Work Text:
Eva Stratt typed on her laptop, drafting her report for the ongoing construction of the Baikonur Cosmodrome and Research Facility, the existing structures there being upgraded and outfitted as part of the bargain to use the complex as the Hail Mary’s main launch site. She finished a paragraph, then reached for a pen to make a note in her calendar.
And noticed a small spot off to the side in her vision, fuzzy and vague.
She blinked a few times, hoping, willing that it was just a side effect of staring at a screen too long. But the spot stayed, despite her best efforts, and she took a deep breath, pushing down her frustration.
She had a migraine aura coming on, and there was nothing to do to stop it.
She looked at her calendar again — the spot was still there, had moved slightly more into her line of vision, but she could still see, and the blinding headache hadn’t come on yet; she had a bit of time still to wrap up a couple of things, before she'd be incapacitated for a time.
Typing frantically now, she finished up her train of thought on her report, feeling like it was a race against time, all the while the spot in her vision grew, slid further into her field of vision. By the time she’d finished, the aura was about half formed, cracking her vision, watering her eyes with the strain to see past it, her heartbeat slamming in the rhythm of the pain she knew would plague her after the aura passed. She grit her teeth against its inevitable progress — not yet, not yet, there was still more she had to do before it set in completely.
She picked up her pen again, moved to mark in her calendar. Her grip of the pen felt strange, numb, almost, and she had to readjust it a few times. When she went to write, she found she had to form the letters very carefully and deliberately for any of the words to make sense to her — she just hoped it would be legible afterwards.
Back on her computer, she opened up her email, she just had two she needed to send, and then — no, three, she had to move her next meeting back, she wouldn’t be able to take like this.
Her typing slowed as her thoughts came slower, harder to snag and form into something coherent. Most of her vision was obscured now by the aura, a large fractured and fuzzy patch, and she needed to rely on muscle memory to type while trying to peer desperately through the aura to check for typos. The strain of it made her head ache preemptively, her typing coming even slower, but doggedly she made it through, one, then two.
Now the third. She would have cried if it would have served her any purpose. The aura was fully formed now, she wasn’t sure if she could do this — how insulted would the new Committee of Global Agriculture be if she didn’t show with no notice?
A quick knock came at her door, and then Grace stuck his head into her office. “Hey Stratt, you still want me at that CGA meeting in five?”
Her saving Grace, she thought, and nearly laughed at it, her mind had truly gone if she was starting to make puns like him.
“Grace,” she said, and the word felt strange in her mouth, numb, and judging by the instant look of worry on his face, he heard it too.
“Stratt?” he asked, and he was rushing into her office, kneeling by her side in an instant.
“Aura,” she said, gesturing to her head in explanation, and she heard him let out a little sigh.
“Okay, okay — Jesus, these always scare me.” His hands ran over her arms, her shoulders, anywhere he could reach in reassurance, more of himself than her. Still, she grappled for his hand, squeezing it briefly, though the action felt uncoordinated, she really could only feel the most basic sensations in her hands.
“Need you,” she tried, though the words were slurred. She grit her teeth and tried again. “Need you to send an email.”
She had to speak slowly, very deliberately in order to be understood, and she felt him squeeze her hand again, more out of nerves than comfort, she thought.
“Okay, baby, okay, but sit down first, okay?”
“Am sitting,” she enunciated, and she heard him scoff.
“Not what I meant, and you know it. Come on, I got you.”
He stood, and with an arm wrapped around her back, his hand still in hers, he coaxed her to stand, then led her slowly to the small loveseat she’d moved to her office, for the purpose of catching quick naps on the nights where she got little to no sleep. Though its purpose had shifted more to being Grace’s workspace when he came to work with her in her office, for, she realized with a dim interest, since he’d become a permanent fixture in her life, in her bed, in her heart, she very rarely had nights that she worked into oblivion anymore.
He sat her down, fussing with pillows around her, and she waved him away. “Hen,” she stressed, and could picture the crooked smile he gave her, though she couldn’t see his face through the aura. Pointing back to her computer, she stressed, “Email.”
“Right, okay, what email am I sending?” He stepped back to her desk in that loose, uncoordinated way he had of moving sometimes, unplugging her laptop and coming back to her, sitting on the arm of the loveseat.
“Meeting.” She ran her tongue over her teeth, she hated losing her elocution during these. “Push it back. Forty—” she stopped, considering that might not be enough time. “An hour.”
She could see him nodding out of the corner of her eye as he navigated, then started typing. He quickly finished, then read the email back to her.
“Director Stratt has had unforeseen circumstances arise at the time of this meeting. She proposes a new time of 15:45, one hour after the current time. She thanks you for your cooperation. Good?”
“You’re sending this as me,” she corrected slowly, pictured the confused look he gave her as he cocked his head. “Use ‘I’, not ‘she’.”
“Right, I’m impersonating you,” he said, nodding as he typed again. “I have had unforeseen circumstances arise, I propose—wait, is this like, a crime?” He turned his head to look at her. “Breaking my clearance or something? Should I be doing this, sending from your email account? This feels wrong—”
“Grace,” she interrupted, and did her best to give him a flat look. “Send it.”
“Right,” he said again, and finished the email. “I expect a share of your immunity if they catch me for this.”
She snorted, then closed her eyes, it was exhausting trying to see through the aura. She heard him set her laptop aside, and then he was sliding down the arm of the loveseat to squeeze in beside her. She shifted over, making room, and then let her head fall to his shoulder when he wrapped an arm around her, his fingers finding the spot on her temples, rolling gently.
“I know this doesn’t really work for your auras,” he murmured, his nose pressed to the top of her head. “But it makes me feel better to try.”
She hummed softly — it was exhausting to think, to use the energy to form her uncooperative mouth around the words, but she wanted to tell him, wanted him to know. “Feels good. Like it when you do.”
She felt him grin, kiss the top of her head. “Then it really makes me feel better to try.”
Drifting, she dozed off for a bit, a fact that would surprise her later, but she was warm in his embrace, comforted, safe, the clean, citrus scent of his clothing lulling her into the doze. She dreamed, in the faint, disjointed way of dreams in such a light stage of sleep, of a house in a field, long grass waving, a breeze that always stirred off the face of the ocean, the sun hot, bright, sweltering. Lemons and sea salt hanging sweet and rich in the air; a hand in hers, warm and familiar. Lips on her temple and whispers of life and love and—
Her mind woke itself, knew it had tasks to do, pulled itself out of dreams — lemons, she remembered faintly, a house? Good and safe was the last impression she could grab onto, and then the dream was fading, slipping from her memory like grains of sand.
When was the last time she’d dreamt of her own future? She couldn’t remember. It was nice. Maybe she should try to, more often. There was something to live for, after all, a blissful knowledge she was finding it easier to let herself sink into.
But bliss couldn’t last, and like she was paying for the pleasant dream, she became aware of the throbbing in her temples, a hammer’s beat of her heart, and she swallowed a groan as she opened her eyes.
No aura anymore, it must have moved out of her vision while she dozed — now was only the throb of the migraine left in its wake. She ran her tongue over her teeth again, it felt more responsive, more real.
“Ryland,” she tried, and her voice wasn’t slurred anymore, to her great relief.
He scratched gently at her scalp in response. “Hey, you. You slept, that’s good.”
“A little.” She sat up, turned her neck this way and that, liked the stretch of it. “What time is it?”
“It’s only been about thirty minutes.” He sat up with her, a hand on her back like he was reassuring himself he could still touch, she was still there. “You could sleep longer, if you want.”
She hummed and shook her head, rubbing the heels of her hands over her eyes. “I need coffee.”
He laughed. “If you didn’t have a migraine, I’d be trying to convince you to make it tea or water instead. Though, tea does have caffeine—”
“Coffee,” she interrupted firmly, making him laugh again.
“Heard and received.” His hand smoothed down her back, comforting. “Want me to go get it for you?”
Eva shook her head. “I want the walk. I might go stand up top, too. The wind might shock the migraine away.”
She turned him then, reaching out to smooth her thumb over his chin. “Come with me?”
He grinned, caught her hand to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I’d love to.”
She gave him a small smile and nearly stood. But then she stopped — lemons, house, a hand in hers — and instead she leaned in to him, pressing a slow, soft kiss to his lips.
He was still grinning when the kiss ended, and he reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”
She hummed out a laugh, nuzzling his nose with hers. “Such a romantic.”
“More just a man who can’t believe how lucky he is.”
Feeling herself blush, she cupped his cheek, caressed, then stood, rolling her shoulders. She started for the door, but then stopped herself again, love, love, love, lips on her temple, and turned towards him quick enough that he nearly walked into her. She slid her hands along his jaw, then pulled him in for another kiss, stronger this time, pouring in everything she felt, everything that she couldn’t find the words for.
He stroked the back of her neck when they broke, curling into her hair as he chuckled. “Wow. Boy. You just… take my breath away.”
She snorted, grinned, nudged her nose with his again. “Maybe… maybe I’m the lucky one, I think,” she whispered, and opened her eyes to see his, a soft, striking blue, already on hers.
“Should we settle, and say we’re both lucky?” he murmured.
She laughed softly, nodded. “Okay.”
They pulled apart, reluctant, hands trailing down arms in an effort to extend their contact as she opened the door, turned towards the mess.
But instead of a half a step behind, he walked next to her, and she let herself drift into his side for a moment, pressing against him for an indulgent moment, glancing up at him as she did.
“I love you,” she murmured, and felt giddy at his quick, sharp grin, goofy as he ran a hand quickly down her back, a stolen touch in the hallways.
“I love you, too, Eva.”