Work Text:
'You've reached Ryland Grace. Leave a message, I'll try to call you back.'
Colt pulled the phone back from his face, eyeing the screen with disdain. He knew his brother well enough to know what being sent straight to voicemail meant; Ryland had likely lost his phone somewhere—or it was dead.
He'd still leave a message. If the roles were reversed, he would want Ryland to do the same.
Colt had intended to call sooner. The life of a stunt double was not as luxurious as one might think, and for the first time in his day he had a moment to sit. He toed off his boots and let out a deep, exhausted groan.
"Hello from Shanghai, Ryland. It's, like, close to midnight for me, so-" Colt hummed to himself, attempting the mental calculation between time zones. "Yesterday for you? Are you in Denmark yet? I don't know," he surrendered with a groan. "But, besides that, I wanted to hear about your conference. I know it's a big thing for you. Will be? Was? Fuck, I think I've been awake too long." He dry scrubbed his free hand down his face.
All the time they'd spent apart, since Ryland continued schooling and Colt had gotten bigger jobs, it'd been a long while since they last two sat in the same room. He could imagine it. They'd be lounging on opposite sides of the couch, holding a conversation while Ryland had his nose in a book or paper, squinting at the words while his glasses hung uselessly from one ear. Colt would say something and Ryland would supply an answer, they were like the last orbs on opposite ends of a Newton's Cradle, bouncing off one another with ease.
Unfortunately, it was life. His twin, a built in best friend, would always be there, even if he didn't answer the phone.
"Love you, bro. Call me back, okay?"
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'Colt Seavers. If you're trying to book me, talk to Gail. Otherwise, leave a message.'
Ryland wasn't sure how his day could get worse. His brother not answering his call didn't help. He feels like he should be too drunk to care about how Colt hears the news—because it's already circulating on social media—but he does care, and he wants his brother to hear it from the source, not some clickbait headline.
"It was a big thing alright," Ryland slurs, taking another long swig from his gin and tonic until the straw is sucking up more air than liquid. "I pretty much blew my whole career, so there's that." He lets out a mirthless laugh. Ryland politely waves down the bartender to order another, his phone pulled back from his face while he thanks her for the drink.
He had always been the sibling with the temper, which was unexpected considering that Colt fought most of their battles. Ryland was vocal, especially when he was teamed up against or backed into a corner, and it didn't help that he was quick to assume he was above others. It was one of his many, many shortcomings, but at least he was aware of it, right?
Ryland exhales a sigh directly into the microphone, only pausing to cringe at himself after. "I got- god, I fucked it up bad Colt. Everything is just- it's gone. I spent how many years of my life doing this? I gave up so much time and effort, I came up with something original, unlike the rest of these people who've been ping ponging the same ideas since the industrial revolution. God forbid you go against what they have to say." He has half of his drink in one go and sets it down on the counter a little harder than he meant to. "And now I have no job. No girlfriend—or boyfriend for that matter—because I was too focused on my career."
In the moment, Ryland thinks that despite his several drinks and the worst of it playing on replay in his head over and over and over, that if Colt were here, or at least on the other end of the call, he'd find some way to make it better. That's just what Colt did. He always made things better. It's why everyone liked him more.
He pushes his glasses up off his face until they're sitting on the top of his head and pinches the bridge of his nose where they had sat. "I don't know what I'm going to do now," he remarks, like the thought, the fear, of his unknown future sobers him up. "I'm going to have to move. Fuck- I'm going to have to find a new job." Ryland sniffs. He coughs out another miserable sounding laugh against his palm.
"Sorry for complaining, I've suddenly got a lot to figure out." Ryland unfolds a generous wad of krone, enough to cover his tab twice over, since he no longer has use for it. So much for thinking ahead and currency exchanges. He'd already booked a flight back home for the next day, as soon as he could get away from it all. "I hope Shanghai is cool. They've got a cool science and technology museum." He pushes his bar stool in and sways only a little on his feet. "I love you, man."
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'You've reached Ryland Grace. Leave a message if it's important, thanks.'
"I know I missed your call, Ry, I'm sorry. I was filming and then there was a huge wrap party and I lost my phone- it was a mess." Colt laughs to himself, followed up with a groan. He was adequately hung over from the aforementioned party.
He felt a pang of guilt somewhere deep in his chest.
Colt couldn't have known what happened when Ryland called. Not only was he more than half a day ahead, which meant it was the earliest hours of the morning when he got the call, but he really had lost his phone for the night. Well, his phone was lost. Apparently Ryder knew where it was the whole time, but that was going to be his later problem.
"That fuckin' blows, dude. When you get the next part figured out, let me know. I'll come help you move if you need." Not that Colt needed an excuse to see his brother, but his boss would if it meant missing work.
He felt the phone in his hand vibrate, pulling it back instinctively to check his notification. Someone from set had sent him a link: Waste of Carbon? More like Waste of Career. PHD Ryland Grace Blows Lid at UNESC… And he doesn't even want to see the rest. He swipes it away without a second thought.
"If you end up back on the west coast, I've always got a spot for you. Even if you don't end up on this side, I still got room until you figure it out. Love you, Ry." Colt feels himself frowning as he hangs up but his still tired, probably still slightly drunk brain can't be trusted to say the most reassuring things. He hangs up and tosses his phone to the side, hoping that nobody else decides to share his brothers very public humiliation video with him.
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'You've reached Ryland Grace. Leave a message if it's important, thanks.'
It had been three days since he last heard from Ryland—since the conference. Colt had known it was bad from his brother's voicemail, and he diligently avoided the videos, but once they'd gotten to Ryder's circle, he was forced to watch. He wouldn't deny it, it was a hard thing to see, not necessarily because it was Ryland, but because it was a genuinely uncomfortable scene.
Seeing Ryland looking so professional in his tailored jacket with a matching, patterned tie slamming his closed fist on the table, getting to his feet, and shouting into a microphone was rough. Colt could see from the video how long his brother had sat there, absorbing the comments and questions thrown at him, how they crawled under his skin and made his jaw clench. He would have seen the outburst bubbling way before it happened. If only, he thought to himself in every silent moment.
"Ry, if you're alive, and I'm sure you are, at least text me back, okay? I'm getting kind of worried here." Colt admitted it out loud, the thought that had been plaguing his waking hours. "I'm flying back to the US today, so if I have to get on a plane to find you, I will." He hung up shortly after.
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'Colt Seavers. If you're trying to book me, talk to Gail. Otherwise, leave a message.'
Ryland hadn't really expected an answer, it was early dawn on the east coast as the sun peaked over the horizon and through his blinds. Of course, he'd barely slept since Denmark, so this wasn't his first time catching the sunrise.
"Sorry for scaring you, Colt." Ryland sounded sincere and tired, but not as hopeless as he had sounded the other day. "Good news, sort of. A friend of a friend of a colleague- friend of a friend of a friend of a colleague? Whatever, my point is I got a job, and I'm moving to California. San Francisco, not L.A., but it's something, right?" He let out something akin to a satisfied sigh.
Ryland found himself looking back out of his window, watching the pale pinks and oranges reflect off of skyscraper siding. "It's not ideal, being a middle school teacher has got to be one of the most unappealing jobs,"he took another deep breath, letting it all settle over him. It came in waves, distress and then relief, stress, anxiety between brief moments of respite. "I only just got the call, so you're the first person I'm telling. And I think I found a place, hopefully the office will call me soon about it. I know it's still a few hours away, but maybe you'll come see me when I'm settled."
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'You've reached Ryland Grace. Leave a message if it's important, thanks.'
Since the call from Ryland hit his phone around four in the morning, Colt knew when he called back that he would be met with the familiar voicemail memo.
"As soon as you're settled, I'll be there." Colt smiled to himself at the thought. He missed his brother, and a few hours north was a lot closer than flying across the country. The veil of joy he felt couldn't be deterred, not even by the useless coffee maker in his kitchen that he should have replaced four months ago.
He turned to the fridge in his Los Angeles apartment, squinting at the paper someone—Jody—had stuck to the front. A new contract for a new film, incredibly secretive and elusive wording that she had highlighted for him to focus on. "Well, you'll have the time before I show up at least. Apparently, my next set has a strict 'no phones' rule. Looks like filming'll go for a couple weeks." Colt ran his eyes over the lines of text, still riding the excitement high of Ryland living a hell of a lot closer.
"So, when I'm wrapped up there, I'm going right to San Francisco to see you."
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'Colt Seavers. I'm filming abroad so leave a message.'
It had been a very long week for Ryland. He secured the little one bedroom apartment he had been looking at right as he packed up his last box. At the airport, he got a call from the school asking him if he could start as soon as Wednesday.
Of course, he said yes.
Now it was dinner time on Friday, and though he knew Colt wasn't able to pick up, Ryland knew himself; if he didn't say it now, he'd forget by the next time they spoke. "I've got so much to tell you, Colt. Hang on, I'm just getting home," he muttered something low to himself which couldn't be deciphered over the background clanks and thuds. "I'm on a bike right now. I mean not right now, right now. No car yet."
Ryland unlocked his front door and let everything he was carrying, save his phone in his hand, clatter to the ground unceremoniously. "Sorry, that was loud. I can't believe kids these days. They're too smart for their own good, Colt, I tell you. My first day was on Wednesday, and wow, who knew prepubescents were so mean?"
From near his front door he kicked off his shoes and sat on the floor against the door. He didn't have furniture to speak of, not even a base for his mattress. "I thought, 'oh, let me get to know them and they can know me', which was a good idea at the time. Turns out, when you let a bunch of twelve year old kids ask you whatever they want-" he scoffed, recalling the last seventy-two hours. "First, trying to explain that I have a doctorate but I'm not a doctor- not like a medical doctor, like arguing with a brick wall. Real doctors don't wear fancy jackets with jeans and Converse." Ryland mocked. He shook his head to himself in disappointment.
"And they want to know why I'm not married. Like every guy our age should be- you're not! Worst- worst of all, one of these kids saw the video- and the little bastard showed all the other kids!" He sighed after airing out his grievances.
Ryland didn't only complain. He made sure to mention how kind the principal was, as well as the handful of other teachers he got to meet. His classroom had come set up, which he was definitely going to be changing soon, because the last teacher left a lot behind. He talked about the easy routine he could see himself getting into the swing of. Honestly, he was rambling, but it wasn't like he had a line up of people to talk to. What else were siblings for?
"Do you remember Marissa? My old roommates girl- well ex-girlfriend? She lives near by, I'm getting dinner with her next week. Anyway, I don't know how much longer you've got on filming, but call me when you can."
After hanging up, Ryland sent a few photos to his brother; a wide shot of his new classroom, the bareness of his new apartment, and a picture of his bike, because he quite liked its color.
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'You've reached Ryland Grace. Leave a message if it's important, thanks.'
"Shit- why won't you ans-"
Ryland had been on lunch at work when he heard the accented feminine voiced and double checked his caller ID in confusion. That was definitely not Colt. "Um, hello?"
It sounded like she was in the middle of something serious. Ryland could make out loud chatter and sirens from the background before she spoke again. "Hi, Ryland Grace? You're Colt's brother, right?"
Ryland's stomach dropped instantly, forming a weighty lump of anxiety. "Yes- who's this?" He tried to swallow back the stutter in his voice. Everything he had just eaten—which was to say not a lot— was already uncomfortably churning inside him.
"Jody. I'm Colt's- well girlfriend, I suppose. We haven't really put a label on it. But, listen-" she sounded as worried as Ryland suddenly felt. He hadn't even heard of Colt getting a serious girlfriend, but then again, he still didn't talk to his brother as often as he would have liked. "Colt's been in a pretty serious accident- He's on the way to hospital as we speak."
The world turned on a startling axis. Ryland found himself on his feet before he knew what he was doing, haphazardly throwing things back into his lunchbox and pacing the width of his desk. "How serious? He's not going to die, is he? Oh, gosh, please tell me he's not going to die."
Jody let out something of a contemplative hum. She had hopped in her car, the call switching to her hands-free, Bluetooth mode. The microphone sounded worse, "well, I don't think he's going to die. I hope he's not. I'm following the ambulance right now- he was awake when they put him in back." It made her words sound much less reassuring when she couldn't even convince herself. "Listen, I'll call you as soon as I can, once he's admitted."
She hung up faster than Ryland could ask the next dozen questions he had formulated. What had happened? Where did this happen? Should he leave work? Did he need to find a medium to long term substitute teacher? Would the school even let him do that being as new as he was? They circulated like a hurricane in his mind, loud and demanding. Ryland almost missed the bell.
For now, finish the school day, that was task number one. At least it would distract him long enough for Jody to call back. Then, Ryland would figure out the rest.
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Ryland had miraculously made it through the rest of his work day, though he had two more cups of the charred, burnt coffee from the teacher break room and hadn't stopped pacing. His students, thankfully, were none the wiser to his current situation. Under normal circumstances, he'd have been a lot more enthusiastic about his cellular division unit. He wasn't sure he trusted himself with fun right now.
He biked home faster than he thought was possible for his lifestyle, and when he got inside his apartment, he didn't bother removing his shoes as he bee-lined for his bedroom. Ryland shuffled through his closet, retrieving the old duffle bag he used in college for seasonal breaks, and began filling it with his essentials. Jody hadn't called him back yet, but he was prepared to fly to wherever his brother was.
When the phone rang, Ryland tripped over his shoelace and collided with the hardwood, laminate flooring as he answered.
"Ryland? Hi, it's Jody, again." Her voice sounded more steady than it had earlier, which was of small comfort to him. "Colt is fine, save a few broken vertebra, concussion, and fractured pelvis."
None of that sounded fine to Ryland as he rolled onto his back, staring up at his uninteresting, popcorn ceiling. "Can I talk to him?" He sounded as small as he felt in the moment. Utterly helpless and scared.
Jody was silent for longer than Ryland appreciated. "He's awake, kind of. Very drugged up. They've only just gotten him out of the operating room. He's barely come to." Her voice was soft like a whisper; not the kind that a child needed to hear after a nightmare, but the kind that had been purposefully kept low or else it threatened to waver. She went quiet another moment, "let me ask," she offered. It left him in an antagonizing solitude.
The lull stretched on and on, feeling like a corridor of unease. A raspy voice, not dissimilar to his own, brought his attention back to the present. "Ry, I'm alive. Don't come."
Ryland shot up fast. He ignored the lightheaded rush that followed and the darkening in his peripheral. "I'm glad, really relieved to hear that." He felt like he could take a deep breath for the first time in hours, filling the full capacity of his lungs and letting it out with an unintended shake. "I've already looked at flights- wait, don't come?"
"Don't need you to." Colt forced it out through his teeth. Even over the phone, Ryland could feel how it hurt him. "Told them no visitors." Another pregnant pause, something teetering on the edge of a cliff. Ryland scoffed into the phone.
"A-are you kidding? You could have died, Colt." Ryland chuffed. Tears streaked down his face that he hardly noticed until the salty taste lingered on his lips. He didn't know if the coagulated tumbleweed of emotions brewing inside him was relief or guilt or anger anymore. Maybe all of them, maybe none. "Let me just visit you, Colt, please. It won't be a big deal, work can manage without me for a little bit. You're more important."
"No," it was said with a bite, one that Ryland couldn't recall ever hearing directed towards him. Colt sounded alarmingly sober in comparison to what Jody made it seem. He was frustrated, it came across the line unhindered. It was a final, a non negotiable answer. "I won't see you, Ryland. I'm serious. Don't come."
Like that, Colt's line was cut off, leaving no room for an argument. Ryland held the phone up a minute longer, hoping it was his mind playing a cruel trick on him, but it wasn't the case. The phone slipped from his hand and clattered against the floor, leaving him to watch the diagonal shadows from his window dance, elongated against his wall.
All in the same year, Ryland had lost his career, his life's work, and now the only person he could always count on to be there. He stared at the wall for minutes into hours into what could have been days. Ryland couldn't be sure anymore. Not of his brother, and certainly not of himself.
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Ryland knew his attempt to contact his brother would be a fruitless endeavor. Since the accident, he hadn't heard anything from Colt. Even Jody, Colt's at-the-time girlfriend made an effort to contact him a few weeks after the incident to tell him she'd been put in the same boat—barred from Colt's life.
At this point, Ryland wasn't even sure that his brother was alive. He thought the whole thing was rather ridiculous. They were the only family the other had left. Ryland thought Colt selfish, childish even, for severing their ties. Of course, he couldn't say that because of their loss in contact.
Regardless, Ryland rang anyways. He hardly waited before the prerecorded message played. The person you're trying to reach is unavailable- which was different from the personalized one Ryland remembered. He couldn't be sure Colt kept the same number, maybe he was about to leave a message for a total stranger.
"Hey," was all he mustered the courage to say through shaky breaths. "The world might be ending, as you may have heard. If you're alive. If you get this…" Ryland kept his voice down. The pop up lab Ms. Eva Stratt had set up for him was not exactly the most private spot, and he wasn't sure it was legal to share this information with someone outside. "Well, assuming you do know about that, I'm currently working on it- the sun eaters, I'm calling them astrophage. You know, star eater. Just wanted to share. I miss you, Colt. I really wish you'd call me, or text me, or just, I don't know, mail me something as proof of life."
Ryland thought about saying more, the endless string of questions he'd been asking himself day in and day out since he last spoke to his twin. He could get into the scientific of his research, or talk about his kids, now that he was almost in his third year of teaching. God knows he could go on about the emotional turmoil he'd been put through because of Colt's selfish decision to isolate himself. Ryland was more than angry. He'd been sad, felt guilty, tried to convince himself he was happy.
None of it came. Ryland unceremoniously hung up the phone without another word.
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What was a temporary lab turned into a full time commitment that dragged Ryland away from the school and to the middle of top secret government meetings. Not just the US government, either. He'd met diplomats and hand picked liaisons from just about every country in the world.
A foreseen caveat that Ryland hadn't thought of before; his electronics had been confiscated. He was allowed to make monitored, supervised calls once or twice a week if he asked really nicely, but he no longer had anyone to call. Sure, he wanted to call Colt, to tell him about all of this new science that he was in the process of pioneering, but there was no promise that Colt would even answer. He assumed his brother had finally changed his number.
In his free time, which was few and far between, Ryland took up writing the thoughts he wanted to share with Colt down on paper. It started as a rough list of bullet points that he'd want to cover, but turned into explanations in paragraph form. He didn't have to worry about being overheard or breaking some kind of international NDA if it was written down, right?
Ryland continued to live day to day, trying to science his way into saving the world. But as science became practice and Ryland found himself trapped in a cell until the launch of the Hail Mary, he wasn't sure if the world would even remember him. If they did, would it only be the bad parts? He didn't fancy himself a martyr. In his solitary confinement, he tried to not ask Stratt for much, because she had enough to leverage over him as it was. All he requested was a legal pad and a pen.
Dear Colt, he wrote first, staring at the strokes of his own shaky handwriting. Ryland hadn't stopped trembling since he woke up in the cement cell. He ripped the paper from the bunch and crumpled it into a ball that he subsequently tossed at the wall. Then, he tried again.
Colt, if you're reading this, I'm probably dead. Ryland cringed at the abruptness of it and the cliche line. There's been a lot going on—namely, the end of the world. All of the news is true. I don't think I'm coming home any time soon.
Ryland set the pad down on his threadbare mattress and dropped his head between his knees. There was too much he wanted to say and there was no promise it would ever see the light of day. The next time someone strolled through, he asked them to pass it on to Stratt, that he was writing something for his brother that needed to be delivered after his departure to space. It got her attention.
"You have no immediate family, Dr. Grace." Eva kept her back against the door, arms crossed over her chest. "We know this. Whoever it's really for, I'll deliver it. But please don't lie to me." She wore a look of sympathy that Ryland thought to be fake, because why would she care?
He didn't like being accused of lying. "I don't have any immediate family on paper, for legal reasons. When I was a kid, I had two brothers. An older brother," Ryland felt the thrum of heartache beneath his ribs at the mention of Court. It had been so, so long since he told anyone about his eldest brother. "And I have a twin brother. Since I'm going to die anyway, I might as well tell someone."
Ryland found himself on his feet, pacing the small room he'd been calling home for the last 48 hours. "Courtland, my older brother, he hurt- killed our father. Court was protecting us. He was doing what big brothers are supposed to do." It felt like the cell was a vacuum, sucking the air out and leaving him gasping, struggling to fill his lungs to capacity. "Colt, my twin, we were put with other family. As soon as we had the chance, we both had our names changed; Grace being our mothers maiden name. Then Colt got into stunt work," he huffed an awkward laugh to himself at the memory.
"What kind of name is 'Seavers'?" Ryland raised his head from the textbook he'd been busy with.
Colt stood on the other side of the living room, tossing a palm sized beanbag in the air. He rolled his eyes, holding out the sack as an offer to toss it to Ryland, who declined. "It's cool sounding? Colt Danger Seavers. Like 'Indiana Jones' cool."
Ryland choked on a laugh. "Please don't change your legal middle name to 'Danger'. I'll make fun of you forever."
"Whatever- I'm still going to use 'Seavers' on set. When I make it big, people are gonna google me, and I don't want them to find, you know." Colt's expression dropped. It made Ryland frown. Of course he knew that. He didn't push any further after that.
"Colt got into the scene and decided he needed a stage name, so he went with Seavers. I haven't talked to him in a while, there was an accident." Ryland's pacing stopped for a moment, standing still in front of Eva. He held the yellow pad of paper in both hands like it might disappear if he didn't. "You're sending me to my death—literally. You can at least get my final message to my only close, living relative, can't you? Don't I deserve that since you're killing me?"
She didn't answer, her face hardly even shifted. Ryland knew that she hated how he thought about all of this. Stratt didn't want to be thought of as the villain, as a murderer, but she was willing to take that burden upon her shoulders if it got things done. Without a word, she stepped back out of the cell, and Ryland didn't see her again.
Ryland wrote anyway.
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'You've reached Ryland Grace. Leave a message if it's important, thanks.'
Colt was disappointed, but not surprised. If he had been on the receiving end of what he dished out to Ryland, he'd ignore the call too. After the mess of a trip he'd had in Australia, he found himself wanting to right all the wrongs he had made. He started with Jody, of course. They were on good terms, but agreed that they wouldn't rush back into anything.
He had to make a few statements about Ryder, who had tried to kill him and did not do his own stunts, and explain how he had ended up framed for murder in another country. Colt was happy to be home to say the least. It still wasn't anything glorious, but it was a closed door away from media coverage and inquisitive paparazzi.
Colt rummaged through his belongings and found his old phone that he had wiped of almost everything. He couldn't give up the number, just incase Ryland ever called again. In retrospect, he should have just called first, but he found himself smiling at the missed call and message notification. Despite the frantic energy Ryland seemed to be possessed by at the time of recording the message, Colt found himself more intrigued than anything. Admittedly, he hadn't been as up to date on current affairs, a suggestion from his therapist to limit his news intake since it would contribute to his depression.
"I got your message," Colt took a seat on his couch, as worn in as he remembered and exponentially more comfortable than any fancy hotel furniture. "Sorry that my call back is so late. I want to apologize to you for being a dick. I was scared," he sighed, bogged down with regret and jetlag.
To fill the silence around him, Colt reached for his laptop and opened it. His homepage flashed him an article from earlier in the day. "Oh hey, the Hail Mary started the big trip today, right? I know you were working on that. Top secret, I'm sure, but now that it's up maybe you can tell me about it next time we talk." Colt passed the lengthy article in favor of a new tab to see flights from LAX to SFO.
"Call me back, yeah? If you don't hate me." A beat of silence. "I hope you don't hate me."
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The letter came in an underwhelming envelope with no return address. It was made out for him in a delicate, cursive font on the front. There was some weight to it, filled with more than just a paper or two. Colt hummed absentmindedly to himself and set the rest of his mail on the counter, taking the mysterious envelope to the couch with him.
Several sheets of paper were folded neatly inside. One set was on yellow paper that looked like it had been torn from a legal pad, the other was on heavier paper that looked like it belonged on the presidents desk, not in his mailbox. It was packed in a way that made the fancy paper come out first, so Colt started with that. He unfolded it and reached over to the side table to flick on his lamp for easier reading.
It was written in the same loopy calligraphy that had been on the front.
To Mr. Colton Seavers
The letter contained in this envelope was written to you by Doctor Ryland Grace, the leading researcher and scientist for the Petrova Task Force. Due to circumstances I am unable to disclose, Doctor Grace became the scientist selected for the trip to the Tau Ceti system. He asked me personally to ensure this message get to you.
Before you read it, I would like to share a few things I have learned about your brother after working in close proximity with him on this project.
Doctor Grace was an incredible man. He vastly undervalued himself in many of the important conversations and conferences we had leading up to the announcement and launch of the Hail Mary. While stubborn, I found his intellect unmatched. He managed to be witty in the face of uncertainty, and he was a comfort to all of us involved.
I wish there had been another way for this to end, but unfortunately the decision was ineffable. Each of our astronauts were sent with a batch of personal belongings. Though they were dying in space, we didn't think they needed to feel alone. Your brother, Doctor Grace, didn't have many photos to go with him. I believe there ended up being a handful, but I know that the most important one to him was of you
Originally, I thought it was a photo of himself, but there was writing on the back that indicated otherwise. He informed me shortly before take off that he had a twin brother and I recognized the name on the back of that polaroid when he spoke to me about you.
In this envelope, along with the last letter he wrote for you, I've included a set of photos taken throughout the several months Doctor Grace spent with us. While this was a private operation that involved the cooperation of almost every world government, we had many pictures to document progress. I've made copies of some; there is a good chance your brother will go down in history as one of the saviors of humanity. You now possess the originals.
E. Stratt, PTF
Colt read over the letter once, twice, three times until his vision was blurry with tears. He set everything down on his coffee table, wiping the streaks of saline from his face, and only when he was able to catch his breath did he attempt to dig further into the envelope.
Photos came out next, a batch of about a dozen polaroids fell into his hand. Several of them must have been candid shots; picture of Ryland in big goggles to fit over his glasses and blue nitrile gloves laser focused on the instrument in front of him. Some had him in a lab coat, making a ridiculous face that Colt knew well. In almost every one, Ryland was wearing an awful graphic tee with a science pun on it. He looked proud—not necessarily happy, but gratified.
He fished out the yellow papers next. It was written in significantly less elegant handwriting, undoubtedly Ryland's penmanship. Colt noticed first the stains on the paper that must have come from drops of water, or likely tears that Ryland shed while writing. His chest grew tighter at the sight of messy, slightly smudged letters.
Ryland wouldn't be returning his call any time soon.
⊹ ﹒ ⁺ ﹒ ⊹ ⊹ ﹒ ⁺ ﹒ ⊹ ⊹ ﹒ ⁺ ﹒ ⊹
Colt, if you're reading this, I'm probably dead.
I didn't kill myself, don't worry. This global crisis, I left you a message once about it. I'm the leading researcher in this field. Heck, I made this field. As I write this, there's mere hours until the launch that gets the Hail Mary crew to the ship. I'll be on that. It's effectively a suicide mission.
But I'm saving humanity, right?
There's a lot of stuff that I won't have the chance to tell you. I'm gonna try and knock it out here.
First, I love you. Even if you were hurting and you pushed me away, I could never stop loving you. You're my brother. I wish you had let me be there for you. I wish I could see you again before they send me to the other side of the galaxy (which would be really cool under any other circumstances). Second, I hope you've made a full recovery, or as close to that as you can get. I don't know how serious your injury was, but I know if you put your mind to healing, it'll happen.
Third, and this one I really wish I could tell you in person, is to get back with Jody. I only talked to her once or twice, but she seemed really sweet. Like the kind of girl you spend the rest of your life with. She clearly loves you. If you haven't burned every bridge, try and rebuild them with her. I know that we didn't have the best childhood, but I hope that never stops you from getting married and having kids. And when that happens, I hope you tell them about their awesome uncle Ryland who went to space and saved the Earth.
Tell them about Court, too. He deserves that.
Also, use being my brother to your advantage after this. If they want to do things in my name, get involved with it. I don't want my legacy tarnished or anything. Except if this all ends up a massive failure. Then it's okay to distance yourself from my name.
I don't have much to leave behind, but it can all be yours. If you want a bicycle, I've got a pretty good one. Some awards and plaques that might sell for big money to the right collector and all. I'll make sure to sign at the bottom for legality sake.
The kind of bravery they paint me with having is better for someone like you or Court. They assure me that it's not a 'gene' and that it's easier if you have someone to be brave for. I didn't think I did. But I have you. I'll always have you.
Assuming I get up there and do something important, know that when I'm thinking about all the people I'm saving, you're at the top of my list.
Ryland Grace
(P.S. I was the one who broke your favorite mug when we were teenagers. It exploded on a Bunsen burner and we agreed not to tell you.)
((P.P.S. I'll probably haunt you after I die in space. I don't know if Heaven and Hell account for time dilation or space travel, but I'll find some way to do it. Cosmic ghost is a pretty cool idea.))