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“I’m home,” Eva calls as she opens the front door, placing her shoes on the rack. There’s a loud squeal of excitement from the direction of the kitchen, the sound of running feet against the tile, and another yelp, this one more distressed. Eva smiles with mild amusement as she takes three steps down the hallway and is met by a pint-sized little girl racing up to her and flinging her arms around her waist, face lit up with delight. “Mama, Mama, you’re back!”
“Mm, yes, I am,” Eva says, examining her daughter’s face with a critical eye that catches on distinctive smears of ice cream and caramel sauce, all over her mouth and cheeks. “And you are very sticky, for some reason, hm?”
The presumable reason for stickiness comes barrelling behind her a second later, trying to catch his breath. “Christine! Oh, you run way too fast for someone that tiny,” Ryland grunts, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her onto his hip. “And you did not wipe your hands before giving Mama a hug. Uh oh.” He winces, peeking over her shoulder to shoot Eva an apologetic look. “Those… aren’t your best pants, right?”
“The stains will wash out,” says Eva, obviously fighting a widening smile. “In the meantime, perhaps you could explain…” She gestures to Christine’s dirty face and Ryland feels ready to sink into the floor, knowing he’s been caught in the act of breaking the sacred ‘no dessert before dinner’ rule that reigns over their home. “Uhhh,” he stalls. “We… were… umm… doing an experiment. On, umm… the melting points of… different foods.”
“Nope,” comes another familiar, well-loved voice; the teenager to whom it belongs wanders leisurely into the living room with her eyes glued to her phone. “It was an ‘experiment’ on whether Skittles taste good with chocolate ice cream, and you’ll never guess what, Mama - the answer is no.”
Ryland rolls his eyes as Marie installs herself on the couch and turns on the TV. “I can’t believe you’d snitch on me and your sister like that,” he grumbles. “And how can you say that Skittles with ice cream aren’t delicious, that is sacrilege. Are you sure you’re my daughter?”
Marie doesn’t take her eyes off the screen, calling back: “Well, according to the blood typing, and the Punnett squares…”
Ryland throws Eva a despairing look; she raises her eyebrows. “Why are you looking at me? She inherited ‘being a smartass’ from you.”
“Everybody’s a critic,” he huffs. “Except you, right, Christine? You’re on Dad’s side?”
“More ice cream, please,” Christine chirps. “But no more Skittles.”
Eva can’t hold back her laughter, especially not when Ryland rolls his eyes again. “Thanks a lot, sweetheart. This is a conspiracy.” He turns and makes his way to the bathroom. “I’ll get her cleaned up and then start on dinner, okay? Go run yourself a bath or something, it’s been a long day.”
“No, I’ll help,” she replies, which means that Ryland finds her in the kitchen boiling water for the spaghetti once Christine’s hands are clean and Marie’s entertaining her while they wait to eat. “I can manage, you know. Don’t you want a rest?”
“I’m fine. Work was all right; no major crises at the ESA today, for once. And I cannot leave you alone in the kitchen, or else I risk it burning down again.”
Ryland makes an injured, vaguely offended noise. “That happened literally once, and the damage was limited to two old pans,” he retorts. “Don’t say it like I’m not always making amazing dinners for the entire family every night.” Eva steps back to grab the frozen meatballs from the freezer and finds herself in his arms, wrapped around her waist to pull her in for a kiss. “If you want to spend time with me, you can just say so, Administrator Stratt.”
“Don’t think too highly of yourself, do you, Mr Grace?” She melts into the kiss regardless, winding her arms around his neck to keep him close. They take advantage of the girls being occupied to linger, just savouring the warmth of each other’s bodies pressed together, close contact after an entire day apart. Ryland hums against her lips, “I missed you.”
“You say that every day,” Eva laughs, running her fingers through his hair, and Ryland grins. “Yeah, because it’s always true. I always miss you when I’m not by your side.”
“Incurable romantic,” says Eva, as she gently eases herself out of his grip to get the meatballs. He laughs. “Don’t pretend like you don’t love it.”
“No pretense required,” she deadpans. “Can you do the pasta, I will cook the meatballs. Out of the way, please.”
Ryland obligingly moves to make space for her at the stove. “So bossy, Administrator Stratt.”
“What was that you were saying about not pretending that you do not love it?”
“Touché,” Ryland says, and focuses on the spaghetti.
The rest of the evening unfolds like any other in the Stratt-Grace household. They exchange stories about their day over dinner - Eva sharing the scant little she can that isn’t bound by Top Secret clearance and NDAs, and Ryland supplementing with far more entertaining stories about whatever his students got up to in class. Christine chimes in with a tale about a game that she and her friends made up during recess, convoluted in a way only achievable by eight-year-olds. Marie lights up when they come to her turn, squirming in her seat with barely veiled excitement. “Remember I applied for that inter-school music competition, the big one where you actually get cash if you win? I made it into the finals! The only one from my school!”
Christine claps her hands in excitement, Ryland lets out an undignified yell of delight, and Eva reaches over to squeeze Marie’s hand, beaming. “Well done. You’ve worked so hard - we are very, very proud of you.”
“Play something for us after dinner,” Ryland adds, grinning like he’s already won the competition on his own. “Something Mama can sing along to, how about that?”
Eva looks at him out of the corner of her eye, umimpressed at his blatant ulterior motive of embarrassing her, but smiles at Marie when she gives her a pleading look, clearly thrilled at the idea of mother and daughter giving an impromptu mini-performance in the living room. “That sounds lovely. Whatever you want to play, Marie.”
“Harry Styles!” Christine suggests; Ryland snorts with laughter, ruffling her hair. “I think we should let your Mama or sister pick, baby girl.”
Marie rolls her eyes, but laughs along. “I don’t mind Harry Styles. He has that one nice song that Mama really likes.”
“I do not ‘really like’ it,” Eva corrects dryly. “The melody is very pleasant and the lyrics are meaningful, that is all.”
“That counts,” Marie says cheerfully. “I’ll go find my sheet music!”
Ryland perches on the couch with Christine on his lap, already looking rapt as Marie arranges her music on the piano. They clap with exaggerated excitement when she straightens up and puts her fingers on the keyboard, when Eva settles in beside her with the lyrics open on her phone. Eva shakes her head, looking fondly exasperated, but her expression settles back into soft serenity when Marie begins to play. Her hands move so smoothly across the keys; focused, but smiling, clearly enjoying the moment. Eva’s voice, rich and clear and strong, perfectly complements the sounds rising from the piano. It reaches straight into his chest and touches his heart - reminds him of the thousand and one reasons why he fell in love with her. He loves seeing her like this - existing entirely in the moment, no worries on her mind, just safe and warm at home with her family. All he’s ever wanted for him and her. He could look at her forever, just like this.
After the first chorus, he shifts Christine off his lap and onto the couch, steps over to the piano and holds his hand out to Eva. She gives him a questioning look, still singing along word-perfect. Dance with me, Ryland mouths, and then, to Marie, can I, please?
Marie laughs, not missing a beat in her playing. “Yeah, go on, be gross and romantic,” she says; Ryland smacks a loud kiss against the top of her head as he steals Eva away. “Ew, Dad! Ugh, just go and dance, I’m focusing!”
“Bossy,” Ryland teases, as he pulls Eva into the middle of the living room, where they have enough room to move. “I think she definitely gets that from you.”
Eva doesn’t dignify that with a response, just kisses him to shut him up, to the tune of more gagging noises from both of their daughters behind them. Ryland wraps his arm snugly around her waist and sways with her, circling them around the coffee table. She nestles her head against his shoulder, and Ryland breathes it all in - the scent of her skin, her hair; her contentment and perfect peace when she’s in his arms; his life. Everything he’s ever wanted, dreamt of sharing with her, right there in front of him. He knows, with certainty, that this is happiest he's ever been or will be.
They lie in bed at the end of the day, facing each other; the moonlight streams dimly through the windows, illuminating her face, her eyes glowing in the darkness. She’s so beautiful; she’s the only one he wants to fall asleep next to, every single night, and then wake up with, every morning too. For the rest of his too-short life -
He wishes, he wishes, he wishes -
“We could’ve had everything,” Ryland whispers, before the sleep overtakes him - in another place, another time, another life. Eva smiles, soft and sad, and says, “I know.”
He presses his forehead against hers and reaches for old, hazy memories, buried somewhere so hard for him to reach. “I love you,” he says, the way he wanted to, wasn’t courageous enough to, never got to, before. “I wish I could’ve been braver for you.”
He feels her hand on his cheek, in his hair, against his arm, a ghost against his skin. “I’m sorry,” he hears, the very last thing before he closes his eyes.
Ryland reopens them, what feels like mere moments later, to a very insistent knocking on his door. “Ugh,” he groans, knowing exactly who that is; he shambles out of his bedroom after pulling on his clothes, gives Armando a sleepy pat en route, and opens the door to greet his friend. “Morning, Rocky, yes, I'm awake.”
Rocky barely lets him finish the greeting before raising his forelimbs and waving them around, sounding annoyed. “Why you take so long, question? I knock and I knock. Not weekend, class start soon, no sleep in. Bad Grace.”
“Heh,” Ryland manages, still trying to shake off the dream - he’s had it so many times now, he should be more used to it (even if the specific details change every time - their jobs, how many kids they have, where they live. Not the ending, though. That’s always the same). Maybe in another ten years, it won’t break his heart every time he wakes up and feels it slipping away. Maybe.
Rocky notices his mood - not a surprise, considering how well they’ve learned to read each other. He lowers his limbs and settles down on the pebbled beach at the foot of Ryland’s so-called porch steps, tone softening. “Grace sad. What happened, question?”
“I’m not sad, buddy, I’m okay.”
“Grace bad liar and bad friend to lie," Telepathic Sage Rocky huffs. "Mean, mean, mean.”
Ryland laughs. “I’m okay, Rocky, I promise. I just… had a bit of a weird dream.”
“Nightmare, question?”
“No. Not really,” Ryland blows out a long breath. “It was nice. A different life, something good. But it was just a dream.”
Rocky shifts a few piles of pebbles under his limbs, looking uncertain. “If Rocky can fix, Rocky fix. Grace just tell Rocky, Rocky help.”
“Thanks, pal. I know. You’ve done so much for me on Erid.” He puts his arm around Rocky’s glass suit. “But this isn’t something you can fix. It’s just something that could’ve happened, maybe, if everything had been different... just another way that things could've turned out.”
“Something Grace want, question?”
“Yeah,” Ryland says. “Once upon a time.”
“Grace save Rocky, get him home, so Rocky see family again. Grace give Rocky everything,” Rocky says, sounding sad. “Rocky wish Grace can have everything he want too.”
Ryland dusts his hands off on his jeans and lets the fading embers of his dream dissipate, knowing that they’ll come back to him another day. Over and over and over, a soap bubble of happiness and possibility hanging in the ether, there one moment and gone the next, but lingering just long enough for him to appreciate. That’s more than he could’ve ever expected; he’s lucky enough to have that, and who knows, maybe she dreams about it sometimes too - on a healing planet, warmed by their Sun shining bright, which he will never see again. “I have everything,” he smiles, and just for that moment, it’s almost true. “Come on, time to head out, huh? Don’t want to be late for class.”
They walk down the length of the biodome, side by side, to his makeshift classroom. Rocky waves goodbye as he settles in with this morning’s group of Eridian students. They chitter happily as they scramble to their places; Ryland listens to their laughter, their teasing, and lets it drown out the voices dreamed up by his mind. He’ll have time later to miss a life that he never got to have. For now, he has a job to do.