Work Text:
“You’re pissing me off,” you grumble, throwing a look over your shoulder at Dr. Grace. He just laughs, spinning around in his chair and crossing his arms in a show of defiance. “If you ran the test right the first time, I wouldn’t have to fix your shit,” he mumbles, staring at you over the rim of his glasses.
He was right, of course, but you weren’t going to admit to it. The lab on Stratt’s Vat was large, but Dr. Grace’s work station was right next to yours. The proximity led to a lot of arguments between the two of you. Despite his position as the lead researcher, he relied on you for help with the social aspects of the job, often calling you over to assist with presentations since he wasn’t used to explaining things to competent adults.
And although you were better at public speaking, he was a better scientist. You tried not to feel some kind of way about it, he was put in charge for a reason, after all. But there were times, like now, that it felt like he was lording his intellect over you just to make you feel inadequate. Frankly, no amount of schooling could have prepared you for astrophage, and for whatever reason, Dr. Grace had a grasp on the newfound lifeform that no one else could rival.
“I didn’t run it wrong,” you spit, “we’re testing variables for god’s sake.” He takes a bite of a twizzler, “you know, when I fuck up, I just say I fucked up.” You spin around quickly, giving him an incredulous look. “That’s so not true. You told Stratt that the nitrogen leak was spontaneous last week,” you watch his brows furrow as you talk, “we both know you were testing a batshit theory and it tanked.”
His jaw ticks, he takes an aggressive bite of his candy. “It didn’t tank,” he snaps, pointing the twizzler at you, “it just didn’t do what I expected it to do.”
“So it tanked,” you laugh, “you were wrong and it tanked.” You pull your gloves off and toss them in the trash, “what a model leader you make, lying to the most powerful person in the world about fucking nitrogen.” He pushes out of his chair, towering over you suddenly. “You’re working your way to a write-up,” he grumbles lowly, staring down at you with his best disappointed teacher look.
“Bite me,” you murmur, smirking when he lets out a long sigh. “Grace, you need me here and that means we have to learn to work together,” you rise to your feet, making yourself as tall as you can, ignoring the height he still has on you.
Stratt steps into the lab then, arms full of files and coffee. She sees the standoff happening between you and Dr. Grace, eyes bouncing back and forth, trying to figure out if she should intervene. “I am working with you,” Grace mutters, “you just make it really fucking hard.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms, “respectfully, you’re no walk in the park either.”
“Dr. Grace,” Stratt calls, poker face on when you and Grace turn to her with wide eyes. “Come with me, please.” She doesn’t wait for him, just turns and walks off. He shoots you a glare and follows quickly, ignoring when you snort at his retreating form.
Stratt leads Grace to her office, gesturing for him to close the door behind him. “Is everything okay, Dr. Grace?” He flounders for a moment, hands landing in his pockets. “Yes, of course,” he squeaks out, taking a seat when she points to it. “Good.” She looks him up and down, taking in the tension in his shoulders and the furrow of his brow. He shrinks a little under her gaze, fingers fiddling with the zipper on his jacket.
She hums, “I wanted to ask what you’re doing for stress relief.” He gapes, shaking his head, “I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked,” she states. “I appreciate your dedication to this mission but you’re going to kill yourself and your team if you don’t do something to relax.” He shakes his head again, shrugging when she raises her eyebrows. “Dr. Grace, I just watched you pick a fight with your closest staff member. You rely on her for a lot, don’t push her out because your ego flares when you’re tired.”
There’s a second where his anger almost wins, but he bites his tongue and sighs. “Understood,” he murmurs, giving her a small nod. She watches how he deflates, takes note of the bags under his eyes and the slight tremble in his hands. “Take the night off, both of you. Go get a drink, eat something fried, patch up that relationship before she bites your head off,” Stratt waves her hand, shooing him out, waiting until his back is turned to let her lips pull into a small smile.
Grace comes slinking back to the lab quietly, holding his hands up to disarm you. He tells you Stratt’s orders to relax, invites you to the small bar with the offer to buy you a drink. It throws you off, your mind working overtime to figure out what Stratt could have possibly said to him. When you don’t respond, he sighs, “look, maybe she’s right, we’re stressed and we’re not handling it properly. Just come have a beer and we can hash everything out.”
His defeated tone has you nodding, you lock your computer and motion for him to lead the way. A few patrons are already lazing around the bar, you plop down in a corner booth while he orders. They don’t charge for drinks, Stratt makes sure the ship is well stocked, so Grace comes back with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, smiling when you laugh at him. He just shrugs, “they really just let me do whatever here.”
“Yeah, he would not have given me a whole bottle,” you chuckle, accepting the glass he pours for you. The people watching on the Vat is always good, someone’s always a little too drunk or a little too loud, the gossip gets fun after hours. You both finish your first glass before he’s willing to break the silence that’s settled over the booth.
“Sorry I went after you earlier,” he starts, fingers tapping against the table. “We’ve been pushing too hard, we can’t be at each other's throats like that.” You watch how he shifts uncomfortably, like apologizing isn’t in his nature. You just nod, taking a sip and thinking. “We’re a good team when we’re not fighting,” you murmur, giving him a small grin.
He lets out a breath, like he needed that confirmation that you weren’t planning on jumping ship. “You know I value your opinions and your work ethic, right?” He asks quietly, searching your face. You give him another nod, full attention focused on him. “Good, okay good,” he looks around for a moment, like he’s deciding how much to say.
It feels like a good time for you to jump in, “we push each other’s buttons, Dr. Grace. We’ve both got room for improvement.” He looks surprised, like he was solely blaming himself for your argument. “I’ll lay off if you lay off,” you smirk, clinking your glass with his when he raises it. “Sounds like a deal,” he huffs a laugh, letting silence settle over the booth again.
And the thing about spending time with Grace is that you genuinely get along with him, he’s funny and he listens to understand, you like him when he relaxes. He’s been pouring small amounts of whiskey, just enough to feel warm, to feel your body loosen over time. You let him pour you one more glass, taking note of how tipsy you are, knowing that this last glass will knock you out for the night.
He’s got a warm flush in his cheeks, his body sinking into the booth enough to let you know he’s about as tipsy as you. Light conversation flows easily, he asks about your work before the project, tells you about his students, brags about their science fair projects that went to state. You listen intently as he rambles, smiling when he gets a little passionate about one student that he thinks was robbed of a podium spot.
“They have podiums at science fairs?” You smile, hand covering your mouth when you hiccup. “Okay, not podiums, but like basically podiums,” he laughs, finishing off his glass. “Ribbons, is the word,” he adds quickly, leaning his arms on the table. You slide your empty glass back and forth between your hands, your head feeling heavy on your shoulders. He sees how you tip to the side a little, watches as you zone out for a second.
“You wanna get some air?” He asks quietly, smiling when you nod. He returns the bottle of whiskey to the bartender and meets you at the door, following you out into the cool night breeze. You lean against the wall, staying away from the railing. He plants himself beside you, taking a deep breath when the wind hits his face. “Thanks for your time tonight,” he murmurs, “you could’ve told me to fuck off and I would have.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re not as bad as you think you are, Dr. Grace,” you turn your head, taking in his profile. He looks different in the low light, softer and sleepy. “Besides, we needed a little team building,” you mumble, meeting his eye when he looks at you. He lifts a hand slowly, his fingers tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
He pulls back quickly, like he suddenly realized what he did. “Sorry,” he whispers, his cheeks going red. You give him a small smile, “nothing to apologize for.” He lets out a breath, “yeah?” And his hand comes back up, cupping your cheek gently. You let him pull you close, feel his breath fanning across your face and his fingers curling around the back of your head.
A long pause has you growing impatient, so you push up on your toes and press your lips to his. He melts into the kiss immediately, turning so he’s got you pressed between his body and the wall. Your hands land on his chest, a small gasp escaping when he licks at your bottom lip. He deepens the kiss as soon as you open for him, a quiet moan leaving him when he feels you wrap an arm around his neck.
He tastes like whiskey and candy, the flavors make you laugh against him. He pulls back with a smile, “what?” You drop your head to hide your giggles, “nothing, you just eat too many twizzlers.” He rolls his eyes with a huff, lifting your face to sneak one more kiss to your lips. “We’re going to revisit this when we haven’t been drinking,” he whispers with a pointed look, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip slowly.
You nod, pushing him back a step. “Come on, walk me home,” you give his hand a squeeze, letting him pull you back inside and lead you to the door of your small room. He hesitates when you stop, eyeing you like he’s regretting how quick the walk was. “Can I ask you a question?” You prod, biting back a laugh when he nods a little too fast. “All of the fights you’ve picked with me, were you just flirting?”
His eyes go wide and his mouth falls open, his hands raising in defense. “No! That’s not what I was - “
“Are you sure?” You interrupt, smirking when he blushes. “No,” he whispers, a shy smile working its way across his face. “But I might not have known it was flirting until recently,” he looks away, shuffling in place like he doesn’t know what to do under your scrutiny. You just laugh softly, “I get it. Have a good night, Dr. Grace.”
He squeezes your hand, wishes you a good night, and turns, ignoring how hot his cheeks feel.