Chapter Text
And I know you don’t remember calling me
But I told you, even then, you looked so pretty
In your hospital bed
I remembered you said you were scared
And so am I
Billie Eilish - “The 30th”
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
Golden atriums. Lights. Cameras.
Suits. Laughter. Smiles.
Silence. Respectful silence. Eyes, so many eyes.
Science! Graphs, his research! It’s just like teaching middle schoolers.
A question. He loved an engaging audience.
Leaning towards the microphone.
A bang. A pinch.
Teetering.
Screams. Lots of screams. His own?
Hm. No.
Pain? Pain.
Strawberry blonde. Dark hands.
Red.
Whole lotta red. Sticky red. Bad Red.
It ruined his shirt. That’s gonna be a pain to get out.
Sirens.
It’s so loud. It’s so quiet. Why is he quiet and the world around him so loud?
Breathe. A command.
The prick of a needle.
Emptiness.
He hasn’t bled like that in a long time.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
Ryland awoke steadily, all things considered.
An oxygen mask was affixed to his mouth, ensuring a steady flow of air was readily available to his lungs. His fingers rubbed gently against the medical gown his body was draped in, a tarp-like material that was most assuredly not his 100% cotton graphic tees. His vision was a little on the blurry side – likely due to his lack of trademark glasses. He wondered where they went. His shoulder ached something fierce, like he’d lifted a two ton slab of metal through the Sahara Desert.
He’s in a hospital room. That much is certain. It’s sterile and clean and devoid of any sign of human life.
He hates hospital rooms. For reasons that should be entirely clear.
The constant, rhythmic beeping changed its pattern as more of his body’s functions came to him. Clenching his fist went from being a difficult maneuver to a comforting reflex. No longer did he feel trapped in his body, held down by the limitations of fatigue and likely local anesthetic.
But he was was not alone in this hospital room, as he would soon come to realize.
Stratt, in all her glory, was leaning over a chair by his bed, scrolling through her tablet as though she were in her office. Her hair, no matter how slightly unkempt, framed her face like a halo, a knit sweater snug around her shoulders. The frown permanently marking her face was especially heavy.
So too were the bags under her eyes.
Three (empty?) cups of coffee sat upon the table next to her. Gosh, it looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks. But to be fair, when had he ever seen Stratt take a moment to rest?
"Oh, good morning, Dr. Grace,” was her simple greeting after she noticed his eyes were watching her every move.
“Morning,” he tried to reply, but his voice came out as this warbled croak, not unlike the bellow of a toad. He attempted to clear his throat, only for that to lead to a brutal coughing fit that left him feeling far too winded for his liking.
Stratt clicked her tongue, standing up and uttering, “Don’t strain yourself too hard. You’ll undue all their hard work.”
He blinked blearily at her as she helped him sit upright, slightly confused. He knew he was in the hospital, but the events leading up to his stay were fuzzy. How did he get here? Lab accident? Maybe with the astrophage? He doesn’t remember any significant experiments he’d conducted recently.
“Do you remember what happened Saturday evening, Dr. Grace?”
He caught glimpses. Flashes. But nothing concrete, nothing of any substance.
As he shook his head, she sighed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The screech of a stool being dragged closer to his bed made him flinch. It seemed to give Stratt pause, as she took a great breath before continuing.
“There was an attempt on your life at the World Leader’s Conference.”
He blinked as he took in the state of himself. The pain was beyond him, like the splatter of rain echoing from a distant window. He could feel it…but it wasn’t attached to him. Conclusion – he was on enough painkillers to probably take down an elephant.
“The bullet entered through your shoulder,” she said as she pointed to top of his left shoulder, before dropping down his body. “Grazing a lung, but otherwise missing all other vital organs. A lucky shot.”
“Why? Why…me?” he asked, looking down the thin gown to see his entire torso covered in thick bandages. The faintest hint of pink poked through the top-most layer. He harshly looked away. Blood wasn’t his thing.
But the mere question of why still burned in his head. He was a nobody. A disgraced academic. A teacher. What could someone possibly have to gain from his death?
“We are still determining the shooter’s motives, but we have an idea,” Stratt admitted after a brief pause. “There has been some buzz online for quite some time, extremist groups, dangerous ideologies. Now, we know to take them seriously.”
The way she trailed off made him suspicious of just how long these threats have been circulating. Ryland’s brow rose as he drew his breaths slowly, attempting to calm the erratic beat of his heart.
“Care to elaborate?”
“There are some individuals who believe that Astrophage has been sent to the sun in order to save humanity, not harm it. Manifestos and the like have begun to pop up, aimed at taking down the Hail Mary. And as the world’s leading figure in navigating Astrophage biology, you are an especially desirable target. You go down, the Project takes a significant blow.”
Y’know, Einstein once said there are two infinite things in this world – the universe and human stupidity. Because how does one even think to try and stop the project that nearly every country on this planet is collaborating and putting effort towards? Let alone go after him?
“What does this mean for the Project going forward?” he asked with his head in his hands. He sure hopes his words aren’t slurring. These meds are strong enough he needs to clench a fist around the plush texture of the bed to ground himself. “That was one of the public information sessions.”
“Yes, which has heightened tensions among civilians. But to answer your question, it means my blank check will be getting a little larger,” she answered, revealing his glasses from somewhere he couldn’t see and handing them over to him. “I’ll be hiring security for the entire team, but especially you. I don’t care whether that security has to be from the darkest ops, I’ll not have this ruined by an assassination. I have been tasked with ensuring humanity’s survival at any means necessary, and if that means having you under protection twenty-four seven, then so be it.”
Ryland coughed as he slipped his glasses back onto his head. When Stratt’s blurry facade snapped into focus, so too did the rest of the room. A sterile, empty hospital room, just as he suspected. “Twenty-four seven? Isn’t that a little overkill?”
“I think not,” she glared. “You eat with the bodyguard. You sleep with the bodyguard. You research with the bodyguard. You will not die. You are far too valuable for that.”
The idea of Stratt calling him valuable to his face was laughable a few weeks ago.
“Wha-Even on the boat?” Ryland whined in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice. He was far too old for a glorified babysitter.
“Yes. Even on the boat. Especially on the boat. I don’t have mind control, I can’t see everyone’s motives. If there are indeed bad actors who have infiltrated my ship, then I don’t want to be sorry. And it is far easier to guarantee one person’s loyalties than several hundred.”
Stratt mutters something in Dutch under her breath, but Ryland can’t catch it for the obvious reason that he doesn’t speak Dutch. He’s nosy, sue him.
She stood up from the stool adjacent to his bed, patting her sweater clear of any wrinkles or creases. Gathering her belongings, she turned to leave him, but paused before the door.
“I’m…I’m glad you’re well. You’ll be dispatched as soon as the doctors clear you to be flight ready. I’ll meet you back on the ship and we will resume work as usual. Recover swiftly.”
She knocks on the door, conversing with someone on the other side, who lets her out. They have a thick military uniform on, and Ryland even catches sight of a gun.
Well, that’s any indication as ever that she’s entirely serious about this whole bodyguard thing. He might as well enjoy his last few precious days of privacy.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
Now, Ryland knows the pilots were screwing with him before, because this time, the journey back to the Stratt Vat is entirely uneventful. There’s the pull of G-Force as the jet accelerates, but it’s done with so much caution this time around, Ryland is almost surprised when he experiences little nausea after landing.
People look at him like they did when he first was inducted into the project. Like a marvel, ogling at him, sneaking stares and turning to whisper to their neighbor. Ryland ignores it all. He’s kind of used to the whispers and secrets of this entire ordeal.
In order to get to Stratt’s office near the rear of the ship, he has to traverse through the various open concept labs and research stands. Dr. Lokken waves at him through the glass, giving him a thumbs up in an inquisitive way. He rolls his eye but obliges her with a mirrored response back, ignoring the sting of pain that rises from lifting his arm.
Now, his newfound displeasure for stairs is certainly a pickle. But taking his sweet time holding onto the railing helps. When he finally reaches his destination, he’s about due for another dose of pain meds. Maybe he should get a sling to keep his shoulder from flailing around. Whatever, that’s a concern for later.
He slowly padded into Stratt’s office, taking in the sight that had become so familiar to him these last few weeks. It was pretty barren as far as offices went, but that was to be understood on a repurposed aircraft carrier. She was typing away at her computer, as per usual, but perked up at the sound of him walking through the door.
‘“Ah, Dr. Grace. How was your flight here?” she asked, eyes not leaving her screen, even leaning closer to squint at something in front of her.
“Pretty good, actually,” was his response. Being back on the boat did put a pep in his step, safety wise. He understood Stratt’s concerns, but being on the water made him feel fractionally safer. Less…open. Especially now that he knew there was a target on his back.
“And your injuries?” she murmured around a sip of coffee.
“Not supposed to lift anything over ten pounds with this shoulder. And to be careful on stairs. Other than that I’m golden,” he explained, holding up a thumbs up and again wincing. It’s hard to believe he has a whole doctorate.
“I’m glad to hear it. I’ve just gotten wind that your bodyguard is arriving soon. I handpicked him myself, I am certain you’ll like him,” she smiled. Or what looked like a smile. There was this smirk to her words that Ryland couldn’t quite figure out whether it was cultural difference or if Stratt was messing with him.
“Is he like Carl?” he muttered beneath his breath. “I hope he’s like Carl.”
Stratt huffed in what was the closest thing he was going to get to a laugh with her and waved him in closer, gesturing to a chair that he had unceremoniously claimed as his while in her office. (One that was able to spin.)
“Come review the newest spin drive data with me. I want your insight.”
About half an hour of explaining and reviewing the energy outputs that the newest spin drives were accomplishing and computing situations in which the jettison mechanics were faulty (Stratt assured him they would not be), it happened.
A knock at the door startled Ryland so suddenly, he nearly fell from his chair. Stratt was unamused and unaffected by the sudden knock, for she seemed to be expecting it at a moment’s notice.
“Ah, that should be him,” Stratt stood up, striding confidently towards the door and swung it open, encouraging who would become his nanny to walk through the doom. Ryland didn’t know what he was expecting. A tough, broody, somebody meant to keep him safe for sure, but specifics? He couldn’t care less. Maybe them enjoying his company was a plus, the last thing he wanted was for his bodyguard to feel like his watching him was a chore. “Come in, let’s get you reacquainted.”
Re…aquainted? Now, Ryland was on edge. He didn’t like being left in the dark in this, just what was Stratt doing? He tried thinking of everyone he has ever met, searching for someone who would meet the qualifications Stratt listed in her search for a bodyguard – no one, except maybe Carl, fit them. And judging from her reaction from earlier, it was most assuredly not Carl.
So who was it?
Gosh, it was like he was looking in a mirror. A…rugged and jacked mirror. Maybe an inch or two taller than he was mirror.
This time Ryland did fall out of his chair, backing away as though he were staring at a ghost. In fact, by all accounts, it was a ghost he was staring at.
“Court?!”
Because standing in front of him, for the first time in nearly two decades, was his older brother.