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The time off for the party had been requested weeks before, and Eva Stratt had signed off on it — “A bonding and morale boosting event for all members of Project Hail Mary, subcommittee of the Petrova Task Force, currently stationed on the People’s Liberation Army Naval Gansu, to celebrate their efforts and show appreciation for the work done for the sake of humanity.”
Bureaucratic language — she suspected DuBois had a hand in crafting it — for a goodbye party. Goodbye not only to the astronauts, as the launch date became months away instead of years, but to the cohort that had formed on the Vat, of scientists and engineers, administrative workers, and at the center of it all, the Hail Mary crews, who had become a shining beacon to them all during their stints on the ship. That cohort would be scattered soon enough, as the knowledge that the base of project operations would move back to land became more and more real.
After the time request had come the requests for the party provisions — food, different from the standard that was served on the Vat. She’d approved the basic party fare, had rejected the request for a chocolate fountain. Drinks, she’d approved the beer, wine, and mixers, and had approved the special requests for the astronaut’s drinks of choice. She’d suppressed a smile at the sight of it, then approved the request for the karaoke machine. Had even added her own idea to the order, and had hats and shirts designed with the mission logo bought for everyone.
She thought that would be the last of her participation in the party — that, and turning a blind eye to whatever chaos happened that night. Let the rest have their fun without the Director standing over their shoulder. Besides, it was easier for her this way; a certain level of detachment allowed her to crack the whip, demand the impossible — made it easier to ask them to die.
But then came the day of the party — and the needling.
Ilyukhina started it, asking her as they had passed in a hallway if she would come, had protested with smiles and stubborn logic and damn near holding her hostage in that hallways that she must at least partake in at least one drink — she had bought them, after all — until Stratt agreed to at least five minutes of time.
Then came Shapiro, who’d argued it wouldn’t be right for the host not to at least make an appearance. Stratt informed her she would come for five minutes at the beginning, and Shapiro just laughed, and told her to at least wait until everyone arrived before starting her clock.
Even Yáo had asked, saying with a quiet propriety that remarks from their leader would be a welcome and proper start to the evening.
When she’d thought she’d finally escaped the last of the nagging, Grace had come into her office, a stack of reports in his arms, and had asked with too much nonchalance what her plans were for the party.
She gave him a flat look. “I have been asked that all day today, who put you up to it?”
He was not good at lying. He tried to keep a straight face, but he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, shifted on his feet. “Why would anyone put me up to it?”
She just stared at him, unwavering, and he folded quickly, huffing and dropping into the chair in front of her desk. “Fine, Dimitri and Ilyukhina both asked — they teamed up! You try saying no to two Russians.”
Eva pressed her lips against a smile, nearly teased him for being soft — then remember how she’d been trapped earlier in the day by just one of them. “They can be persistent,” she said instead, and Grace groaned in agreement.
“And crazy, Ilyukhina told me to—” he cut off abruptly, and she glanced up from her report to see him turn a bright red. “She, ah, told me to. Uh. Shag you into going.”
A laugh ripped from her throat before she could stop it, only made worse when his blush deepened. Biting her lip, she took a deep breath in an effort to control her voice. “Olesya Ilyukhina did not say shag — for a matter, you’ve never said shag.” She quirked an eyebrow at him, her mouth still twitching from suppressed laughter. “Tell me what she really said.”
Ryland pointed at her, still bright red. “You’re mean. Evil. Mocking me in this moment of embarrassment."
“Who said anything about mocking?”
“You don’t say you’re mocking when you’re mocking, it’s implied.”
“You still haven’t answered the question,” she countered, setting down her pen and leaning forward, fixing him with a stare.
He squirmed. “Why do you need to know?”
“I don’t need to know. I want to know.” She smiled, slow and sly. “Should I shag the answer out of you?”
“Stop,” he whined, but his smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Eva stood, and quick, smooth, she slid herself into Ryland’s lap, hands tugging his head back to look her in the eye as she carefully pressed her hips down, lightly, but with enough pressure to remind. “What was it she said?”
He gasped, his hands falling automatically to her hips. “Sh-she said to fuck you stupid until you agreed to go.”
She grinned, she’d won, and bent her head until her lips brushed his. “And will you?”
His answer was just a strangled sound, making her laugh as she pulled back, linking her arms around his neck to steady herself. “I shouldn’t tempt, I’m sorry. I have a meeting in,” she glanced at the clock, "twelve minutes. Though I don’t doubt your abilities, I would want more time than that.”
“Right, yeah—” his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and then he shot her a charming grin, made more effective by his hair, tousled by her own touch. “After the meeting, then?”
She huffed a laugh, angled her head to look down her nose at him. “Down, boy.”
“Woof,” he said, and made her smile again.
His hands slid slowly up her back, warm even through her pullover, and she let out a long sigh, eyes drifting closed as she sank into the feeling, his fingers rubbing soft circles along her shoulderblades.
“Will you stay for any of it?” he asked suddenly, his voice quiet, and far too even to be as innocuous as he tried to make it sound.
She opened her eyes, blinking slowly at him. “I promised Ilyukhina at least five minutes — and Yáo a small speech.”
She studied him for another moment, watching the set of his mouth, the small lines along his brow. For a man who loved to talk, he had been surprisingly quiet to her about the event.
“I’m surprised you haven’t asked me about the party yet,” she said as much, and watched the lines of his brow deepen for a moment, one corner of his mouth twitch.
“It didn’t really seem like your thing—not, that I think you don’t like parties,” he backtracked, making her furrow her brow, why would she find that offensive? But then he cleared his throat, continued. “Besides, I’m still trying to decide how long I’ll stay.”
Her brow pinched even further. “Why? You’re friends with all the crew, many of the scientists. I thought you would love this.”
He nodded, looking unconvincing. “Yeah, yeah normally, I like a good party. I guess it’s just…” he trailed off, his gaze falling down and away from hers. “It’s goodbye, you know? I mean, not goodbye, goodbye, not yet, but it’s… it’s the start.
Her lips pinched in sympathy, and made an effort to smooth them out. She knew he had not kept up the same barriers that she had, hadn’t kept the crew at arm’s length. It wasn’t in his nature, in many ways — he liked to joke and laugh, to find an easy camaraderie with people that she found almost envious, for his ability to accidentally charm his way into people’s lives.
But here and now, it was plain to see it wasn’t a boon for him, but a weight on his soul.
Gently carding her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck, she tilted his head back to look at her again, giving him a small smile when he met her eyes.
“There’s no point in borrowing grief from a day yet to come,” she murmured, and a smile of his own twitched on his mouth.
“That’s very German of you.”
Eva tugged fondly on a piece of his hair. “And is that a bad thing?”
“No,” he said, smile growing as he shook his head.
She nodded once. “Good.” She slid her hand to his cheek then, smoothing a thumb over the light stubble that had formed there already. “Don’t think of it as goodbye, tonight. It’s just more time to spend with everyone. More memories to make.”
His smile turned softer, and he stroked his hands up and down her back again, fingers twitching as though he sought to touch more of her, could never touch enough. “And will you be part of everyone? For longer than your five minutes?”
“For the beginning, at least.”
He laughed lightly, blinked up at her with that open expression that always made her belly flutter. “And after the beginning? Will you stay with me?”
She took a deep breath, felt fondness melt in her chest like honey, found she couldn’t make a different decision, even if she tried. “Alright. I’ll stay a while longer.”
~~~~~~~~~
Stratt arrived at the party at the top of the hour, wearing a different top, and her hair half twisted up into a new style — she hadn’t had time to shower like she’d wanted, but she’d at least done something new.
She’d hoped to slip in quietly, find her way to a somewhat secluded seat to observe, nurse a drink, put in her promised time before slipping out again. But as she glanced around the room, her eyes fell on Grace, standing in a group of the crews and a few other lead scientists — and as though there were magnets underneath their skin, his eyes found her almost as soon as she’d entered the room, and his expression lit up with a smile.
Ilyukhina and Shapiro saw his gaze, followed it, and then Ilyukhina raised her glass at the sight of her, letting out a small whoop. “Our Supreme Leader Stratt has arrived! Now party may commence.”
Stratt made her way to the circle of people, no way she could hide now. “It looks like you’ve already started.”
Ilyukhina raised her glass again, then took a large swallow of the drink. “Pre-gaming, as it’s called. But now that host is here, it is regular game.”
“I’m not the host,” Stratt objected.
“Ah, but you bought the drinks, da? That makes you host. And host should never be without drink, it is bad luck — go, get one.”
“I’ll come with you,” Grace offered, his voice bright with suppressed laughter, and she looked at him curiously as they walked up to the bar.
“Gin and tonic,” she ordered from one of the kitchen staff turned bartender, and looked back over at Grace, still grinning. “What’s so funny?”
He snorted, some of his laughter breaking through, and she eyed his bottle of beer — only half gone, was he that much of a lightweight these days? “Ilyukhina handles you the same way she does me,” he said, and she furrowed her brows in confusion. “Suppose it’s just nice to know that even our Supreme Leader can’t seem to stand up to the whirlwind she is.”
Stratt cracked a smile, and took a sip from her drink, angling against the bar to face him better. “Whirlwind is a good term for it. I might have used dervish.”
He grinned again, angling back towards her so they faced each other, an elbow each on the bar. “How do you solve a problem like Ilyukhina?” he intoned, making her snort, hiding the sound in her glass.
“Hard to picture her in an abbey.”
“So you have seen the movie!”
“I’m busy, not uncultured.”
“A movie,” he said wistfully, and sighed, his gaze far off. “I don’t remember the last one I watched. Man, I don’t even know what’s come out the past four years.”
She gave him a small smile, tipped her glass towards him. “A movie night. Perhaps that’s in our future.”
His gaze flicked back to hers, sharp, and he grinned. “A few sips of a drink and thinking of life outside of work? Maybe you needed this party more than I thought.”
She sniffed. “I know how to—”
“Lovebirds,” Ilyukhina said, singsong, and she threw an arm around each of their shoulders. “My dear commander has informed me you promised speech,” she leaned her weight into Stratt, giving her a grin, “I would like to hear this speech, especially if it is very admiring of me.”
“I didn’t write anything ahead of time, but yes—”
“Speech!” Stratt was cut off by Ilyukhina raising her voice to the room. “The Director would like to give a speech!”
Heads turned, voices settled, and Stratt resisted the urge to give the other woman a glare. “Right, yes.” Stratt turned so that she faced the room properly, flicking her eyes through the crowd for a brief moment — astronauts, scientists, engineers, army officials, everyone who had worked on the project, all standing before her, all the hopes and dreams of humanity on their shoulders, now laid at her feet.
“I will not speak long. Tonight is not about me, but about the rest of you.” She gestured with her glass across the entire room, before she set her gaze to Dr. Lokken, who stood with many of the other scientists. “To our scientists, who work tirelessly each and every day, who have shown the world what discoveries are possible when humanity puts our minds — and money — to it. This project would have no hope without you.”
She gestured next to Dimitri and the other engineers that stood with him. “To our engineers, who have built feats, novel designs using a novel energy source, you have shown the world that necessity is indeed the mother of invention. Without you, there would be no Hail Mary, being built above us now.”
She turned finally to the astronauts, and spared them a small, quick smile. “To our astronauts. Each day we are inspired by the courage, knowledge, and humor you show. You have shown the world what it means to be human, what it means to love beyond the bounds of yourself. Without you, there would be no hope for the future, no place to rest our dreams. So,” nodding first to Yáo, she said, “Gǎn xiè,” then to DuBois, “Thank you,” and down the line she went, thanking each one in their mother tongues.
“And that is enough from me,” she finished, and raised her glass to the room. “To your time, dedication, and sacrifice. Be proud tonight, and,” she hesitated just a moment, “the work day may start two hours late tomorrow.”
An eruption of cheers went up around the room, and as the crowd began to toast each other, turning back to their groups, Stratt turned back to the bar, and found Grace gazing at her, his eyes soft and his head propped on the elbow he had leaned on the bar.
“You gave a good speech,” he murmured, voice dreamy, and she nearly laughed, giddy flutters rising in her belly.
“I’ve had practice these past years.”
His smile grew. “You did a nice thing too, giving them the morning off.”
“Not the morning off, just two hours extra.”
“Always so pragmatic when I’m trying to compliment you,” he quipped, and took a sip of his beer.
She smiled, leaning forward just slightly, edging into his space. “Then compliment me better.”
“You’re stunning,” he said, and her smile flashed a grin for a moment.
“That’s more like it.”
He opened his mouth to respond when Yáo cleared his throat next to them, and they both turned to look at him. “Director Stratt.” He smiled faintly, his eyes flicking between the both of them. “Thank you for the exceptionally kind words tonight. I appreciate that you came and spoke, as we discussed earlier.” He nodded then to Grace. “And Dr. Grace, your presence is appreciated as well. As our heads of command, the presence of both of you here is good for morale.”
Stratt saw Grace pink out of the corner of her eye, and she suppressed a smile at the sight, instead nodding her head to Yáo. “I do as I promise. Tonight is well deserved.”
Yáo lifted his bottle, and Stratt clinked her glass against it, drinking in toast. Then a certain stillness came over his features, a masking as he said, “Your presence here will be an honor, for as long as you choose to stay.”
Then he turned and left, leaving Stratt to narrow her eyes at his back.
“That felt… pointed,” she said to Grace, and looked back at him. “As long as I choose to stay?”
“There’s probably another betting pool,” he said, and he was chewing on a Twizzler — where did he keep those things? “They’re rife amongst the crew.”
“That I knew — your lab isn’t good at hiding the charts.” He blushed, and she swallowed a laugh. “Betting on what, this time? How long I’ll stay?” She narrowed her eyes again, this time at Grace. “Is that why you asked me earlier to stay longer?”
He held up his hands in defense. “Hey, rule is I’m not allowed to bet on ones involving you — unfair advantage it’s said — not, not that I participate in any of them,” he backtracked, and his blush deepened. “They just — tell me things, whether or not I ask. Probably to dig for information. But, uh, yeah, probably betting on how long you’ll stay. I’m sure some people have already lost tonight, given that you came at all.”
Stratt looked back out at the crowd, considering. “What do you think is the longest shot?”
She heard Grace choke, looked back at him to see him wiping his mouth with his sleeve, looking at her in amusement. “Eva Stratt, are you trying to rig the odds?”
“It can’t be rigging if I don't have a stake.” She gave him a slow, half smile. “But I’m allowed my fun.”
“Well,” he started, grinning. “The longer you stay, the longer the odds, I would imagine.”
She hummed, then looked back out at the crew, the scientists, all smiles and laughs as the drinking began in earnest. “I’ll try to get comfortable, then.”
Grace laughed, and she glanced back at him, flushed cheekbones and tousled hair, she had a sudden vision of him younger and wilder, wondered what sort of parties he’d gone to in his day.
“I really like you here,” he said before she could ask, and she raised an eyebrow, questioning. “I mean, here, at the party with me. I was sort of dreading it and sort of not, and now I’m, well.” He grinned, looked down at the label on his beer, picking at it. “I just like being at a party with you. Feels like a very couple-y thing to do.”
She smiled softly at him, reached to clink her glass with his bottle. “Couple-y? Very scientific.”
He grinned. “I’m not—”
He was interrupted by the squeal of a microphone, and they turned to see the karaoke machine powered on, whoops and cheers sounding as the first strain of music came from it.
The gin in her stomach was warm and uplifting, and before she could consider it too long, Eva carefully maneuvered her barstool closer to Ryland, then turned so that her back was to his chest, carefully leaning back, feeling him warm against her. One of his arms came around her, his hand landing on her thigh in a gentle hold, and he pressed his cheek to her temple, his hum of contentment vibrating against her skin. “This okay?” he asked, and she nodded.
They watched Ilyukhina perform first, a wild and bombastic rendition of All The Things She Said, “In proper Russian,” as she put it.
Then DuBois, with a charming amount of confidence, stepped up, and began to sing in what was a surprisingly nice baritone, an aria that Eva thought was from Carmen.
The room erupted into laughter and playful boos, and Eva had to hide her laughter behind her glass, Ryland stifling his in her hair.
“Since when do karaoke machines program opera songs?” he murmured against her scalp, and she muffled a snort.
“And how did he know to search for it? He found it so quickly,” she whispered back, and Ryland gave a strangled laugh behind her.
Still, DuBois was undeterred, and it wasn’t until nearly halfway through that Shapiro stepped up and stopped him, to the cheers of the room.
“As payment for that,” Shapiro teased him, plugging in the next song. “You’re going to sing this one with me.”
And so they watched the two of them sing Another Day of Sun, Shapiro with a loud, clear voice, pulling, DuBois fumbling most of the words, but grinning the whole time, his hand in Shapiro’s and a look of pure glee on his face. That’s new, she thought, watching the chemistry between the two, wondered for a moment if that was a relationship she should allow, then did her best to push the thought aside. This was why she hadn’t wanted to be there as the boss, but she’d made her choice, she’d have to live with it — she’d ignore tonight, handle tomorrow, if necessary.
As they sang, she heard something she never thought she would — Ryland behind her, humming along, a low, gentle vibration against her back.
She glanced back at him, a smile spreading as she met his eyes. “You’re humming.”
He grinned. “Yeah?”
“You sound nice. Do you sing?”
He barked out a laugh, hand squeezing her thigh. “No, no no no. Humming is not the same as singing, my voice is not good.”
She hummed as though she doubted it, and he protested further. “No, seriously, no one wants to hear that.” He raised his eyebrows at her then. “What about you? You sing?”
“I do — I used to be in an Eastern German youth choir.”
“What?” His voice rose half an octave, making her grin. “How did I not know that about you?”
“You never asked.”
“When was that supposed to come up in conversation? I’ve never heard you sing before.”
She just shrugged, took the last sip of her drink. “I’ve not had occasion to.”
He stared at her, eyes narrowing as his smile grew. “I don’t believe you.”
She snorted, nudged her elbow back into his chest. “You need proof?”
“Yeah.”
She turned to look back at him fully. “Seriously? You don’t trust me?”
“It has nothing to do with trust, I just think you’re pulling my leg.” His grin was cocky, shit-eating, and she let out an incredulous huff of laughter.
“I am not falling for your trap — I will not be singing tonight, and you can believe whatever you’d like.”
“Please,” he whined, and she opened her mouth to respond, when—
“Stratt! Ilyukhina exclaimed, bouncing up to them and slamming her bottle of Zelyonaya Marka down onto the bar. “You have stayed twenty-three minutes now, and made me lose bet.” She grinned, wide, bright, and then it turned devilish as she turned it on Grace. “Lover boy, did you do as I recommended?”
He turned red, and Stratt pressed her lips against a smile as Ilyukhina laughed, slapped him on the shoulder good naturedly. “You never need to kiss and tell, your cheeks do it for you. Now,” he stood on her toes, reaching behind the bar for two small glasses. She poured them out, then handed them to both Eva and Ryland. “You will both drink with me. In payment for bet I lost, and,” she refilled her own glass, “because I will not die in space until Ruler of World drinks vodka with me.”
“I had beer before this, I shouldn’t put vodka on top,” Ryland protested, and Ilyukhina studied him, looked to his bottle.
“You had one beer, yes?”
“Yeah — well, three quarters, haven’t finished it yet.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “You will be fine, that is not enough to make you sick. Drink with me. Eat some pretzels if you are worried.”
Eva watched him hesitate, consider, look at her. She shrugged, it’s your decision, and then he sighed. “Why not,” he conceded, and Ilyukhina whooped, raising her glass to Eva, grinning at her expectantly.
“Za zvozdy,” Eva toasted, and Ilyukhina whooped again in delight as all three of them slammed back the drink.
“And our Ruler knows how to toast! Come, another one.”
“One is enough for me, thank you,” Eva protested lightly, though Ilyukhina just pouted playfully at her, continuing to fill their glasses.
“Just one more — they are small glasses, I promise.” She grinned, and held the refilled glass back to Eva. “A woman who knows how to toast a Russian has certainly held more liquor than this.”
Ilyukhina gave her another pouting look, and Eva let the corner of her mouth twitch, taking the glass in acquiescence. “It may as well be a visa requirement of the country.”
Ilyukhina laughed, then poked Ryland in the shoulder. “Puppy eyes don’t only work for you! Drink again with us, come on.”
He laughed, ran a hand through his hair. “If I regret it, this is all your fault.”
“Yes, yes, I will take blame if American stomach cannot handle vodka — celebrate my noble sacrifice with me.”
He laughed again, then took the refilled glass, raised it. “The more you bring it up doesn’t make it more noble.”
“Disagree, my friend! Now, za svadebnyye kolokola!”
Eva nearly choked on her drink at Ilyukhina’s toast — rather bold of the woman. Ryland must have seen her reaction, for he looked at her curiously, his cheeks flushing with the drink, and he looked back at Ilyukhina. “What did you say—”
He was cut off when Shapiro exclaimed across the room, “Stratt is drinking tonight? Oh I so need in.”
Eva lost count of the drinks after that, and the world became a blur — that was a mistake of hers, she knew it even in the moment. But Ilyukhina remained as persuasive as ever, especially with the rest of the crew joining in, and despite that tall, well formed wall she had tried to keep up between her and the astronauts, she found cracks forming in it, cracks made by Shapiro’s laugh, so loud and high, so distinctive; Yáo’s singing voice, painfully bad and woefully confident; DuBois’ dancing, disjointed and awkward and sweet; Ryland’s presence by her side, warm and sure, small casual touches that sent her heart soaring, all of it too painfully, wonderfully human that she felt her heart squeeze, her breath catch, humanity in all its glory and everything they were racing to save.
So when Ilyukhina and Yáo finished a duet and the woman called out Ryland’s name, waggling the microphone at him, “We haven’t heard you, yet! Come on, every lead takes turn.”
Instead of watching him sputter for an excuse, a pretty blush running down his neck, Eva finished the rest of her drink, and then surprising even herself, stood smoothly from her seat, the alcohol in her stomach a comfortable, confident roar. “I’ll take his turn — save him from himself,” she announced, and pressed her lips against a smile when Ryland’s jaw dropped, and the rest of the room erupted into surprised cheers and laughter.
She took the microphone from a shocked looking Ilyukhina, something she never thought she’d see. “You sing?” the woman asked, a smile spreading, and Eva tilted her head slightly, a corner of her mouth turning up.
“In another life. We will see if I remember how.”
Ilyukhina grinned, and gave a theatrical bow, half sitting, half falling onto the couch taken by the crew. “Then I give you floor.”
Eva turned her attention to the song selection screen, realizing belatedly she’d need to choose one. There was a recommended list, and she tapped on it, that seemed appropriate. She scrolled once, then had a title catch her eye — Your Song, Elton John. She could manage that range, and she remembered most of the words, that would make things easier.
Tapping it, the screen loaded, and then the opening chords to the song began to play, more cheers erupting from the crowd as it was recognized.
For a moment, even the flush of alcohol along her skin couldn’t keep out a quick flash of nerves — what was she doing? This wasn’t the mask of Director that she wore, the professional wall she strove to keep between herself and everyone who worked under her, not only for her peace of mind, but theirs.
But then she looked out, saw the astronauts, her crew, watching her with grins and excited smiles, Yáo giving her an encouraging nod when she caught his eye, and in that moment she thought maybe it wasn’t so bad to allow cracks in the wall.
Her eyes flicked to Ryland, still sat at the bar. His glasses were on, but just barely, perched at the end of his nose, one of the Project Hail Mary caps askew from where Dimitri had pushed it onto his head, his hair sticking awkwardly from the sides. His eyes were blurry and his face flushed with drink, but still a picture of adoring anticipation, all hers. That had been a rather large crack she had allowed — more than that, an entire shifting of her foundation, a rearranging of her structure. A smile touched her lips as their gaze lingered, burned — maybe not a bad thing to allow at all.
“It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside,” she sang, and more whoops and cheers came from the crowd, rising to a din as they heard her voice.
“I’m not one of those who can easily hide.”
The vibration in her throat felt good, the stretch of her vocal cords sweet and easy, how long had it been since she’d sang? She thought it was sometime around the day she’d received the first report about the Petrova problem.
Stress, fear, and worry had stolen her voice. Maybe she could slowly steal it back.
“Oh, I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.”
Eva looked to her astronauts again, those brave, intrepid souls, and she nodded to them all, giving them a wide smile as she sang, “My gift is my song and this one’s for you.”
The crowd fell quiet as she sang, an entranced sort of silence that, somewhere behind the burn of alcohol, she’d find ridiculous, there was nothing that special about this moment. But instead, she looked out and saw people — saw them swaying and dancing slowly, saw a few mouthing along to the words. Saw a lighter someone had lit, waving it slowly back and forth, saw Ilyukhina swaying back and forth in her seat, bumping her shoulders against DuBois, then Shapiro, her hand on her chest as she watched in awe. People, and every last one of them so human, so imperfectly perfect that for a second time that night her heart squeezed, leapt, reminded her that they fought for this, they fought for the humanity of it all.
“I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in words.”
As his eyes had found hers at the beginning of the night, now hers found Ryland’s, an attraction as true as a needle to North, as indelible as the stars. He gave her a slow, soft smile, peering at her over his glasses, and time seemed to distort, lengthen, draw out around them as she gazed at him, felt her heart beat in a pure, unerring rhythm, you, you, you.
“How wonderful life is while you’re in the world.”
She sang to only him then, her last note ringing pure, and the world continued to spin slower as he raised his glass to her, mouthed to her, “Love you,” and she could only grin back, her cheeks hot and aching.
Time snapped back in a roar of cheers and applause, and then two sets of arms were wrapped around her, nearly knocking her off her feet. Her mind slowly caught up with the figures, it was Ilyukhina and Shapiro that had grabbed her in a hug, ripping a sharp laugh from her throat as they spun her, shrieking in a whirling combination of English and Russian about the many lives of Director Stratt.
When she managed to stumble from the embrace and the other cheers and exclamations that followed her, she made her way back to the bar, back to Ryland, back to the one place she always wanted to be.
“You were incredible,” he breathed, and she barely resisted the urge to haul him by the ears into a kiss.
“I was,” she agreed, and he laughed, leaned in an inch, stopped himself — she wasn’t the only one struggling with restraint.
She leaned against the bar, closing even more of the space between them as she smiled slow, looked at him through lowered eyelashes. “Why don’t we get out of here?”
He grinned, wide and wild, eyes tracing the line of her lips. “Anywhere you want to go, baby.”
“Grace!” Dimitri called behind them, though Grace’s eyes only flicked from her for a second. “Stratt cannot save you — all leads take turn, if I must sing, then you must.”
“They’ve got High School Musical in here!” Shapiro called, singsong in an attempt to lure. “Oh! They’ve got Breaking Free — wait, you and Stratt should do a duet!”
Ryland’s expression turned interested, considering, and she snorted, shaking her head. “You will all have to be disappointed,” she called, and smiled wickedly at Ryland. “He’s with me.”
A chorus of whistles and cartoonish noises came from the crowd, making her grin — let the rumor mill have its fun.
Hopping on her toes, she reached behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of wine and tucked it under her arm. Then, slowly, pointedly, she let her gaze travel down his body, a smirk spreading as she watched him flush, his eyes lighting with a charming mix of pride, pleasure, and embarrassment, before she strode towards the exit, leaving him to scramble after her.
At the door, she paused, called back to the room. “Whoever won the bet on how long I would stay…”
The room fell almost eerily quiet, and she nearly let out a giggle at the immediacy of their reaction. She tossed a look over her shoulder, one corner of her mouth twitching up. “My drink of choice is gin.”
She barely heard the laughter that followed her as she left the room, Ryland’s hand slipped in hers as they stumbled, skipped, ran through the halls, trading breathless laughter as she led them upstairs, outside to the flight deck.
Nearly crawling up the last set of stairs to the small observation deck, they collapsed to the floor, still laughing wildly with heaving, panting breaths. Her blood was still warm, bubbling with the drink, her head as weightless as a cloud, as free as a gull soaring on the wind. She didn’t want to lose that sensation, not yet, and so she hauled herself to sitting, pushing Ryland’s head from where it had landed on her stomach and onto her lap.
“Is any of this real?” he asked in between breaths of laughter, and she let out a loud snort, pressing her lips together against the sound.
“Are you that drunk?” she asked, fishing into her pocket for the army knife she carried there.
“No. Yes. Maybe. Eva, you sang, and oh you sound like an angel, I want to hear you sing every day now.”
She grinned, unfolding the blade and carefully scoring the foil around the neck of the wine bottle. “Maybe I will, God it felt good to sing, I’d forgotten how much I love it.”
“Yes, yes please.” He sat up too, turned so he sat facing her. “You looked so happy singing, and everyone loved it, this crew loves you so much, Eva, they know what you do, I know you don’t think so but they do. Thank you for coming, thank you for staying with me, I-I had so much more fun then I ever thought I’d have.”
Still grinning, she leaned forward, cut off his babbling with a quick, hard kiss. “Good. You deserve to have fun.”
She leaned back then and carefully speared her knife through the cork, slowly twisting it, working it until it popped free. She raised the bottle to him in cheers then took a swallow, handing it to him after.
“Also, did I see right that you stole this?” He waggled the bottle before taking his own swallow. “Eva Stratt hops bars and steals the merchandise?”
“Yeah, I kind of — bought it.”
That sent them into another fit of laughter, heads falling onto each other’s shoulders as they panted through it.
“Touché,” he gasped, making her heave out another laugh.
Sitting up again, she worked the cork off of the blade, intending to pocket both, but a sudden gust of wind caught the cork from her fingers, sent it rolling along the deck until it flew off the side and into the water far below.
They watched it roll and disappear in a stunned silence before looking at each other, and Eva just shrugged.
“I’ve set nuclear bombs on Antarctica,” she quipped dryly. “I think that was the least of my environmental destruction.”
“Oh my god,” Ryland choked, sputtering wine down his chin, and she cackled with glee. “I didn’t know we were allowed to joke about that.”
“Well. Maybe not when Dr. Leclerc is around.”
“Or any penguins.”
Eva snorted, wiping at the tears at the corners of her eyes as her voice trembled with a morbid laughter. “We put some in zoos, they’re alright.”
“Oh, we sound horrible,” he wheezed, and he lay back on the floor, his arms over his head. “I can’t believe we’re laughing about that.”
The bottle in one hand, Eva slowly crawled over the top of him, her knees on either side of his hips as she leaned down. Her hair formed a curtain around them as she cupped his cheek, her thumb gripping his chin, and she took a wild, precious moment to study his features in the dying light of the day, light softly in the faintest gold, shadowed in the purples and blues of dusk. Bending down, she kissed him, soft, free, loose, and just as he reached up to touch her, she broke the kiss, continued her crawl.
“Come on — I want to sit at the edge.”
There was just enough room under the bottom railing for them to slide their legs through, let them dangle over the edge. He tittered for a moment about the safety of their position, but she just raised an eyebrow, asked him if he thought the crews of an aircraft carrier would allow the railings to get loose.
There, they settled into a gentle silence, broken only by the sound of the water against the hull below, the clink of the bottle as they passed it back and forth. Thighs pressed together, they shared warmth, leaning further and further into each other, melting, moulding, forming together like they could become one.
Stars winked to life above them, spreading out across the expanse of sky. She recognized Jupiter, a bright spot low on the horizon — found the North Star, the constant, the anchor of the sky, and found Ursa Minor with it. She’d always loved the stars, had found them fascinating. Had daydreamed at times about the ancient peoples and civilizations that had spent their nights just as she had, looking up at the same stars, naming them, dreaming of them, wishing upon them. She had thought they were not so different from her, though centuries, even millennia, separated them. They wanted, loved, desired, hated, warred, just as she did, just as every human had in all of their species’ existence. They were all the same creatures, as much as current humans loved to pretend they weren’t, and they all deserved the same chance to live, to continue to hope and dream for the rest of their lives. They would, if she had any say in it. They would make it, survive; would get the chance to create and to fuck things up in equal measure.
“City of stars…”
Eva blinked out of her musing, turned her head to look at Ryland in surprise. He looked back at her, grinning softly, and continued singing softly.
“Are you shining just for me?”
She smiled back at him, leaning her cheek against her arms, propped on the railing.
“City of stars, there’s so much that I can’t see.”
His voice was nice, a sweet alto that made her sigh, gave her a thrilling thought that she could listen to it every day and never grow tired of it.
“Who knows? Is this the start of something wonderful and new?”
She could imagine the piano accompaniment to the song, melding delicately with his voice. Her fingers twitched with the thought, the urge to pick it out on a keyboard washing through her — she wondered briefly, if after, after, she could buy a piano, learn to play once more.
“Or one more dream that I cannot make true?”
His voice drifted off on a sigh, the last note carried off by the light breeze that ruffled past the both of them. He glanced at her again, giving her a sheepish shrug and he picked up the bottle again, took another drink.
“You have a lovely voice,” she murmured, smiling when he flushed through the alcohol.
“Not as lovely as yours,” he countered, and she shook her head.
“It’s not a competition.”
“Says Eva Stratt.”
She huffed a laugh, tilted her head towards him in acquiescence. The frenetic buzz of the vodka had faded, replaced with the soft, smooth float of wine, and she heaved out a heavy, contented sigh, studying him, barely more than a silhouette in the low light.
Another thought occurred to her then, and she sat up, squinting one eye at him. “You look a bit like him.”
His look of utter confusion made her smile. “Like who?”
She waved her hand in an you know what I mean gesture. “The actor, in the movie that song is from — what’s his name, I get it confused with—”
“Ryan Gosling?” His voice pitched high in complete incredulity, making her giggle.
“Yes — why do you sound so surprised?”
“Because I do not look anything like Ryan Gosling — wait, you’ve seen that movie?”
“Do you need me to name all the movies I’ve seen? And yes, you do, should I fetch you a mirror?”
He laughed, leaned back on his hands. “I’d like the list. And no mirror needed — you’re just drunk.”
Eva barked out a laugh, picked up the bottle in demonstration. “Didn’t say I wasn’t. You still look like him, though.”
“Wait, wait.” He sat up again, leaned slowly into her, a sly grin spreading across his face. “So if I look like him, as you say, are you attracted to him then?” he asked, teasing, and he leaned so close their lips nearly brushed. “Is he on your hall pass?”
She furrowed her brow. “My what?”
“You know, your hall pass.” He blinked in surprise, then stuttered trying to explain. “The list of celebrities you have, that you, you and your partner agree, if you ever got a chance — somehow if it became possible, you could, well, you know, sleep, with, them, without, ah… repercussions. From your partner.”
She burst out laughing, tried to contain the sound against the back of her hand. “What a delightfully American concept,” she managed, voice still quivering.
“Hey!” he protested, laughing too. “It can’t just be an American thing.”
“I think it might be.”
“Okay, maybe it started there, but it can’t be exclusive to there anymore.”
She just hummed like she was doubtful, a laugh stuck in her throat.
He leaned back again, raised his eyebrows at her. “Well? Is he on it?”
She hummed, considering. “Perhaps.” Quirking an eyebrow, she nodded at him. “More importantly, who’s on yours?”
“What?”
She snorted, shaking her head, they really were beyond drunk at this point. “Your hall pass. Who do you have on yours?”
This time, she leaned into him, letting her lips brush against his. “Tell me,” she whispered, and he made a strangled sound. She chuckled, then let her lips trail slowly along his cheek, to his ear, where she blew gently, felt him shiver. “Tell me,” she repeated, his breath ragged now, and she bent to let the tip of her tongue ghost along his neck. “Who do you desire?”
“You,” he said in a rush, and his hand reached out blindly, fisting in her pullover. “God, Eva, you, it’s you, I can’t even think of anyone else’s name when you’re doing that.”
She laughed, wild and free, and turned his head to kiss him soundly. “A very loyal answer,” she noted when they broke, and she trailed a hand into his hair. “I don’t mind if you’re attracted to others.”
“I wasn’t even trying to be loyal, I — wait, no, not like that! Oh — jeez.”
They dissolved into laughter, loose and tipsy, falling back to lay on the deck again when they couldn’t hold themselves up.
“You’ve scrambled my brain,” he panted. They had turned to lay on their sides, facing each other, and his hand found her waist, squeezed. “Can’t think. Just that when you’re around and doing — that — I can’t even think of anyone else.”
She hummed, ridiculously pleased, and reached out blindly, finding the bottle of wine and weighing it. About an inch remained at the bottom — they’d pay for that in the morning, but the morning felt miles away still, a dream of another world that she didn’t yet have to face, with its meetings and problem reports and a dying sun.
Instead, she cupped Ryland’s face, leaned in to capture his bottom lip between her teeth. “In that case — let’s go do that somewhere else.”
~~~~~~~~~
An alarm blared, loud and obnoxious, and Eva twitched out of sleep, then immediately regretted the movement as it jarred her head, sending spikes of pain through the base of her skull.
She let out a soft groan, reaching blindly until she found her phone, vibrating with the six o’clock alarm she had perpetually set. She squeezed her eyes tight against the light of the screen, as dim as it was, it still sent lances of pain through her head, and managed to snooze the alarm through muscle memory alone.
Silence, blessed silence followed, and she let out a long sigh, the feel of her heartbeat in her eyelids disconcerting. She hadn’t been hungover in years — and this one was certainly a reminder as to why she’d gotten smarter about drinking as she’d gotten older. Wine on vodka, what had she been thinking?
A low, long groan sounded behind her, and she felt the bedcovers move as Ryland shifted next to her.
“Oh my god,” he uttered, his voice rough with pain and sleep.
She hummed in agreement, hating the way even that sent little needles of pain through her temples. She threw an arm over her eyes, pressing down with it, maybe that would push her skull back together, keep it from splitting open.
“Oh my god,” Ryland repeated, and she would have laughed if it wouldn’t have hurt — he must be feeling poorly to say “God” twice before seven. “Why did I let you talk me into drinking so much last night?”
She grunted, pressed her arm harder against her eyes. “Don’t put the blame on me,” she said, then muttered, “Ilyukhina did all the talking on that front.”
“Oh, she deserves to go to space,” he groaned. “She so deserves to go to space after doing this to me.”
Eva snorted, groaned, she had to do something about this headache. Slowly sitting up, she let out a slow, measured breath, willing the chisel at her skull to stop hammering for just a moment.
Stop stalling, Stratt, she thought to herself, and huffed out another breath, then reached to pat Ryland on the hip.
“Soldier on, Dr. Grace,” she said, and slipped her legs over the edge of the bed. “Project’s not done yet.”
She showered, dressed, brushed her teeth three times before she felt human enough to think again. By the time she had tied up her hair, put on a cap to hide her wet hair, Ryland had showered and dressed too, and had made them both coffee, handing her a cup with a smile, his eyes squinted against the hangover.
“How's your head?” he asked.
She quirked an eyebrow at him, sipped her coffee. Smiled sweetly. “You thought it was good last night.”
He blinked, stared in shock, then barked out a sharp laugh. “You wait until I'm so hungover I can barely remember my own name, and then you tell a joke?”
She just shrugged, took another sip of coffee. “You lined it up very blatantly.”
He laughed again, winced, and Eva let her eyes close — that was better, the lights weren’t quite so horrible then. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her thumb against the center of her forehead, massaged the ache here.
“If you take ten minutes, I can massage the back of your neck. Might help a little.”
She cracked an eye and glanced at him, smiling. “Thank you, but I do need to go. I’ll live with the consequences of my decisions.” Leaning in, she kissed him quick, then turned to her desk to gather her belongings. “You can take the two hours I gave to the rest of the staff, if you’d like.”
He hummed, the sound turning to a groan. “Nice of you. But I think I’ll go sit in my office. Wait for my head to explode.”
She snorted, immediately regretting the way it vibrated her skull. “Clean it up after it does.”
He huffed, gave her a thumbs up, and then she picked up her coffee, strode out the door.
In her office, she sat down heavily in her chair, letting out a sigh as she indulged for a moment in self pity, ice picks stabbing through every quadrant of her head. Then she opened her eyes, enough of that, finally took in her surroundings.
And smiled, at the bottle of gin sitting at the center of her desk.