Work Text:
Scientists often worked through the night, that was nothing out of the ordinary. It was how progress was made.
That being said, Stratt would be foolish to let Dr. Grace work himself into the ground, not when risking his health was tempting the fate of humanity.
Her shoes clicked against linoleum as she walked into the area that housed his lab. At first glance through the window, he was nowhere to be seen. Her eyebrows furrow. Where else would he be? He often stops by her office to report findings at the end of the night, no matter how many times she lets him know that such things really could be surmised in his end of the week report.
It wasn't so bad to have the company, though, so she let it be.
The door to the lab sighs quietly as she steps in. Glancing around, there was still a mess that agreed with her observation. He hadn't called it a night yet, even if it was nearing 2 in the morning. Detrimental.
She heard a small sniffle from further into the room, and she stalled.
“Dr. Grace?” she called, though there was no real reason. Nobody else would be in here, nobody else had the clearance. Well, besides her, of course.
She treads carefully into the lab, letting the door fall closed behind her. Helpfully, albeit alarmingly, her brain chooses this moment to remind her that her astrophage biologist was, in fact, a regressor. Had the guards not checked on him?
Oh, that's right. She had told them to leave him to his work, uninterrupted. She curses herself, adding a mental note to add some clauses to that instruction.
Rounding the table, she feels her heart squeeze in her chest traitorously at the sight she knew would be waiting for her. Ryland Grace, curled in on himself on the floor, shoulders shaking in silent sobs.
“Dr- Ryland.” She urged, and his head lifted, startled like he had not heard her enter. Much to her chagrin, she crouches on instinct, every fibre of her being itching to take care of the little. His eyes were glistening with tears, and he quickly wiped his nose with his knuckles, as if that would mitigate the damage.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She frets, eyes scanning over his face. Of course he looked as he always did, but his eyes looked so young, wide and afraid. He blinked at her for a moment before shaking his head slightly. His hand slipped the already damp neckline of his shirt back into his mouth, to which Eva grimaced internally. One, disgusting, but two, confirming her hypothesis that the scientist was regressed.
“Don’t do that.” She chided, gently tugging the shirt out of his mouth. He frowned, but did not protest, which Stratt took as a win. At least he stopped crying, instead opting for his wide-eyed goldfish-like expression.
“Alright, come on.” She prompts, hooking her hands under his armpits and pulling him up to his feet. She briefly thanks the stars that he wasn't regressed too young to stand on his own. She was not carrying all that across the ship. He stood a bit awkwardly, a bit like a newborn deer that hadn't figured out limbs yet, but standing nonetheless.
“Good.” She affirms, slipping out of her mouth before she has the chance to stop it. She couldn't help it, she was a caregiver at her core. It rewarded her, a small smile gracing Ryland’s face, giddy like he couldn't believe the words left her mouth.
“S’eep?” He slurred, and she nods, starting to lead him to the door by his arm. He hesitates, glancing back over the lab, at the unfinished work. She doesn't let him harp on it long, urging him out the door.
“It will still be there tomorrow, Grace, I promise you that.” She reminds, and he huffs out a whine, but follows behind her anyways. Her mind begins to whiz with plans, ideas to keep the regressors on the task force operating better than this. At that, she remembers something.
“Have you eaten?” She asks, glancing back at him. He blinks himself out of whatever thoughts he fell into, the expression familiar to her already. He thinks for a moment, before shaking his head again. She nods in understanding, and redirects towards the cafeteria.
She scans her card to access the cafeteria. Well, cafeteria was a generous term. It was more like a glorified breakroom. She lets go of him for a moment to sift through the contents of the room. The room was blessedly well stocked, she thinks, grabbing a bottle of milk from the fridge.
She opens the snack drawer, and pauses. How old did he regress to? Would some of these foods be difficult for him? She glances back at him. He hadn't moved an inch from where she left him a few steps away. He rubs his closed eyes with a balled fist. She fought the urge to coo at him. Because she was Eva Stratt, who would not be cooing at her scientist, thank you very much.
He was uncharacteristically quiet when little, she thought. Even so, she sensed he wasn't regressed all that young. Toddler to young kid, she supposed. Maybe five to ten. So these snacks should be fine. She was definitely overthinking this. She grabbed a pack of those cracker sandwich things. Americans like those.
Picking up a couple more things, (more than necessary, surely,) she tucks the items into her coat pocket. It wasn't a balanced meal, but not much could be done about that at this hour. She takes hold of his hand and leads him out of the room.
They walk in silence to his room. It was really throwing her off how quiet he was. She surely would have thought that his regular jabbering would be dialed up to a new level when he was regressed. But here he was, following behind her, not a peep. No sarcastic jokes, no scientific rambling, nothing.
As odd as it felt, it was honestly quite nice. She wouldn't mind looking after- nope, Stratt. Let’s stop that thought right there.
They reached his room, and she pushed her way through the door. Big Ryland could be mad at her later for not asking permission. She glanced around. For how barren the room was, it was functional, standard. A fluffy blue blanket laid atop the otherwise colorless bed.
She sits down on the end of the bed. She looks back to him, and he blinks at her, chewing on the disgusting hem of his shirt again. Oh for Christ's sake.
She pats the spot on the bed next to her. As he sits, she swipes the shirt back out of his mouth, placing the crackers in his hand.
As he eats them, she figures it wouldn't hurt to ask a few simple questions, he seemed old enough to handle them. Granted, a proper conversation was in order with Grown Grace, but alas.
“Have you regressed since you've been on the Vat?” She asks, and his attention snaps from his pseudo-dinner to stare at her. She worries for a moment that she was wrong, that questions would have to wait for tomorrow, but he eventually shakes his head.
“And nobody looks after you?” She asks. Another head shake. Figures.
She leaves the topic for a moment to let him finish his crackers, and if he had any problem with her watching him eat, he did not show it. Albeit a good chunk of his days is observed by her, so she presumes he must be used to the feeling by now.
She twists the cap of the milk, handing it to him wordlessly, which he happily accepts.
The coddling causes her to realize something.
She was also ignoring her instincts, just as he was. With so much to do, she had not taken into account that her caregiver instincts had no chance of being met. Taking care of him had given her a sense of calm that she had not felt for a while.
Milk dribbles down his chin, and she wipes it with her handkerchief.
Two parts of her brain fight at her revelation. One argues that there was no time for her to look out for the scientist more than she already does, spending a chunk of her day coddling him could not only put the project at risk, but humanity. Solid point, but the other argues that it would keep both of them at peak performance, preventing one of her head scientists from melting down in his lab in the middle of the night.
Ryland’s yawn breaks her out of her thoughts, reminding her of the hour. She stands, plucking the emptied food containers from his hand.
He looks up at her, and she pushes down the wave of affection she feels for the man. His hair sticks up every which way, glasses fallen onto the bedsheet as he rubs his eye with a balled fist.
As his eyes droop, he curls up on top of the comforter. Huffing a quiet laugh, she picks up the fluffy blue blanket and drapes it over him.
She could have her designation crisis another day. Right now, her scientist needed to sleep. Flicking off the light, she feels a small smile grow on her face.
“Goodnight, Dr. Grace.”