He parked the prison van at the drop point and climbed in the back to take the handcuffs off Grace. The moment they came loose, Grace lurched forward and hugged Carl.
"Yeah, yeah." Carl pat his back, as Grace sniffled.
"You came for me." Grace said, damp. "You didn't have to do that."
"I'll only get you a burger if you stop crying on me."
Grace pulled back and wiped his face with the sleeve of his jumpsuit. They climbed into the waiting BMW and detoured long enough to pick up a huge greasy burger. Carl had to go inside because Grace was still in bright orange. It was only once when Grace was riding in shotgun licking the last of the burger off his fingers that he asked again, "So where are we going, anyway?"
"Where do you think?" Carl asked.
"Man, don't play with me right now, I'm fragile. You sound like —" Grace straightened up suddenly, looking at Carl with wide eyes.
Carl kept his own gaze on the road, but a smug little twitch to the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
"She's okay? Did she set this up?" Grace asked.
"Of course she did. And I told you she wasn't dead." Carl defended, because he'd very specifically gone to the prison before the news could've reached him to avoid hurting him like that.
"Well, you implied it. But still. She's okay, right?"
"She's Stratt." Carl said.
Grace huffed, then ran a hand down his face, chuckling.
[]
"International waters as a fugitive. Does that make me a pirate?" Grace asked, when his feet touched the familiar deck of the Vat.
"Depends on the amount of pillaging you intend on doing."
Grace whipped around in surprise. Stratt had come onto the deck to meet them, the wind whipping her orange-blonde hair away from her face. She had a cozy brown sweater and a cup of coffee.
"Reports of your death have been greatly exaggerated." Grace said, arms out, grinning like a maniac.
"Actually, that's a misquote. Mark Twain actually said—" Stratt did not get to finish, as she was being hugged.
"I thought you told him." Stratt said, looking at Carl over his shoulder and giving Grace's back one calculated but gentle pat.
"I told him." Carl shrugged, hands in his coat pockets.
"Let me have this." Grace insisted, cheek against Stratt's shoulder.
Stratt sighed. She kept the hand on his back, the other still holding the coffee.
When he pulled away, he was grinning like he won the lottery. "I'm surprised you actually broke me out of prison."
"If you're surprised, then you haven't been paying attention." Stratt replied, turning into the wind. It obscured her face with the blow of her hair.
"You need me." Grace guessed.
"There's always more work to do." Stratt said, then carefully tucked her hair behind her ear. "I want you here."
"Well, I'm a fugitive now, so I guess I'm all yours." Grace said, and he didn't sound torn up about it at all. Even a bit giddy, bouncing on his heels.
"Good." Stratt said. Then she turned on her heel and strode back inside the doors.
"She missed me, right? She totally missed me." Grace asked Carl, as they followed behind.
"Heh." Carl thought about how grave her voice was when she instructed him to retrieve Grace 'by any means necessary'.
The wind cut off when they got inside, the familiar heavy clang of metal doors. A soldier passed by and beamed at them, "Dr. Grace, welcome back."
"Glad to be back." Grace smiled.
"No regrets, then?" Carl said, inspecting the side of his face. It was nice to know there wouldn't be any more black eyes that he couldn't do something about. He joked blandly, "I could still bring you back to prison before you get in too deep."
"Hah!" Grace clapped him on the shoulder then turned down the hallway to where Stratt disappeared to, opening his arms wide and bouncing on his heels a little, "Didn't you hear? Always more work to do."
Carl smiled.