Archive of Our Own

• one. 

Grace is not pouting, thank you very much. 

Turns out being cleared to go back to work by medical doesn’t include conducting any experiments with substances like astrophage yet. He can observe and contribute, but he can’t actually do the experiment itself—instead he has to leave it to the new assistants or his lab tech, Xiao Ling, until they clear him specifically for lab work. 

Stratt and Dr Ingram have different views on ‘healing’ and ‘resting’ than Grace. It isn’t enough for Grace to pinky swear that he won’t make caffeine-suppressant Frankenstein’s monster patches anymore—he can’t use any suppressants for the next few weeks. The only thing Stratt pinky promised him was that he has to ‘follow medical advice’ which essentially can be boiled down to mandatory drops every other day with three square meals daily with way less candy than he would like.

It is a travesty if you asked him. 

It’s bad enough that Dr Ingram said that his drops might be weird for the next few weeks but that he can’t even get candy whenever he wants anymore.

He huffs and shoves his hands in his pocket, slowly taking his time to walk to the classroom to meet DuBois and Shapiro. 

Astrophage lessons are the only things he’s really allowed to work on his own for now—and it’s most likely because DuBois will be present. 

Somehow, Grace has found himself in the middle of the world’s most protective and overbearing group of Caregivers on the planet and it makes his skin crawl. He likes them a lot, sure. But it’s too much attention, too many people watching him which leaves him with too many opportunities to mess things up. 

There was nothing special about Grace, he was just your average snotty Little who was too much to handle. They all had more important things to do–like saving the world–instead of taking care of him.

Grace takes a turn into another hallway and squints. He could swear he was here at least a minute ago… He turns around and tries to trace his steps but his brain is fuzzy and he can’t remember if he took a left or a right. Maybe he was up the stairs?  

He walks to the classroom from his office all the time, how is he lost? Oh no. 

He’s lost. 

Grace is gonna be late to meet DuBois and Shapiro. This class is the only thing he really looks forward to and now everyone is gonna be mad at him for getting lost and being late. They’re both very busy people and Grace is now disrespecting their time. 

Grace winces at the keening sound in the air and lets out a sob when he realises he’s the one making the noise. He slaps both of his hands on his mouth to shut himself up. Everyone is gonna be mad he’s late, he doesn’t need them being mad that he’s also noisy. 

Something warm trickles down his leg. He looks down and sees a dark wet spot growing on his blue jeans. 

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no—

Someone is going to find him and they’re going to be so mad that he just made a mess of his pants and on the floor. His legs and hands shake as he continues to wet himself in the middle of the hallway and the warm urine trickles down his leg.

His eyes widen when he hears someone talking down the end of the hall, the voices getting loud. 

No, no, no, no—they’re gonna find him covered in his mistake. They’re going to be mad and laugh and punish him. Grace doesn’t want to be punished, he doesn’t want to be hurt. They’re gonna hurt him. 

Grace sprints down the hall, his sneakers loud as they hit the metal flooring and his laces become undone. His bag slips off his shoulder, contents spilling on the floor but he can’t look back. 

He runs into the first open room he sees and slams the door shut behind him. The small room was dark and filled with shelves and storage boxes. With the dim light from the crack in between the floor and the door, Grace wedges himself in between two shelves, tucking himself into a ball on the ground. 

In the darkness, he lets himself cry. If he makes himself small enough, no one can find him. If no one finds him, no one will hit him. And Grace didn’t want to be hit. 

The acrid stench fills his nose, but that’s his fault. He raises his palms and smacks them against his forehead repeatedly until his head hurts. He’s so stupid stupid stupid. He's not Little enough to need diapers, he’s not a baby. He needs to be a big boy. And big boys don’t have accidents. He stuffs his knuckles into his mouth, trying to stop the whines stuck at the back of his throat.

The metal flooring of the room is cold and it seeps out all of the warmth from his wet pants, leaving him sticky and shivering. 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there with his eyes shut just listening to the creaking groans of the ship walls. He jumps when he hears people yelling outside and shadows dancing at the row of light under the door. He bites down on his hand, and the pain makes his insides feel numb. Being numb is better than being scared. 

The door knob of the storage room jiggles. 

Grace bites harder.

The door swings open and someone lets out a gasp. 

Grace curls further into himself, not daring to look up. 

“Found him,” a feminine voice calls out into the hallway and sticky hot tears spill from his eyes. They found him. With his free hand, he grabs a fistfull of his hair and pulls. 

The voice yelps and she tries to move closer and Grace screams. 

“No, no, no, no, no—” he gasps between tears. “Go away, go away, go away—” 

The person immediately back tracks and stands outside of the room. 

His heart is hammering in his chest and Grace cannot make out anything else she says. Someone else joins her at the door and they both whisper at each other. 

Grace steels himself and lifts his head to take a peek. DuBois and Shapiro standing in the doorway, saying words Grace cannot understand at the moment. 

Oh, no. They found him. They’re gonna be mad that he’s late and missing their lesson and that they had to come and find him and—

He lets out a loud whine and they both turn their attention to him. 

Grace pushes himself further into the small space, trying to put as much distance between him and the science officers. 

DuBois crouches down to the ground at the doorway and Grace’s sobs get louder. 

“Hey Dr Grace,” DuBois says in a quiet voice. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” 

Grace shakes his head and accidentally bumps his knee on the corner of the shelf. He stuffs his knuckles back into his mouth to muffle the cries.

“It’s okay, Dr Grace, it’s me.” DuBois moves closer and Grace’s brain hurt. 

“Pl-please, please, please,” Grace cries, his breath heaving. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t hurt me, I’m sorry I was bad, don’t don’t please—” The rest of his words come tumbling in a jumbled mess out of his mouth made up of pleas, apologies, and stuttering whines. 

DuBois quickly backtracks, sitting on his ankles instead. 

At DuBois sudden retreat, Grace’s limbs lock in place and he retreats into his spot, curling further into himself. “G-go away,” Grace mumbles shakily, slipping two fingers into his mouth. The weight is comforting on his tongue. 

“Not until I know you’re being safe,” DuBois says in a gentle tone. Shapiro passes him something and he holds the open box out to Grace. Oh, it’s his pacifier. They’re tricking him. They want him to take it so they can grab him and hit him. “How about we use this instead? Fingers can be dirty.”

A fresh set of tears fall and Grace lets out a loud whine, shrinking further into himself. He’s already dirty, a few fingers wouldn’t make a difference. 

DuBois puts the box down in the space between them, and lifts his hands as if Grace is a wild animal. “It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay. No one is going to hurt you.”

Grace sniffles and then coughs lightly when the dust from the shelf next to him gets stuck in his throat.

DuBois sits on the ground, behind him, Shapiro gets down to the floor too. 

“That was a very big cry,” DuBois notes, taking something from Shapiro again. It's a familiar yellow box, his favourite apple juice Stratt orders. DuBois unwraps the straw and sticks in the box. He put it beside the pacifier box. “This will make you feel better, it’s your favorite.” 

Juice would be really nice, but DuBois and Shapiro are looking at him. 

His fear wins over and he covers his eyes with his arm instead. Maybe if he can’t see them, they can’t see him. 

They shuffle around and Grace takes a sharp breath. Moments later, music fills the air. It’s soft and light piano keys that make his insides feel warm and feel like a lullaby. 

He looks up and sees DuBois leaning against the wall with his eyes closed while Shapiro scrolls through her phone—soft sweet melodies floating out of the device. The juice box still sits halfway between him and DuBois alongside the pacifier in the box. Closer to DuBois and Shapiro is a small pile of Skittles on a sheet of copy paper.

Neither one of them are looking at him right now. 

Grace stares at the juice. The smiling apple on the box looks back up at him. His throat feels awfully dry and itchy with the dust in the air. 

In a moment of weakness, he leans forward and snatches the juice box before retreating back to his hiding spot. He takes a tentative suck on the straw and it cools down the aching pain stinging the back of his throat.

He sighs in relief, leaning against the shelving next to him. 

DuBois and Shapiro didn’t jump at him or grab him when he came close. They were just doing their own thing. 

Grace sucks down more of his juice. The Skittles look really yummy. His tummy feels awful and funny but candy always makes it better.

He crawls on his knees closer to DuBois, slowly to see his reaction but there is none. He reaches out, bracing for his hand to be swatted away but he manages to grab two Skittles and quickly pop them in his mouth. 

The sourness dances on his tongue and he shivers. The sudden change in sensation makes his head feel less like it's filled with cotton balls and more like the regular squishiness of headspace. 

As he chews, he crawls closer to DuBois. People who are mad at him don’t feed him Skittles and apple juice, right? Only people who are nice to Grace do.

He leans on DuBois’ arm. “You’re not mad?” he asks quietly. 

DuBois cracks an eye open and smiles at him. “I’m not,” he reassures. 

Grace rubs his eye with the back of his hand. “No one punish Ryland?” 

DuBois gives him a tense smile and puts a hand on the back of Grace’s head. “No one will punish you Ryland, especially not for this.”  

He lets out a wet sniffle and sticks both his pinkies in the air. He looks down on the ground, avoiding eye contact. “Promise?” 

DuBois and Shapiro link pinkies with him, swinging the interlocked fingers slightly. “Promise,” Shapiro says kindly. 

Grace nods his head and lifts his hands up to DuBois—the universal sign for ‘pick me up and hold me now’. 

DuBois graciously obliges pulling Grace into his lap, not caring about getting himself dirty from Grace’s soiled pants. He rocks them both gently and the tension drains from Grace’s body like a leaky faucet until he has his whole body laid up against DuBois like a deadweight. 

His mind floats and melts as he is carried out of the small dark room and back into the light of the hallway. 

Anyone who tells you that Grace cried when Stratt made him wear pull ups for two weeks just in case is a liar. 

He only teared up a tiny bit.

• two.

Grace’s desk is filled with stacks and stacks of files and papers strewn about. He spent most of the day stuck in his seat, hiding from the rest of his team and reviewing the numbers from Dr Lokken’s and Dr Lamai’s teams on his laptop. 

His team is treating him with baby gloves and Grace is about to start climbing on the walls in frustration. He can’t do any experiments with astrophage, he can’t do the zero G equipment test, he can’t, can’t, can’t, can’t—-

He pushes his glasses out of his face and rubs his eyes with hands. He presses hard and lets the sting sit for a while. 

The entire day has been filled with numbers and spreadsheets that make Grace feel like he’s about to use VLOOKUP in his sleep. 

Someone knocks on the door. 

“Come in,” he says without looking up. 

Carl opens the door, taking stock of the messy room and raises an eyebrow. 

“Dr Grace,” he greets and holds up a bag. “Got you something to eat.” Grace furrows his brows and waves him off. “You don’t have to do that, Xiao Ling got me lunch.” He points to the container on his desk. “I’ll eat it when I’m done with this.” He scowls at the screen in front of him.

Carl looks at him impassively and raises an eyebrow. “It’s eight pm.” 

Grace winces and looks at the corner of his screen and sure enough, would you look at that, it is eight at night.

“Oh.” 

“Oh,” Carl repeats, a bit sarcastically. Meanie. 

Grace looks at the pile of reports he still has to go through. There’s so many things to do—he needs to look through the schematics for the lab equipment for the Hail Mary, double check the Astrophage production, and review the climate change reports too.

Grace pointedly avoids looking at Carl, instead picking up the next binder of documents. 

“Thanks but I’ll eat it later,” Grace says, uncapping his favorite yellow highlighter. Just as he’s about to open the binder, Carl puts his hand over the hard cover and pulls it away. 

“Eat first,” Carl says simply. 

Grace huffs trying to reach for the binder again but Carl just picks it off the table. “I’m not hungry.” 

“Too bad.” Carl shrugs. “I can call Stratt and—” 

“No, no, it’s ugh fine.” 

Stupid new rules about eating getting in the way of his work. He opens the plastic container, and the smell hits him first. It’s one of his favorite noodle dishes the Chinese chefs on the Vat make but today his stomach twists at the thought of food. 

“Are you going to just stand here and watch me eat?” Grace asks, picking at the noodles with his fork. 

“You have to start eating for me to do that.” Carl raises an eyebrow.

Grace grumbles under his breath and stabs his fork into the food and shoves it into his mouth. He gives Carl a little glare–see, Grace can eat, duh. 

He swallows and takes another bite and Carl’s shoulders relax. 

Grace’s tummy starts to feel squirmy as he looks down at the warm food. He slowly takes another bite and it feels weird in this mouth–like he’s doing something alien. Chewing on the noodles makes his jaw click. He uses his free hand to rub the spot in his jaw that he has been clenching all day. 

He stares at Carl as he swallows the food, the other man moving things around the office to free up the seat by the desk. 

Absent-mindedly, Grace misses his mouth and grazes his cheek with his fork full of food. He furrows his brows at the fork and tries again but his fingers don’t work well and he misses again. 

He lets out a soft whine at the back of his throat. Stupid fork. 

Grace barely notices when Carl sits beside him until Carl uses a tissue to gently wipe the sauce from his cheek. Grace squirms in his seat, pulling away but Carl puts a hand on his shoulder, keeping the Little in place. Carl plucks the fork out of Grace’s shaky  hands. The Little pouts as Carl twirls more noodles onto the fork and holds it up to Grace’s mouth. 

“I can do it,” Grace mumbles, pouting at Carl. 

“Just eat, Grace.” 

Grace glares at him and crosses his arms. Carl raises his eyebrow and something in Grace’s spine wilts. He lets Carl feed him the next bite and sniffles. 

Everyone is so worried about what he is doing, eating, dropping, if he’s wearing his godforsaken pullup–it is suffocating. He’s sure Carl has other better things to do than to be here to make sure Grace eats, let alone feed him. Instead he’s here, supervising Grace’s abysmal eating habits. 

Grace feels his bottom lip wobble and tears spring in his eyes. 

Why couldn’t he just be normal? 

Grace isn’t your typical Little, he knows that intimately. Other Littles brighten up every room and are the apples of their Caregiver’s eyes. Other Littles are cute and pliant and easier to handle compared to Grace. He tried being pliant and easy once, but he couldn’t do it. 

Where other Littles are obedient and docile, Grace was stubborn and too smart for his own good. He had a smart mouth and an anger in him that other people don’t like. Everyone knows it—the conference in Denmark was just the tipping point. 

Normal Littles don’t make enhanced suppressants and put seventeen other people into the sick bay. Normal Littles don’t have trouble eating dinner. Normal Littles had normal regular drops that don’t need to be scheduled and approved by a medical professional. Normal Littles don’t need to be punished as much as he deserves to be. 

The worst part is that Grace knows that one day, all the Caregivers he has right now will get bored with him. They will get too tired dealing with a Little who is as annoying and troublesome as he is. He’s too much all the time.

One day all the people that currently care about Grace will leave and Grace will be how he was always meant to be, alone. 

But that doesn’t stop the small nagging feeling in his heart that he would like to chase after them and beg them to keep loving him, even if it all feels like a lie.

“Kid, you gotta chew,” Carl prompts gently. 

Grace chews slowly and the food in his mouth feels like moving a boulder up a mountain. He chews and chews but it feels horrible and neverending. He swallows the food in his mouth when Carl reminds him to. Normal Littles don’t need to be told how to eat.

He looks up at the man holding another fork loaded with food and bursts into tears. His brain drowns in the choppy waters of headspace and feels his insides get pushed back and forth by the waves. 

Carl wipes Grace’s face with a tissue before lifting Grace into his arms. “Come on kid,” Carl whispers, bouncing him gently. “Let’s find Stratt, yeah?” 

Grace hides his face in Carl’s neck and nods. Eva can fix this–she can fix anything. 

Maybe she can even fix him.

• three.

“Gracie, please,” Olesya begs. “I will get more Skittles for you.” 

Grace huffs, readjusting the bag strap on his shoulder. “Yáo is the commander of this mission, he can do what he wants,” Grace argues. “If he wants extra practice time with the simulator, I can’t bar him.” 

“You don’t have to bar him,” DuBois argues. “You just need to convince him to take a break. He’s been at it since 2.” 

“Four hours isn’t long enough for me to get medical or someone else to intervene,” Grace points out. 

“Four hours is long time if he is sad,” Olesya says with an exaggerated frown and what Lokken would call a ‘puppy dog’ look. “He was sad after his wife called him and now he is flying non-stop.” Olesya nods sadly. “But if you go tell him to take a break, he will listen.” 

“Why would Yáo listen to me?” Grace asks incredulously. “He’s the mission commander, he can do whatever he wants.” He pauses. “Is it because I’m Little and he’s a Caregiver? I’m not Little now,” Grace says in a small voice. 

“Aish, Gracie no, it’s not that,” Olesya backtracks. 

“You’re the only person other than Eva who outranks him,” DuBois answers. 

“Wha--what?” Grace sputters. “What are you even talking about?” 

“Yáo is the mission commander for the Hail Mary. But you are second in command of the Taskforce–you’re Stratt’s right hand.”

“No I’m not,” Grace says confused. “I’m just a scientist.” 

Olesya and DuBois pause for a moment. 

“You’re not just a scientist,” DuBois says, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the lead researcher of astrophage, you named it—”

Grace scowls. “Astrophage is a dumb name–it just means star eater. I didn’t know that Eva was going to use it. It doesn’t mean anything—” 

“You have final say on all the equipment for the Hail Mary,” DuBois continues, bulldozing over Grace’s arguments. “You are the one everyone differs to when Stratt is not around—you’re second in command.”

“I’m not!” 

“Gracie,” Olesya puts a hand on his shoulder. “You are very very important to the mission–you know that right? You outrank all of us, including Yáo.”  

Something in Grace’s stomach churns uncomfortably and he shakes her hand off. He needs to get out of here now. He stalks down the hall, leaving Olesya and DuBois in surprise before marching into the simulation room, slamming the door behind him. 

The room is dimly lit—only a small section by the door and the replica of the Hail Mary pilot console has any light at all. The yellow and orange buttons cast a soft glow on Yáo’s face as the man flips different switches and buttons methodically. 

“Yes Dr Grace?” Yáo greets without turning around. 

“How did you know it was me?” 

“The walls are not as soundproof as you would imagine,” Yáo answers, gently pushing the control stick forward. He turns to look at Grace. “Are you here to tell me to leave?” 

Grace huffs and drops his bag by the supervisory table. “No, I just wanted—needed to get away.” 

Yáo nods his head. “I understand.” He beckons Grace closer. “Come,” Yáo beckons to the copilot seat. 

Grace gingerly tiptoes to the simulator. He has observed Yáo flying it before during a demonstration alongside Stratt and different heads of state. He takes the copilot seat and stares at all the lit up buttons and consoles in front of him. 

“You have to buckle up,” Yáo says. 

Grace tilts his head. “Why? It's just a simulation and I’m not really part of it.” 

Yáo pauses the simulator and reaches over Grace’s seat. “Rule number one of being in the simulator.” He quickly clips the safety belt on Ryland. “Always treat it as if it were real. Everyone must have the safety belt on until it is safe to remove it.” 

Grace pouts in his seat and huffs. He came in here to hide from Olesya and DuBois telling him what to do only for Yáo to do the same. 

“Do you want to talk about why you are in here instead of with the others?” Yáo asks, booting up the program again. 

“No,” Grace says glumly. If he could, he didn’t want to think about that conversation ever again. He lets out a puff of air from his cheeks. “Why are you here? Your crew said you’ve been stuck here for hours.”

Yáo sighs. “Jia Ying, my daughter, is sick.” Yáo tilts the control stick forward again. “She has the flu. She was playing outside but it's getting colder so she got sick.” 

“Oh.” Grace scrunches his nose. A week ago the climatologists group said that China and other countries in the northern hemisphere will experience a cold wind that could be accounted for by the Sun’s cooling. “I’m sorry.” 

Yáo shrugs. “It is not your fault. My family says she is fine and is recovering well. I wish I could be there for her. But she is sick because the Sun is cooling and I need to be prepared.”

From the Vat, it is easy to be in a bubble of innovation. But it's easy to forget that behind every statistical model for population survival is a person. Some of those people are little girls who weren't equipped for a cold front.

A loud shrieking alarm goes off Grace’s hands fly to his ears as he shrinks back into his chair. The lights around him turn red and the screen blares a warning that he can’t read through the tears in his eyes.

The sudden shock has him curling in the chair. He tries to get away but the safety belt holds him in place. Beside him, Yáo curses, flipping more switches until the lights stop flashing and the loud noises go away. 

Hands unbuckle his seat belt and Grace is lifted into Yáo’s arms. “It’s okay, Grace, I got you, it’s okay, it’s okay.” 

Grace wraps his hands around Yáo’s neck and tries to control his breathing. He lets out a shuddering breath and tries to reorient himself in the room. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. 

Yáo tsks, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe Grace’s face instead. “It’s okay,” he comforts, a gentle hand on Grace’s back. “Are you okay?” 

Grace nods. “Was scary.” 

“It was scary.” Yáo hums and rubs his back. “How about you hang out with Olesya and DuBois instead?”

Grace shakes his head and squeezes Yáo‘s neck. 

“Hm?” Yáo bounces him gently. “Why not?” 

“Wanna stay with you,” Grace whispers. “We go together.” 

Yáo lets out a small sigh. “I have to practice a bit more Grace, we can have dinner later together.” 

Grace shakes his head. What is so hard for Yáo to understand? “Don’t w-want you t-to,” Grace hiccups trying to get the words out but it's too hard to think. 

Grace moves to grab pull at his own hair, he just needs to make it easier to think.

Yáo grabs his wrists instead, holding him in place.“Hey, no, none of that,” Yáo lightly scolds and Grace lets out a soft whine, kicking his feet. Yáo takes a seat on the pilot chair. He threads his fingers through Grace’s hair and scratches his scalp softly. 

Grace’s limbs slowly relax, leaning against Yáo. “It’s scary,” Grace mumbles. “Don’t want you to do it.” 

Yáo hums. “I’ve flown hundreds of flights before Grace, even to the ISS. It is scary, yes, but I am very good at it.” 

The Little chews on the inside of his cheek and shakes his head. “Scary…” 

“What is it that you scientists love to say?” Yáo ponders. “Things are only scary if you don’t understand how it works?” 

Grace nods against Yáo’s shoulder. 

The Caregiver nods, swaying them side to side. He points to various parts of the pilot seat, pointing at different glowing buttons. “This is the control stick—this button on the bottom helps release the fuel bit by bit to make the ship move forward.”

“Like an a-ac-accelerator in a car,” Grace adds, wiping his nose on his sleeve. 

“Yes, very good,” Yáo praises. “And this button helps the ship remain at a set velocity. Over here are the safety features—” 

Grace leans his ear on Yáo’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart as the Caregiver explains the different parts of the Hail Mary cockpit. 

It is always nice to listen to an expert talk about their field–the way that they can explain their work in fine detail. Grace knows that Yáo is qualified to get the crew to Tau Ceti. He’s literally the most qualified person in the world to do it. Grace nuzzles into Yáo’s hold, listening to Yáo’s soft explanations about the spin drives. 

If anyone was going to keep the crew safe outside of the solar system, it would be him and that makes Grace’s heart hurt a little less. 

• four.

“You have to follow proper protocols,” one of Grace’s assistants, James argues in the lab. 

“I don’t care about your fucking protocols,” a scientist from Redell’s team yells pointing a finger at James. “Do you want to save the planet or not?” 

“Without the protocols, we can royally fuck this up,” James raises his voice back. “We need to know what works and what doesn’t work—its basic principles of science.” 

Gosh, darn they’re so loud. Grace winces at the noise and finally looks up from his files. 

“Woah, okay, pause,” Grace says, wheeling over on his lab stool, putting his hands into a T. “What seems to be the problem here?” 

“Dr Grace,” James greets, still glaring at the other scientist. “Dr Green here would change the ratios again. We haven’t even completed the previous rounds yet. It’s still in the fridge, we don't have the capacity for it and I don’t want to dump this batch out.” 

Dr Green rolls his eyes. 

Grace looks at Dr Green from over his glasses. He swears, middle schoolers are way more polite than these guys. “Okay, do you have to add anything?” 

Dr Green lets out a sneer. “I’m not going to listen to the likes of you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” James snarks out. 

“This whole department is a fucking joke,” Dr Green laughs, somewhat hysterically. “The Sun is dying and a washed out Little is in charge?” 

Grace’s heart falls into the pit of his stomach. Oh. 

James steps closer to Dr Green. “What the fuck did you just—” 

“What is the meaning of this?” 

Grace turns to see Lokken, standing in the doorway with a stack of papers in her hands. 

“Dr Lokken,” Dr Green smooths out the front of his lab coat. “It’s just a small argument—” 

“No it was not,” James cuts him off. “You knew exactly what you were saying about Dr Grace.” 

“Oh come on,” Dr Green throws his hands up in the air. “I can’t be the only one in delusion here, can I? We all know that he’s only here because he’s some pet project for the Director and the flight crew.” Dr Green laughs, gesturing to Grace. “We can all see it, but I’m the only one with the balls to say anything.”  

“Enough!” Dr Lokken looks at Grace. “Dr Grace, go to your office. I will meet you there when I’m done here.” 

“Lokken, I—” 

Lokken cuts him off with a small shake of her head and her voice softens. “Let me have a word with your personnel here and then we will talk in your office, okay?”

Grace gives her a shaky nod and stuffs his hands in his pockets. Green scoffs when Grace passes by him but Grace ignores him, keeping his head down. He doesn’t need his team so see his shaking hands or how his jaw tightens.

He knows he’s not the one to blame for them fighting, but he can’t help but feel like he’s a Little being sent to their room for being naughty. It wasn’t his fault—sometimes the science just feels a little too big and people get angry. Everything needs to be perfect all the time. 

Honestly, Grace should have caught the brewing tension in the room. Redell’s team needed to work on some astrophage biology and there isn’t enough room in the research lab for all the egos involved. It's his fault, he should have brought it up with Stratt or someone. 

Of course there were other people who didn’t agree with Grace’s placement when word got out that he was a Little. Logically, he knows that people would be against it, but he hasn’t heard it quite like this. Maybe he’s been too optimistic, that when Eva said she would fix it, that it would be done immediately. 

Maybe someone else should be in charge of this. Lokken is a good option. She’s very good at managing people and expectations, and other people actually respect her around here. This was bound to happen after everyone figured out he was a Little—gosh, how could he be so stupid? 

He pushes open the door to his tiny office. The fact he had an office at all is a miracle, let alone one close to the labs. 

His hands shake as he closes the door. Something inside him snaps as he stumbles into the desk, knees banging on the hard floor. It's like the air cannot reach his lungs and with every breath, more air leaves than enters. His fingers give up and let go of the desk edge. It takes everything in him to not fall face first onto the floor.

Slowly, with hot tears on his face, he crawls to the underside of his desk, tucking himself in the far corner. His butt starts to feel warm and wet and he wants to scream at the fact that he probably has had another accident in his pull ups. He covers his ears and the only sound he can hear is the thundering of his own heart in his chest. If no one can see him, then maybe they will be less angry. Maybe there won’t be anymore shouting. He hates shouting. Grownups love to shout at him, especially when he was bad at doing things. Grace isn’t very good at doing things, but he tries. Really! He does. 

He whines and hides his face in his knees. A bigger part of his brain tells him that he is dropping. It feels ludicrous since he already dropped earlier this week. He followed Stratt’s drop schedule as much as he could. It's been hard but it should be working so it doesn’t make sense for him to be dropping now. It’s not fair at all. Why isn’t it working? Did he do it wrong? Did he mess up again?

Stratt gave him instructions for this—if he dropped alone, he needed to find her, a Caregiver or another grownup. 

He whines at the options. Stratt is so busy today—she wouldn’t have time to deal with this. Grace could sit here for a while until he’s big again, he used to do it all the time before Stratt became his Caregiver. He just has to wait it out. 

But he really wants a hug right now. Gosh, he really was turning into a baby. 

Grace lets out a soft sob and something in him breaks. He puts a thumb in his mouth, sighing at some semblance of comfort as he sucks around the digit. His other hand is tangled in his hair, pulling at it slightly. It stings his scalp but it's easier to cope than the heart in his chest. 

Someone knocks on the door and Grace jumps, bumping his back onto the desk and something falls and scatters on the tabletop and—ow.

“Ryland?” Steve’s voice floats through the room. “Lokken said you’re in here.” 

Grace lets out a soft sob at the sound of his friend’s voice. 

He hears Steve drop something on the desk and Steve’s head pops under the desk. 

“Oh, no,” Steve says, looking at Grace. “Hey, uh, Ryland, are you Little now?” 

Grace’s lower lip wobbles at his friend and shuffles further into the corner. 

“Uh, yeah of course you are.” Steve’s eyes widen and he smacks a hand on his forehead. Steve chews on his bottom lip. “Do you want to come out?” 

Grace shakes his head. Even with the door shut and being under the table, he can hear the shouting from outside. Going out into the lab like this will only prove to everyone that he is just a stupid Little who doesn’t belong to be here—that he doesn’t belong anywhere. 

Steve purses his lips before crouching down and shuffling under the desk beside Grace. 

“It’s… cosy,” Steve says, taking stock of the wooden paneling. “There’s no gum under here or anything.”

Grace nods, chewing on his thumb. He hates gum under desks. It's one of the reasons why he refused to teach high schoolers and their gross gum disposal habits.

Steve sighs and leans against the side of the desk. “They were yelling about you being a Little right?” 

Grace winces and nods sadly, not willing to look at his friend. 

“We had it really good before everything went sideways,” Steve says wistfully. “Now everyone knows.” 

Grace nods his head and cringes when it makes his head hurt even more. 

“I can’t remember if I said this but I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, looking at Grace. Grace furrows his brows in confusion. Steve sighs and shakes his head. “I should never have asked you to make those suppressants. It wasn’t right or fair.” 

Grace shakes his head angrily. “No, it's my fault—I made it, I could have said no,” Grace mumbles out around the thumb in his mouth. 

Steve lets out another harsh breath. Grace can almost see exactly when the tell-tale glassiness that most Little drops get takes over Steve’s eyes. “We gotta disagree then.” Steve fidgets with the buttons on his jacket. “I think we gotta find a grown up now,” Steve whispers. 

Grace shakily nods. Steve is probably right, they shouldn’t be sitting in an office alone. Steve is small, he could get hurt. 

Steve crawls out from under the table and brushes the dirt off his pants as he stands. He holds a hand out to Grace and tilts his head. “Come on, we gotta go find somebody.” 

Grace gingerly takes Steve’s hand, shuffling awkwardly out of the desk with his thumb still securely in his mouth. 

“Stratt is your Caregiver right?” 

“Eva,” he mumbles. 

Steve nods. “Let’s go find your Eva.”

Steve leads him out of the office, fishing Grace’s key from his pockets to lock the door behind them. 

The shouting is louder outside and Grace whines, hiding his face in the back of Steve’s jacket. 

Grace braves a peek into the lab as the past by, and everyone is just staring as Dr Lokken and Green are arguing at the other end of the room. Steve pats Grace’s hand and quickly leads him out of the lab before anyone could see them. 

Grace's brain feels fuzzy as they step into the yellow light in the hallways. He lets Steve take the lead, going through the twists and turns in the carrier. Steve is talking about one thing or another but Grace barely notices, just chewing on his thumb. 

He blinks sleepily, leaning on Steve as the other Little knocks on a familiar door. 

There's shuffling on the other side of the door and Stratt opens it, confusion on her face as she sees the both of them. 

Grace bursts into tears, drops Steve’s hand and holds out his arms to his Eva. Eva is here, his Eva is here! She’s going to make everything better, she always does. 

Eva pulls him into her arms and he sobs into the front of her soft sweater. 

“Liefje, what’s wrong?” she asks, running a hand over his hair. Grace blubbers something around his thumb and she just puts a hand at the back of his neck. 

“Hatch?” Eva asks. “What is the matter?” 

“Uh, Ryland is Littler than me and he needed help to find you, so I helped.” 

“Did something happen in the lab?” 

Steve wrings his hands out. “Dunno if I’m supposed to say.” 

Eva’s voice softens. “It’s okay Steve, you can tell me if something is wrong.” 

“Everyone was shouting in the lab,” Steve says quietly. “I was gonna show him the latest probe design but Ryland was small in his office so I took him here.” Steve pauses and looks at his shoes. “Did I do it wrong?”

“No, you did everything right. Thank you for helping Steve,” Eva says kindly. “Why don’t you come in?” 

“No, ma’am it’s okay,” Steve stammers out. “I can go, Ryland just wanted his Eva so I bring-ed him here.” 

“You are Little now, aren’t you?” Eva asks, raising her eyebrow. 

Steve looks down at his shoes, shuffling his sneakers on the floor. “Yes, ma’aam.”

“Do you think walking back to your workstation is a good idea?” Eva asks in the same tone whenever she thinks Grace is making a bad choice. 

Steve shakes his head.  

“Then you will wait inside with Ryland. I will call Dimitri to pick you up after his meeting.” 

Steve nods shyly. Grace decides to take initiative and tugs the older Little into the office by the hand. They can play race cars together.  

“Do you boys want apple juice?” Eva asks, closing the door behind them. 

“Yes!” 

“Yes, what?” 

“Please!” 

“Oh and Steve?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Who was shouting in the lab? And why?” 

“Um…” 

• five.

The nights are getting colder on the Vat and it makes Grace’s stomach churn uncomfortably. 20 years for the world to freeze over seems like a long time, but it passes far too quickly for his liking. So sue him for stealing from the small mountain of blankets Olesya has. 

It is almost surprising how many movie DVDs Olesya has managed to hide away in her bunk but Grace isn’t complaining. What Grace hasn’t wrapped his head around yet was how she managed to get all these DVDs. Maybe she raided a closing Blockbuster…

They’re both huddled in her room for the rare occasion of watching cheesy romcoms and cartoons on her laptop since they both have a free night. Between them is a small pile of candy that Olesya had sent over from Moscow.

Grace leans the wall with his back against the headrest, knees propping the laptop precariously as he eats another small fistfull of candy. Olesya sits on the outside of the bed, one leg dangling close to the floor and the other folded in front of her. The bed is small and cramped but Grace doesn’t mind bumping shoulders with Olesya—it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

The main character in the show suddenly starts arguing with her fiance as he starts berating her for moving back to her small hometown for Christmas.

Grace lets out a huff. “Half of their problems can be solved if they just communicate better with each other.”

“Yes, Gracie but where is your sense of drama? Of suspense.” 

“All the drama in Hallmark Christmas movies are the same,” Grace throws his hands into the air and points. “Look, she’s going to go back to that childhood friend of hers and find the spirit of Christmas is family all along.” 

Olesya laughs, loud and bright. “Yes, yes—next time we watch more of your Star Trek movies, okay? Enough of Christmas movies in July.” 

Grace nods, tearing a piece of more candy. 

From the corner of his eye, he sees Olesya grab something from the bedside table and shaking it gently in her hand. She pulls her leg closer to her and shows him too small glass bottles. 

“My sister sent me nail polish,” she says, with a glimmer in her eye. “Which one should I use?” 

Grace tilts his head to the side. One of the bottles is a dark shimmery color that catches in the light. The other is a dark blue, almost a deep purple. He hums and squints at the two. 

“That one,” he points to the first one.

Olesya puts the other bottle away. “That was my choice too,” she whispers conspiratorily to him. 

She pulls out another bottle and shakes it. Grace leans back against the wall, watching as Olesya layers a clear coat of nail polish onto her toes. Every once in a while, she would glance up to look at the Russian subtitles on the screen but otherwise remains focused.

She waves her hand over her nails to help dry them. Grace doesn’t know how useful that is but she looks happy to do it. 

Eventually, she starts applying the shiny polish onto her toenails. The lacquer sparkles under the fluorescent lighting of the room. He lets out a soft gasp, clutching the blankets under his fingers. 

“Hm?” Olesya fans her toes again. 

“Is pretty,” Grace whispers. 

Olesya turns to look at him, studying his face before smiling. “Yes, you chose a very pretty color, Gracie.” She hands him the closed bottle. “Want to see?” 

He takes it with both hands, marveling at the way the sparkles look like little stars in the night sky.

“Do you want to put it on?” Olesya asks gently. 

Grace quickly shakes his head and drops the bottle back in Olesya’s hands like he’s been burnt.

Olesya puts a hand on his shoulder and coos. “Hey, hey Gracie—what’s wrong?” 

“Not supposed to,” Grace says, raising his shoulders to his ears. 

Olesya looks at him carefully. “Not supposed to use nail polish?” 

Grace nods. 

“Why not?” 

Grace shrugs. “Not supposed to paint my nails. Is not allowed.”

Olesya leans back against the headrest. “Is it because of lab work?” 

He shakes his head. They have gloves for that. 

“Is it because you’re allergic?” 

“No. It's cause I’m a boy.” 

 “Well that is very silly, no?” Olesya nudges his covered thigh with her toes. “Anyone with nails can wear nail polish.” 

“Nuh, uh.”

“Uh, huh,” Olesya laughs. She leans in close and whispers. “I have seen Yáo with nail polish.” 

“What?” Grace says incredulously. No way. 

“Mhm, his daughters painted them bright pink for him when he visited and he kept them for the whole week.” 

“Woah,” Grace whispers.

“So if Yáo have his nails painted, and Yáo is a boy,” Olesya reasons. 

“Yáo is cool,” Grace nods his head. 

“Yáo is very very cool,” Olesya agrees. “So you can paint your nails too.” 

Grace takes a sharp inhale. “Really?” 

“Really,” Olesya says with no room for disagreement. “I can paint your nails if you want. You don’t have to but I can.” 

Grace chews the inside of his cheek. 

“No one will be mad at me?” 

Olesya makes a soft sound and puts an arm around his shoulders. “No one will be mad Gracie.” 

“Okay,” Grace says, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Wanna.” 

Olesya claps, picking up the bottle. “Do you want it on your hands or your toes or both?” 

“Toes,” Grace wiggles his feet. “Wanna match Lesya.”

Olesya’s gaze softens. “Of course Gracie.” She pats her lap. “Come.” 

Grace ends up with his feet in Olesya’s lap, placing the laptop in front of them, the movie still playing. The main character’s dog is learning tricks now. He looks like a cute puppy.  

“Stop wiggling,” Olesya laughs, painting a clear coat on his toenails. “You are like little fish.” 

“It tickles,” Grace whines and pouts. 

“Ticklish, yeah?” Olesya says with a grin. She puts down the bottle and digs her fingers into Grace’s sides. 

Grace squeals and giggles. “L-lesya!” 

“You said it is ticklish,” Olesya says smugly. “I am just running an experiment to see if it is true.” 

“O-o-lesya,” Grace whines, kicking his feet. 

She stops, letting Grace catch his breath. She holds his foot again, this time holding it in place while she painted his toes. Grace wiggles them slightly as the cold lacquer touches his nails but Olesya’s grip doesn’t loosen. She is very gentle as she gives him a pedicure.

Grace’s limbs grow heavy and he rests his head on the mattress, watching the show from his side. She holds onto his feet, absentmindedly fanning them dry as they watch the main character run down the street to the Christmas tree farm her childhood crush owns. 

He hears the shutter of a camera and gives Olesya the stink eye. She just laughs and takes another photo of him with her phone. 

“Sorry Gracie,” she says with no amount of apology in her tone. “Just the group chat asking what we are up to.” 

“Group chat?” Grace furrows his brows. 

She pats his leg. “Don’t worry about it, Gracie. It is not important.” 

Yeah, whatever. Olesya is probably in a million group chats, she’s very nice to everyone with lots of friends. Grace is also in a million group chats but he pointedly ignores them unless Stratt pings him. Her sister probably messaged. 

Olesya rubs circles on his calf and fans his toes dry with her other hand. Grace lets out a shaky breath as he belatedly realises he’s been dropping—and has been dropping for a while now.   

When Grace usually drops, it is a harsh fall headfirst underground—there is a separation between Little and Big and the crash in between.

He knows logically that it is possible to float between headspaces and how it is healthier to do so. He has done it before—years ago before everything went wrong. Now it was easier to hide and keep everything together until it slipped through his fingers. 

Maybe he doesn’t have to. Maybe he can let other people find him to catch him when he falls.  

It is easier to sink into the softness without a raging headache or weeping eyes following right after. 

He forgot how nice this felt. 

• plus one. 

It is not just Littles who are prone to neglecting their instincts—Caregivers are prone to ignoring their headspaces as well. Of course Grace is familiar with what a Caregiver drop looks like. After all, he is the one who has to put the information packets together every year while teaching middle school for kids who are presenting into their headspace.

Which is why he is staring at Stratt instead of listening to the arguments the American Secretary of Defense is making about why they should only be using U.S. and Canadian military equipment instead of their current agreements with the Europeans, Russians, and Chinese. 

At this point, the video call is just a courtesy that Stratt is extending to the USA with Grace in attendance solely because he is one of the Americans on the team. At least they both are hunkering down in her office together for this. 

To the average viewer, Stratt must look as if she is listening intently to the points the Secretary is passionately making but Grace knows her. He knows that she’s completely done with this meeting by the way her knee bounces underneath the table. On the table next to her laptop, her phone buzzes every minute or so. She doesn’t glance down at it, but her jaw tenses slightly every time it vibrates. 

A stressed twelve year old who is irrationally territorial over their friends and snapping at grownups are just ways their Caregiver instincts manifest before they learn to control them. It's instinctual for Caregivers to relax by fixing problems and caring for something. It is easy enough to manage most of the time, Grace just gives them something to do. Sometimes it is as easy as being a line-leader on the way to the library or a helper to collect worksheets.

Other times, they need something to care for—something small and docile and easy to please. He has seen students with pet rocks in their pockets, tamagotchis on their keychains, and once—a one-eyed kitten in their backpack. The phone call to the office that day was an interesting one. Thankfully the class that day was on mammals and Whiskers was an excellent example.

On hard days, he silently hands his Caregiver students a baby doll and let their instincts take over—they cradle the dolls in their arms and rock it, soothing the plastic toy as if it were a real baby to care for. He watches as their body relaxes from being able to act out on their instincts—that they were able to solve some problems in front of them and right their headspace before solving bigger problems. 

Stratt was carrying the weight of the biggest problem of all. 

The Little part of him wanted to soothe the worries on her face. But solving her troubles would take more than just giving her a baby doll. He needs to give her little realistic solvable problems to ease her into her headspace. 

Luckily for her, Grace was an expert in being a Little problem.

Finally, Stratt ends the video call and leans back in her chair with a huff. “Your Defense Secretary is a fool.” 

Grace snorts, waving jazz hands in the air. “Yeah, most of our politicians are. It’s kind of our thing.” 

He pulls on the edges of his sweater sleeves down the palms of his hands. He takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. 

“Eva,” he says, anxiety pooling in his stomach as he looks at his lap. “Can, can I stay here for a bit?”

She stops typing on her laptop but doesn’t say a word. Slowly he lifts his head to see Stratt looking at him with that look—the one where it is as if she is picking through his thoughts to figure out what is going on in his mind. 

“Are you feeling Little, Ryland?” Straight to the point, of course. 

Grace gives her a half shrug and a small smile. 

Stratt cracks a smile at him but then her phone buzzes again. The angry worry lines in her face are back and something coils tightly in Grace’s ribs. She pats his head and quickly takes the call.  

He wants to help her but he can’t quite figure out how. But biological instinctual problems have biological instinctual solutions. So Grace lets the softer, more animal part of his brain decide what to do. 

And that part of his brain really wants apple juice. 

So he walks to the corner of Stratt’s office behind her desk to pull open the cupboard dedicated to Grace hidden in the wood panelling. He takes out the orange race car that Steve gave him along with a blue one Shapiro bought as a gift. He tucks them both in his sweater pockets and rummages further to get a coveted box of apple juice. 

He grins as he gently shakes the box in his hand, feeling the weight of the liquid shift from side to side. 

“Ryland?” Eva calls out to him gently, one hand covering the microphone on her phone. “Close the door please.” 

Oh, yeah! The cupboard door. 

He shuts it with his foot, still focusing on the juice box at hand. He fumbles with plastic packing around the straw, letting out a soft whine. 

He shuffles towards Eva and stands next to her. 

“Eva?” he says in a quiet voice, toeing the carpet with his foot. 

She looks up at him and stares for a moment. “Mr President, I’ll have to call you back.”

Ryland can hear the person on the other end of the line kick up a fuss but she hangs up the call anyway. 

“Yes, liefje?” she says sweetly and Ryland’s insides turn into syrup. 

He holds out the juice box and the evil evil straw. “Help,” his voice comes out wobblier than intended. 

She squeezes his arm and takes the box, deftly poking the straw through the hole on the top. 

He lets out a pleased sound as he takes it back from her. “Thanks.” 

He takes a sip and smiles. Eva is back to tapping away on her computer so Ryland does the next best thing and plops down by her feet. He takes out the toy cars from his pockets and lines them up in front of him. Carpets make horrible race tracks, too much friction. So he races the orange one on the sides of Eva’s desk, making it move back and forth. The feeling of the wheels dragging across the smooth wood makes his brain feel extra fuzzy. 

A hand lands on his head and starts scratching his scalp lightly. His shoulders relax even further and he looks up at Eva, who has one hand on his head and another on her mouse. He leans against her leg, trying to soak up as much contact as he can. 

The apple juice runs dry and his eyes start to flicker close. He almost tips forward and brains himself on the desk when Eva grabs onto his shoulder. He lets her pick him up, helping him so he’s straddling her lap with his chest against hers. He leans forward, smelling the strawberry shampoo in her hair. 

“Sorry for bothering you,” Ryland whispers, guilt pooling in his stomach suddenly.

A hand lands on his back, patting him gently. He can feel Eva relaxing against her chair as she holds him closer. “You do not bother me.” 

He hums, leaning his head on her shoulder as she continues to pat his back. He can feel her shoulders lower, no longer carrying the stress she had moments before. 

Eva has done so much for him, it is more than he ever deserves. He would do anything to help her—even if she doesn’t realize it. If she can move mountains (or in this case, hang up on the President of the United States) for him, he could do this for her, no matter how small it is in the long run. 

He doesn’t know how to carry the burden of saving the world for her, but he can help make it easier to carry.