Archive of Our Own

You don't like answering your phone.

Your limited time has been spent on enough work for a lifetime, you think. And while you won't be retiring in the near future, you will be ignoring your phone's every ring, beep, or chirp. They could leave a voicemail.

But there is one number you never let go to voicemail; one number that has its own special ringtone; a number that hasn't shown up on your screen for months.

That's the number that's calling you now.

It's the number that has trained like one of Pavlov's dogs to perk up and run to your phone whenever you hear it. And you do just that. You answer your phone in seconds.

"Eva?" you ask tentatively. You haven't heard her voice since the day you divorced.

"You're friends with Dr. Ryland Grace, correct?" she says, straight to the point. She has always been like this: efficient, blunt, and quick. She was like this when you split. She handed you the papers, explained it all clearly, and then packed her things the next day. You were distraught, of course. You were angry, sad, pleading— every emotion you could feel, honestly. But she was calm. She wasn't shaken. She seemed like you hadn't meant a thing to her. That's what hurt. She hadn't held an ounce of the warmth she always had. She was so… detached.

You sigh. "You mean the guy you shipped off to… a ship, actually. That doesn't roll off the tongue. Whatever. Yes. I'm friends with him."

"You worked on a project with him, one containing astrophage. You helped him breed it."

You pause. How on earth did she know that?

You decided to not have another thing to do with Eva the second it was all officially done. You didn't understand where she was coming from at that point, but even when you did, you stuck to it. But you can't always do that, can you? It was bound to happen when you started to stray into her world of the petrova line anyways.

Many of your friends are scientists, and scientists talk. You bounce ideas off of each other and discuss discoveries—especially the latter. Considering that, it was only natural that the discovery of the petrova line was going to reach you quick. You knew about it even before it reached the public.

You didn't know Eva Stratt was responsible for fixing it.

The news had washed over you like a bucket of freezing cold water. She left you to go… save humanity. She left you to have no distractions from her mission.

You were angry at first, outraged that she lied to you about her motives. Then you were so inexplicably sad at the thought of her shouldering it herself. She's the toughest woman you know, but she's not infallible.

You cried for a lot of reasons that day. You cried for Eva, for your marriage, for the billions of people set to die.

Eva calls your name. "Are you there?"

"Are you okay, Eva?" you blurt out. Your voice lowers now, and you fidget with the hair tie on your wrist. "It's… it's a lot to do all by yourself."

"That's why I don't do it all by myself. I have help,t just like Dr. Grace did in breeding the astrophage, which was you. He needs your help again in the lab." She redirects everything effortlessly.

Right. Saving the world.

You weren't exactly that unenthusiastic when Ryland called you, shouting about astrophage that Eva gave him. He begged you to go to the lab with him and help him that day, and you agreed. But you had one condition: your name was never tied to it. You don't want anything to do with Eva. End of story.

You lost that apprehension really fast.

You were dealing with alien life there, and all your discoveries were so astonishing. Together, you figured out how they reproduced! God, isn't that something?

Your bubble was popped when Ryland shared your discoveries, though.

He allowed you to leave before making the phone call, fortunately (pathetically, you couldn't even listen to her voice without crying at that time. Even now you're still struggling). That precaution saved you, you think. He was not as fortunate when he was dragged out to god-knows-where while you were driving home.

But you left. Out of everybody that Ryland associates himself with that could have helped him, how did she track it back to you? You were careful to not show your involvement, weren't you? It doesn't matter, you guess. He must've spoken to her, apparently, as she knows now.

Traitor.

"How'd you know it was me who helped him?"

"He didn't need to. The guards saw your involvement." She quickly continues on before you can reply. "I need you to help him breed the astrophage."

"I'm not doing it. He can figure it out himself."

"I suggest you do, because you'll find that you've been terminated from your job.

You pause. No time in given to you to process before she speaks again.

"I made this easier for you by eliminating the choice," she says.

"Has that made it easier for me, Eva?" you ask bitterly.

"There's a car outside." The line goes dead.

You sink into your couch. The phone slips from your fingers and lands beside you—no, wait. You reach for your phone again and open up your emails. You don't even need to scroll through your inbox to find the email regarding your termination. You drop the phone again and bury your face in your hands.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fucking Eva Stratt!" you yell into your hands.

Knock-knock.

Your head flies up to look at your door. With your luck, you're about to get a SWAT team at your door to ensure your arrival.

"Miss?" A masculine voice calls out.

Begrudgingly, you pick up your phone and your bag which, fortunately, still contains the notebooks you used for your astrophage observations and your laptop. You assume they'll be useful. The door opens and you step right past the man assigned to take you wherever Eva decided you were needed.

"Whoa, wait, I gotta take you-"

You cut him off. "To my personalized hell, I'm aware."

He jogs to catch up with you and steers you to the back of the car. There's an actual driver in the front, so this idiot beside you must be the world's worst bodyguard. Great to know that Eva has all faith in you. You get in without protest regardless.

The next hours are… odd. You end up on a helicopter that is solely dedicated to getting you to wherever Ryland is. He called you once, talking to you about all that happened after you left. He had an experience very similar to you: he, too, was forcibly taken. Though you think he had it a bit worse. Eventually, it all comes to an end when you're placed on an aircraft carrier—you'll repeat that: a fucking aircraft carrier. Holy shit. Eva is in charge of all of this? (The thought is making you feel some things).

A man walks up to you and helps you out. "Welcome to Stratt's vat. You'll be escorted to the lab to get to work right away. Dr. Grace is already there."

"Stratt's what?" You sigh. "Never mind. I don't even want to know."

You're being guided through this massive ship now. If you, you know, had the choice to come here instead of being forced, this would be awesome. But even being here against your will is pretty cool.

You stop in front of a door. This must be the lab—holy shit (you're thinking that a lot, aren't you?). Eva really fucking invested in this place. Ryland is sat studying a metal tube, for lack of better descriptors. As you approach, you see the light sources on either side and deduce this is him attempting to optimize astrophage breeding on earth. He turns to look at the new arrivals, and he is visibly surprised to see you.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

The guard looks between the two of you then decides to leave. He must've been done there anyways.

"I got the Stratt treatment. Yay." You put your hands up and shake them in a jazz hands movement to convey your lack of immense enthusiasm. You muster up a grin, but you can't pretend to be happy for long. Your scowl returns soon enough.

He opens his mouth, but you just shake your head and wave your hand dismissively. "I'm here now. It's fine. Just fill me in on what you've learned about the astrophage."

He's still bothered, you can tell. He explains his findings for you sake, though, and you notice that he's grateful for the help despite the circumstances. He still has the same eye bags he did when you first discovered everything you knew about astrophage reproduction.

You'll end up sharing them soon enough.

You spend hours working through prototype after prototype. Each one doesn't cause the kind of proliferation you need. You're about three failed designs away from banging your head against a wall.

You idly sketch out a new design idea. Ryland is absorbed in figuring out some other unexplained behavior. You've both essentially given up for today.

"So," you start. "How is E—Stratt doing?"

He eyes you suspiciously. "You said you wanted nothing to do with her."

Your pencil stills. "I'm just wondering."

"She's just Stratt. She seems to be handling it fine. She's busy most of the time. I don't talk to her."

"But she has friends, yeah?"

"Are you her mom?"

Your face heats up. "I just want to know that she has people to confide in. That's normal."

"I don't think she has time for friends. She's too busy uprooting lives and making questionable moral decisions."

"She's just doing what's necessary," you argue. Woah. Too much. Your voice softens. "She used to talk to me about history. She didn't like to ramble, but she could always lose herself in that. It was my favorite way to hear her voice." You keep your head down. You don't want to know how Ryland is looking at you. You're pathetic for missing her like this and aware of it; he doesn't need to remind you.

You pick your pencil back up and keep sketching. "I'd hate for Eva to lose herself in this, that's all. I'd like to hear that spark again."

"I don't think that will be a problem. I have always been capable."

You look up to see Eva in the doorway. Looking up earlier may have been beneficial, you now understand.

She looks at Ryland. "Dr. Grace, I trust her addition has been helpful?"

Their mouths are moving, but you're not paying attention in the slightest. She's here. She's in front of you. She looks… normal. She's never been the one to let her struggles become visible in the slightest, so you can't say you know if that's true. She invests a lot of time in looking presentable despite whatever is affecting her at any given time. You used to be good at seeing through that facade. Maybe her veneer is just as effective on you now.

Your eyes fall to her hands next. They're held in front of her, her right hand on top. The metal band on ring finger catches the florescent overhead light. She still wears it. Why? Do people still flirt with her? Does this make her life easier? Has she found—

Oh. She's looking at you now.

"I asked if you had been shown where you're sleeping," Eva repeated.

You shook your head.

"I'll show you, then." She walks out. You get up and follow almost immediately. If you had any dignity, you wouldn't have followed her so blindly, but you don't. So you let her command you without a word.

You catch up to her and walk beside her. "So…"

She glances at you for a moment, waiting.

There's so many things you want to ask. Why do you have that ring on? Why did you leave? Was it worth it?

Nothing seems appropriate.

You muster up a fake smile. "So, any chance I can get a drink?"

"I will have someone bring you whiskey," she replies.

"Yes. Thank you."

You let the silence drag on until she stops at a door. She holds a keycard up. "This gives you access to the labs and your quarters. Don't lose it."

"When have I ever lost anything?" You counter.

"Don't lose it," she reiterates before placing the keycard in your hand. You catch another glimpse at her ring.

"You still wear it?"

She shrugs. "It's an expensive ring." Her eyes dip down to your chest (real discreet, Stratt). Your head tilts in question, and, before you can comment, her hand reaches out and tugs your necklace out of your shirt.

Oh. The necklace that still holds your ring. Makes more sense. (You still wish your shirt was more low cut. She can get a show whenever she wants).

"Hypocrite." The necklace falls back on your shirt.

You're not allowed to have any jewelry on in the lab in general, but having a necklace that held your ring was a lot harder to lose. It allowed you to wrap your ring around your bag while you worked. That doesn't matter much anymore. She got you fired.

You hand comes up to the ring, toying with it. "Was it because of the petrova line?"

"Yes. I don't have time for relationships."

"But if the circumstances were better—"

"Let's not go down this path." She shakes her head with a sad smile. "Goodnight."

You watch her leave for the second time. You don't say anything for the second time. It hurts the same as the first time. You cry the same way you did the first time, this time in an unfamiliar place over a woman who's becoming just as unfamiliar.

The first thing you feel is the warmth of the sun on your skin. The second is paper. Paper on your forehead. Your fingers brush off the paper from your forehead. It's a sticky note. You turn it over and read it: "Be in the lab at 8 a.m. Your clothes have been sent for, and have not yet arrived. There is an outfit for you. -Eva." Sitting up, you look around the room. On your nightstand lays two glasses, one bottle of whiskey, and folded clothes. So she got you your drink. And she probably saw your tear-stained face. That is exactly what you need.

You check the time on your phone. You have an hour to get ready before you're back in the lab with Ryland. It's doable. First, you grab the clothes Eva put on your nightstand. You unfold them and lay them out—woah, wait a minute. You lost these clothes months ago. Eva had them? She just kept your clothes. Then she brought them with her—voluntarily—onto a boat. You eye the two glasses again. And she brought you two glasses for your damn whiskey. You hate her (read: you so desperately to not be reading into things).

But you can't keep on thinking about Eva. You don't have the time. So you change and continue to get ready, this time focusing your brain power on astrophage.

You run your experiments at the lab, attempt to match Ryland's work ethic, and have no trouble forgetting all about her. It's working. You're even making progress with the astrophage. But you can't work forever. Eventually even Ryland leaves the lab, and you're too tired to make good progress (the janitors are giving you weird looks, too). So you leave the lab.

The silence isn't helping you. All you can think about is not thinking about Eva. That evolves into just plain old thinking about her. You can't escape it now, and your eyes won't leave that whiskey on your nightstand. It's a bad idea to mix the two—logically, you're aware of this. But, god, you need a fucking drink.

You pour the room temperature whiskey into a glass. Ignoring the taste, you sip it. It's not bad whiskey—it's expensive, actually. You wonder where she even got this from. She does have a stupid amount of power now, though, so you assume she can justify ordering someone to import some expensive whiskey. And you're thinking about her again. Great. Can she get out of your fucking head?

You groan and fall back onto the bed. "I hate this."

You sit up to take another sip. Your computer is in your bag; a comfort movie and whiskey doesn't sound awful. It's certainly not as relaxing as a glass of wine, but it'll do. You fish out your laptop from your bag and look at what movies you have downloaded. You settle on one and lean back into the headboard.

It works for a while. Then you're back to square one an hour and a half in, a little too drunk, and staring at a character who reminds you of all the best parts of Eva. She has her deadpan humor; that little smile she does that might as well be the biggest grin on the planet; and her blunt nature. Would she be as warm as Eva? Eva isn't partial to cuddling, but she'd always do it for you. She'd indulge in your desires to lay your head on her lap and have her run her fingers through your hair. You're sure you made her like it some point, but you initiated it far too often for her to ever need to do it herself.

You stare at your phone. This is stupid. This is so stupid—but you're already finding her contact. You're already pressing the call button. Too late to turn back, right?

Who are you kidding?

You hover your finger over the decline button, but Eva answers sooner than you can press it.

"I assume you're enjoying the alcohol I gave you," she says.

You pout. "Oh, c'mon. I don't—that's mean. I don't drunk-text, or call, or whatever."

"You're slurring your words."

You focus on getting your next word out as clear as possible. "Barely."

"Then please do tell me the very original and sober thoughts you wish to express to me."

You pause. "Fine. You got me." You don't disguise the slight slur anymore.

"Thought I did. Goodnight."

"Wait—no, no, no, no. Don't hang up," the consonants and vowels are almost indiscernible between your drunkenness and your scramble to get them out of your mouth.

"I have work to do." She speaks much more clearly than you do.

"Can you please just stay with me for a few more minutes? That's all I want," you plead.

"Seven minutes. Seven minutes is all I have to spare to talk to you," she acquiesces. You can hear the softest sigh follow that statement.

"That's all I need." You sit in silence for a moment, looking up at your ceiling. "You used to seem so stoic whenever I laid my head on your chest—you know, when our relationship really just started—but I'd always hear your heart race."

She's quiet on the other end. She doesn't want to take this trip down memory lane with you, you can tell. "Yes. I do remember that."

"You were cute back then. Still are pretty cute."

"I discourage continuing the way you're going."

"Yeah. It's stupid. But I miss you. I have been missing you, and I really want to know if things could ever be the same between us."

"Have a good—"

"I don't sleep the same without you. Shouldn't you help your best scientist be well rested? Being sleep deprived won't help results."

"Please don't make this harder." Her voice is weighed down by everything that's happened. For the first time, you can tell how hard this is for her—being separated, the petrova task force, everything.

"One night, Eva. I just want to hear your heart beneath my ear for one night."

You hear the deep breath she takes. "I'll be there."

She said yes? What?

You're sat in shock for at least a minute after the line went dead. She… said yes. Are you dreaming? No, the weight of your laptop is too real, your voice too loud, the bedroom too detailed. It's real. Still, you glance at your hands to make sure all fingers are there; they are.

The knock on the door throws your out of your trance. You put your laptop aside in a hurry and rush to the door. You open it with all too much enthusiasm.

You stare at her for a moment. She's still dressed in her work clothes.

She notices your puzzled expression. "I'm only staying until you fall asleep."

Your shoulders slump. "Oh."

Eva nudges her way into the space. You stay looking at the floor for a moment. You pick you head up and close the door. When you turn around, Eva's standing at your beside. You can imagine the purse of her lips at the amount of whiskey gone from the bottle. She looks to you when you come to her side. She looks your up and down, and you spot a similar tightness between her brows.

Her eyes meet yours. "That's not sleeping attire."

"Yeah. No clothes yet." You shrug sheepishly. Your face heats at her gaze, and you can't stomach looking at her in the eyes for very long. "But I don't really care."

"I can lend you mine."

Although your heart races at the thought of sharing clothes again, you can't handle the sight of her walking out that door. "No, no. I'm okay. Really. Could we, uhm…" you gesture to the bed.

She nods and gets into bed. She's sitting upright, her legs out in front of her. You miss her lap really bad.

You click the lamp off and get into bed. Slowly, you lower your head onto Eva's lap. She waits patiently for you to settle, then puts her palm on your head. Her fingers card through your hair like they always used to do. The world fades in and out as your eyelids protest staying open. Stupidly, you don't want to waste a second of this. You want to stay awake forever and make her never leave. Your body has other plans, though. Your eyelids close for good, and you begin to drift off. Eva doesn't pause her soothing motions except to pull the blanket up and over you. In your final thoughts before you lose consciousness, you beg your mind to hold onto this memory.

Your head is throbbing. It was stupid to drink last night—you need to work today. And you should be getting up for that. However, you are very comfortable. You don't know who supplied these pillows, but they are amaz—that's not a pillow. You're looking at someone's legs.

Carefully, you move off the person's lap. You sit up and look over to see Eva. She's rubbing her eyes and smoothing out her hair. Strands of hair are sticking out from her movements last night. Instinctively, you help her fix her hair, but you stop abruptly. The hand retracts as if you've been burned. Why is Eva here? What did you while drunk last night? Why does she always look adorable when she wakes up?

"Sorry—uhm, you're in my bed. What did I do last… oh." It starts to come back to you. A bit too much alcohol, a ballsy call, some awful flirting, a lot of pathetic behavior. Yeah. Sounds right. You shudder when you're reminded of your actions. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry."

"I was the one who chose to come here."

"And stay."

She averts her gaze for a moment, composing herself. Her hair falls in front of her face and hides the hint of a flush on her cheeks that you're sure you saw. She looks back at you. "You didn't exactly let me get up."

You nod. "Yeah. Guess so." You slip out of bed. "Did you miss a lot of work?"

"Certainly more than seven minutes."

You hum a noncommittal noise as you twist the cap back on the bottle of whiskey.

Eva gets out of bed. "I'll bring you more clothes."

"Why did you even keep this outfit of mine? Do you have more of my clothes?"

Her hand stills on the doorknob. "I was packing very quick that day. I wasn't paying attention, and when I did sort through it, I thought it best not to go back. You didn't want to see me."

Your mouth opens to retort and tell her just how untrue that was, but it dies on your tongue. "Makes sense."

Her hand presses down on the handle, but you halt her again. "Are we going to talk about this?"

"No." She leaves before you can drag this on. But you can't let her leave again. If this happens again, it might kill you.

Your feet are moving to the door before you even comprehend it, and suddenly you're stopping her again in the hall. "You don't get to make all the choices. We're talking. I'm making you. I'll find you later."

With that, you turn around and go back into the room. That's a win! Now you and Eva are 1-3. It's a small win, but a win nonetheless. Whoop-whoop!

You pump your fist in the air, a motion that's interrupted with a knock to the door. No way she's back. She's stubborn, but not that stubborn to let you take away any more time than you have already.

The door creaks open, and Ryland pops his head in. He's holding a suitcase. "This is out here for you."

You look at the suitcase. "Yeah, Eva sent for my clothes. That was quick, though. Did you see them put it out there?"

He nods and shifts sheepishly side to side. "Right after Eva came out of your room wearing yesterday's clothes."

Oh. That certainly presents itself a certain way.

You shrug and feign nonchalance. "You know, if we were really back together, she'd be moved in. So, wait for that."

He tilts his head. "Are you actively playing into the U-Haul lesbian stereotype? Don't you find that o little offens—"

"Me and Eva got married in three months."

His jaw falls. He sucks on his teeth, clicks his tongue, and moves on. "Okay, anyways—"

You burst out laughing. "Kidding, kidding. It took me three years to wear her down and lull her into a false sense of security.

Ryland's cheeks turn red and he looks away, his eyes falling on the half-empty bottle of whiskey. You can see the gears turning. Fuck.

You haul the suitcase onto your bed and begin sorting. "Okay, fine. I drunk called her."

"She's your boss now—you do realize that, right?"

"She's always been my Eva and she always will be."

You can feel his inquisitive gaze burning into the back of your head. The questions begging to be let out are practically tangible in the air between you.

Your shoulders slump. "I didn't do anything stupid, okay? Well, it was stupid, but we didn't hook up. She just slept beside me."

"Why?"

Scientific man, this guy is.

"Because I begged her to." Your face heats up. "I'm not proud of it."

Even Ryland cringes at that.

You throw your hands in the air. "I said 'I'm not proud of it!'" You bury your face in your hands. "I'll meet you in the lab. I need to change and locate some pain killers."

He places the suitcase in front of you. He steps back hesitantly, not turning around yet. "You really don't want to discuss it?"

You roll your eyes. "Of course I want to debrief and analyze it. Don't be stupid. And, yes, you'll get all the details your nosy ass wants." You shoo him off and close the door in his face. Momentarily, you feel a little bad for being mean. He shouldn't be subjected to rage at Eva, and astrophage, and—it'd actually be easier to list what you aren't mad it. And, now that you're thinking about it, you are a little angry that he must've let your name slip to his buddy, Carl. You don't feel as bad anymore.

You look over at the suitcase he brought. Who did she send to pack your clothes—better question: how did they get in? Huh.

You shrug. Best to not question her methods.

The suitcase is hoisted up onto the bed. You unzip it and open it up. All your clothes are folded tightly into the suitcase, and you realize that everything really is in there as you sift through. You're impressed.

As you're pulling out clothes, you feel something hard. You pat around, feeling out sharp corners. It's rectangular? A square? You brush the clothes away from it, disregarding the mess it leaves behind. You grab it and pull it up into the light. A picture frame. You stare at it for a moment. You're looking at the back of it, but you don't need to turn it around to know what lies on the other side. It's one of your most prized possessions.

Eva took you many places for her work. Your life was often confined to a suitcase. She felt bad. She made it clear she never expected you to uproot your life at her whim, but you were stupidly in love, and leaving her felt more painful than leaving behind America. So you left. You followed her across borders. She is your home.

You think this job was the final straw—something she couldn't justify doing to you. But you find that logic to be flawed if she took you here anyways. You can't find it in yourself to fault her for trying to keep you away from this though. You know she has only the best intentions.

You rub your thumb over the smooth expanse of the wooden frame. This was the one thing you took every place Eva took you, no exceptions. It's your favorite photo. The only time you've ever gotten close to leaving it behind is when Eva was the first to pack it, and you spent an hour crying and looking for it. You had an awkward time explaining that predicament to Eva.

The photo is turned over, revealing its contents. It's a shoddy shot taken on a digital camera at your friend's wedding. Eva has a hand on your arm, you mirroring her with your own touch on her elbow. You were doubled over in laughter, and Eva had the biggest smile on her face looking down at you. She was happy to have a friend that night, you think. But in your hopelessly romantic heart, you see it as love at first sight.

You were forced out to Europe for that night, surrounded by people you didn't know and didn't really want to know. Your friend had ample time to expand her social circle with her year spent in France—she met a friend of Eva's there, and then married her. That's how Eva got an invite there. You're not as sure about how Eva got pushed over to you. Maybe your friend meddled, maybe she felt just as outside of things. You're not very sure. You are sure that it is the best thing that's ever happened to you. A close runner-up was when she moved to America. She asked you out soon after that (that one you're sure that your friends meddled with).

This photo has stayed with you forever. You would've been devastated to spend all this time without it, as sad as that may be. You suppose Eva told them to get it. The thought of one of her lackeys finding this brings heat to your cheeks. She must not be very concerned with secrecy. But how did she know you didn't throw it away? That would've been the smarter thing to do.

You flick back the stand and place it on the bedside, facing towards the bed. Your fingers graze the glass. She was so young and carefree there. That glint in her eyes has been dulled by the Petrova task force—or is it you? You can't bear dwelling on the thought.

Oh—changing. You should be changing and meeting Ryland in the lab. You have actual things to be doing.

You begin to haphazardly put away the clothes that are still folded, leaving the ones you unfolded on the bed. Once you're finished with that, you pick out an outfit from the clothes still on your bed, and then you toss on your lab coat, slide on your shoes, and leave. Bag! You kind of need your notes. You jog back inside and run back out. Now you really have everything. You just have to go to the lab and meet Ryland.

Speak of the devil. He's turning the corner.

You pick your hand up and wave. "Hey, where are you going? Lab is the other way."

"Change of plans: I'm going to prison. With Stratt," he replies, stopping in front of you.

"Can you stop doing that thing you do with the vague wording? Would it kill you to not scare the shit out of me?" You cross your arms. "Why is Eva going to a prison?"

"I'm going to ignore the fact that you didn't ask about me, but I don't know. She just said, 'go grab her, we're going to Auckland prison.'"

"What the fuck do you mean 'we're going to Auckland prison?' You don't just say we're going to a maximum security prison, Grace!"

"You just told me to stop being vague!"

You groan into your hands. This place is awful—it's almost comical how awful this place is. Once you've somewhat made peace with that, you look up. "Okay, okay. Let's go grab Stratt."

She's already waiting at the hangar, apparently. She had to have had more advance notice than the two of you did. You would say you're shocked she didn't divulge the information sooner—maybe when she arranged the transport—but she has always been a little withholding with others. At some point in time you would've been the first to know.

When you reach her, you have your spiel ready. "Auckland prison," you say, slowly. "What business do you have there?"

"I got an email."

You stare blankly at her. "From who? The prison?"

"In a way."

You look at Ryland, then at her. Match made in heaven, really. They're both unbearably vague. "It's a maximum security prison, does that not warrant a good reason to be visiting? Oh my god, you're all insane." You throw your hands up and let out an incredulous laugh.

"Oh, please. Don't be dramatic, Y/N." She rolls her eyes. "You always had that flare for theatrics ever since the altar."

"For the millionth time: the most normal thing I've ever done was get cold feet! That's normal!" you argue, lips creeping up into a smile. That may not be your proudest moment, but one of your fondest memories of Eva was her coaxing you out. You felt awful—still do at times—but that moment solidified the fact that you made the right choice with her. You're not so certain she made the right choice with you.

"You hid in that stupid pen for twenty minutes. That was an awful venue, you know. All those animals, and for what? Sheep were eating your dress, and you walked down the aisle filthy. So much for a first look." Despite her earlier frustration, she laughs. You can't help but join in with her. Her hand rests on your arm, and your palm comes up to cup her elbow. For a second you both ignore how silly this looks and just enjoy it.

Your laughter slows. "For the record, Eva, I haven't regretted it since." You hold her gaze for a second, soaking up her easy affections and that gorgeous smile she bestows upon you. But it's far too intimate for a setting like this, and Ryland thinks that too as he clears his throat. You pull away, tucking your traitorous hands in your pockets. They can't be trusted around her, clearly.

She schools her expression quickly, and, before you get in, you swear you hear the faintest sound of her saying, "perhaps you should."

Eva gets in first, leaving Ryland just a second to judge you. "You're not mad she's forcing you to visit a prison anymore?"

You shrug. "I'm easy, and she's the love of my life. Two plus two equals four."

That was… a ride. All your work on prototypes for breeding astrophage have been deemed useless, because some imprisoned man emailed your boss. That isn't the way you were hoping that would end, but you were going in circles there. Maybe, finally, you could work on something else. Something more in your purview, hopefully. If only you could be off the task force entirely.

You'd settle for being anywhere but with Ryland, here, watching him vomit into a trash can. Flying isn't his forte, clearly.

"There… there…" you pat his back awkwardly. "Hopefully we'll never do that again."

He comes up from the trashcan. You offer him a tissue which he gratefully accepts. He begins to wipe his face. "You never told me."

"About last night?" You avert your gaze. "I called, she answered, and I said some stupid things."

"Like for her to come cuddle with you?"

The burning in your cheeks feels unbearable. "Don't put it like that." With all your courage, you find it in yourself to look him back in the eyes. "It's just been weird between us. She said she didn't have much time to spare talking to me, but she came to my room and ignored her work anyways. Oh, and she got me two glasses for that whiskey, and I'm half-sure she told whoever collected my things to pick up a photo I have of us. I take that thing everywhere. It just… feels like hints, maybe? I can't tell. It's been so long since I've had to decipher her actions."

"You kept a photo of the two of you?"

"I am living a sad, sad life. We all know it. Next question."

"I'm over simplifying it, but why don't you just talk to her? I'm sure she misses you too. Can't you see the way she acts around you? She never smiles like that around anyone else."

"I was meaning to. Then she took us to Auckland." You force out a small laugh, but your heart isn't really in it. "I still might. It's late, though, and, well…"

Ryland, despite how disheartened you look, continues. "Well, what?"

"I don't think she…" loves me anymore, you want to say. But is that true? She acts like she loves you, but do you even know how she acts anymore? "It's only been so long, but it feels like decades. She's the same, really, but so different. I don't know if I know her anymore. I'll take her in any form, truly, but I just want my wife back. I meant it, Ryland. I'm hers until the end of time. But… maybe I'm just not right for her anymore. Maybe I'm a hindrance."

A tear falls down your cheek, cold against the heat of your face. You haven't noticed it until now, but your eyes are beyond watery. Ryland's face is a big, mosaic blur. You don't register him moving in to pull you into his arms. You want this to bring you comfort. His sweater is soft, his arms grounding, the warmth engulfing, but it isn't right. He doesn't smell like smoke and some woody perfume, nor does his hair tickle your face when you press yourself closer into him. He's just not Eva.

Still, you cry into his shoulder. You cry until you feel just an ounce better, and you try not to think about how Eva's smaller hands would feel comforting you instead of his.

Pulling away, you sniffle and wipe your tears.

He pats your back. "Want me to walk you back to your room?"

"I need to go back to the lab and grab my pen." You hate how weak your voice comes out.

"Alright. Let's go get the pen." He couldn't care less, you're sure. You need the company, though. So you make him go with you to get your pen, a task that could've waited until the morning.

At the door to the lab, you dig through your bag for your keycard. You left it in the side pocket—no, maybe not. Inside? No. Not there, either. You search through the bag to no avail, and look up at Ryland, defeated. "I lost the key. I lost the keycard that Eva told me not to lose."

He swipes his card on the reader for you. "Wait, can you get into your room?"

You haven't even considered that. "No. I cannot. Lovely."

You walk inside together. "You're not going to like what I'm going to say." Ryland grabs the pen and passes it to you while you wait for him to continue. "Only Stratt and the head of security have keycards that can open the rooms."

"No one else?" you clarify.

"No one that I know of."

You tuck the pen into your bag. You really do like that pen. You'd rather not lose that, too, because you've been losing everything lately (e.g. your keycard, your wife, your sanity). "Okay." You inhale deeply. "Okay. I'll go find Eva."

"You don't need to. You could stay in my room for the night and I can find the head of security in the morning," he offers.

"I'm a big girl. Too old for sleepovers, and I'm too old to be afraid of seeing Eva." You wave a hand dismissively as you step outside the lab. This, thankfully, doesn't need a key of any sort. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

You regret not taking him up on his offer mere seconds after you part ways. He'd let you take it back, you know that, but you're too far in now. You're already at the door to her office. Your knuckles come up to rap against the door, but they never make contact with the wood. It stays suspended for a moment. The thought of looking her in the eye both exhilarates you and makes your heart lurch.

"You can come in," she calls out.

Shadows. Right. She could probably see yours under the door. Twisting the door's handle is less intimidating than knocking.

"I don't have time for a conversation tonight," she says.

"Yeah. You have to arrange a shit ton of materials for the astrophage, I'm sure." You wring your hands together. "I lost the key, actually. Ryland told me tracking you down would be easier than the alternative."

She rises from her seat. You're happy she's sparing you a lecture, but you'd prefer to hear her in any way you could. You don't really enjoy the quiet of the night. It never used to be like that until recently.

You open the door for her, letting her walk out first. Your fingers itch for the small of her back. They settle for your pockets.

"I appreciate the clothes," you start, a few steps behind her. The other item that was in the suitcase sits on your tongue, unwilling to vacate just yet.

"I didn't give you much time to pack," she replies. She isn't bothering to disguise how little she wants to speak to you in the slightest.

"The photo, too. Did you tell them what to get?"

She stops at your door, pressing the card to the reader. "No, sorry. I just told them to put in whatever would fit from your closet. They put in a photo?"

Oh. Something hurts in your chest.

"Must've fallen out of one of my pockets then." Your voice falls flat. Nothing about it is convincing.

"You can't keep doing that." She's facing you now. It's that same look you saw when a folder was placed in your palms. "The kicked-puppy look doesn't inspire any pity."

"What will make you talk to me, Eva? What will give me an explanation for why you left me?"

"I don't have time for this."

"If you had time to uproot my life, then you have time for this conversation. I just want a reason. I've played it all out in my head, over, over, and over again. It was fine until this job. What about this could have possibly warranted your reaction?"

The corners of her mouth dip just the slightest bit. It's the first crack in her facade that you've seen, and, for the first time, you realize how hard she's been trying to keep it together. She isn't apathetic. It relieves you for a moment, but then the reality of her pain just comes crashing down on you.

"You'd be better off far, far away from this. I can't do that, though. The best I can do is keep you far away from me."

"You're awful at it."

She lets out a humorless laugh. "I'm aware."

"Why would could I possibly need to steer clear of my wife?"

"I'm not your wife anymore."

"But I'm yours. God, I'll always be yours!" You cringe at the value that escaped your mouth and quickly lower it. "I'll always be yours. You can't pull some martyr bullshit on me. You can't keep me away. So, please, just be honest with me."

She shakes her head. "The sooner you can live without me, the better."

"I can't live without you. I'm pathetic. I think of you constantly. I haven't stopped since the day I met you."

"You should try harder."

"I have never tried harder to do something in my life, yet here we are."

"Now you're really being dramatic."

"I'll be whatever you want—I'll do whatever you want. Just tell me why." You take her hands (you can't stop yourself this time). "You have to tell me why."

"There is no version of this where we stay together forever. I'm only trying to make it easier on you." Her voice cracks on the last syllable.

"You have to tell me what that means, honey." Your voice softens. You're getting somewhere. A hand comes up to her face, warm palm now pressing against her cheek. Her free hand covers yours.

"I'll be in prison by the end of this. I'll be placed on trial after i have done all that is necessary."

"So? I'll break you out."

"I'm not joking."

You falter. "But the UN appointed you. They gave you all the authority in the world."

She shrugs, a sad smile on her lips. "It's not that simple."

"That's not right. They can't just make you take the fall for it all. There has to be something we can do. I can find lawyers, maybe—"

"Stop. It's going to happen. There's no way around it."

"Then I'll wait. I'll visit every second they'll allow."

"I won't ask that of you."

"Where do you draw the line? You'll take my job from me, our marriage, but you won't let me stay with you?" You hold too much animosity in your voice for someone that loves her so much. "You don't need to ask a thing of me. I'll give up whatever you want, Eva, as long as you won't make me give up you again."

"You've always been so stubborn," she murmurs fondly.

"You're not doing a good job at deflecting."

Her lips part as if to reply, but she doesn't say a thing. Instead, she just wraps her arms around you and buries her face in your neck. Your arms fall into place around her, holding her tight against you. This is all you've ever wanted for months.

"You know the keycard is on bedside table, right?" Her words are muffled into your shoulder.

"Can you not ruin the moment?" You pinch her side, inciting a small yelp followed by a laugh. She squirms out of your grip, but you don't let her stray far. "Give me your hand."

She holds out her left hand.

You shake your hand. "Right."

Her other hand comes up. You gingerly hold it up, using your free hand to slip off her ring. You can see her begin to connect the dots.

"Please don't embarrass me here," you say lightheartedly, dropping onto one knee. "Eva Stratt, will you please marry me again?"

Looking up at her, it feels like nothing has changed. Her smile is the same one you saw the first time you were down her, and her gaze holds the same warmth. Her pupils are blown—because of the dim lighting or you, you don't know, yet it makes your heart race the same.

Her hand comes to your cheek, feeling the heat she has brought under your skin. "It might endanger you."

"I've never liked safety anyways."

"People may question your involvement in my more questionable decisions when they begin to build a case against me."

"I'll follow you anywhere."

"You'll spend a lot of time without me when I'm convicted."

"I'll survive."

"You're very naive."

Your smile widens. "Is that a yes?"

She nods. "It's a yes."

You slip the ring onto her finger for the second time, and, hopefully, the last time.

She hooks a finger into your necklace and gently tugs you back up—well, it isn't much of a tug. You throw yourself at her so quick that the necklace never even loses its slack. You really do not try to keep your cool, yet the second she kisses you, you melt into her. It feels like your first kiss with how jittery and overeager you are. You feel like a live wire.

You pull her flush against you—it isn't enough. You need to crawl inside her to be sated, actually. But you'll settle for creeping your fingers under her shirt to feel the warmth underneath.

She pulls back, and you have to suppress a whine. Her cheeks are so beautifully flushed, her lips slick, and her breathing coming in quick puffs. "We should go inside."

"Please." You nudge her inside and close the door.

God, how you missed her.

You hate phone calls—no, there isn't a strong enough word for it. You especially hate when they wake you from the most peaceful slumber you've had for months. You're perfectly warm, Eva's head is laying on your chest, and her hair is tickling your chin in a way you've been yearning for since the day she left. But, for the sake of shutting that ringing up and your job, you pick up the phone and answer. Grace could've made a breakthrough for all you know.

"Hello"—you peak at the contact name—"Dr. Grace."

Dr. Grace. When did you put Ryland's name in your phone as Dr. Grace?

"Good morning, Stratt—you're not Stratt." He sounds awfully confused for someone who called you.

"Never claimed to be. Do you need to talk to her?" You brush her hair aside, exposing her face. He'd have to wait. You're not waking her. No chance.

"This is Stratt's number."

"No, it isn't. You pull the phone away from your ear. This is certainly Eva's phone, not yours. "Yes, it is. Oh. Well, can I take a message?"

"Are you in her bed?"

"Other way around."

"So she slept with you again?"

"We didn't sleep together the first time."

"That's not what I meant—'the first time,'" he says slowly. "You did this time?"

You suck your teeth. Oops. "I try not to kiss and tell."

"I take it everything worked out?" The smile is evident in his voice.

You stare down at Eva, smiling. Fingers continue their ministrations of stroking her head. Her hair's just as soft. "Everything worked out just fine."

Yeah. Just fine—that seems right. You're with her now, and that's all you really want. Whatever may come, you'll endure it as long as you know you had her for all the time you could.

She's your wife, after all.