Archive of Our Own

Grace startles when Eva taps the back of his chair. His ten minute break is over, he supposes, three minutes early. The coffee in his paper cup hasn't even cooled to a drinkable temperature, which is unfortunate, because he really needs to drink something before he can be expected to talk for an hour or more about all this astrophage... stuff. Honestly, he's been so sick all day that he really doesn't remember, nor does he care, what he's supposed to be teaching about. DuBois and Shapiro know what they're doing. He's sure they'll ask enough questions to keep him from having to put together a coherent lesson plan. 

"Doctor Grace, are you ready?" Stratt asks. He sighs, which turns into a rough, deep cough. He woke up with that, along with a terrible headache, sore throat, and full body muscle aches. He's pretty sure it's the flu--his fever is sure high enough to make it a strong possibility--but when he'd texted Eva to let her know why he wouldn't be in today, she called him back to tell him why he would. It figures. Why would he expect a woman who is sending three people into space on a suicide mission to offer him a sick day?

"As I'm going to be," he replies. He drags himself to conference room B, quickly falling behind the rest of them when Eva does not slow down for him. His painful body and compromised lungs can only take him so fast, and he's already lightheaded. 

Everyone takes their seats at the table. Though he's sure he's supposed to stand up at the front of the room to lead the meeting, there's no way he's going to last on his feet that long, so he drags a rolling chair over and plops down. What's even on this Power Point? He made it last week, and he barely remembers yesterday. He scrubs his hands over his face, then forces a smile. 

"Okay, everyone," Eva starts, "you know Doctor Grace. He's going to present about super cross-sectionality of Astrophage as observed in a single cell."

He waves. 

"DuBois," he greets with a nod, "Shapiro. How's it going?" 

"We're fine," Shapiro replies. "You look like you've had better days." He chuckles. 

"You could say that." He takes a sip of his coffee--still too hot--before continuing. His voice is already raspy, but that should be okay. He's a teacher, after all. He's taught through sore throats before. Just keep sipping the hot drink, and he'll be fine. "This is a super informal presentation. More like a discussion than a speech. I'm not feeling 100% today, so feel free to stop me if I'm not making sense." 

"You sure you're up to this?" DuBois asks. "You sound miserable. If you want to do this another day--"

"Please leave the scheduling to me," Eva interjects. God, she's in an even worse mood than usual. Probably because he'd tried to call out sick. 

"Sure," DuBois concedes, looking far too scolded for a grown man. Eva has that effect on people. "Okay, Grace. Show us what you've got." 

Grace is not, in fact, up to this. Turns out, he timed his fever reducers wrong, because after about twenty minutes, he starts shivering. His coffee has cooled, providing far too little heat even when he grips it with both hands. He'll give it to Eva, that's one small mercy she does allow him: she grabs him another cup, steaming hot and prepared how he likes it. Eva is strange. She probably couldn't tell you a single personal thing about anyone in this room other than their coffee order. 

He pulls his cardigan tighter around himself, but it does very little. He knows it's his fever spiking. If the chills weren't enough, his head is pounding so badly that it's making him feel nauseous, and he's barely awake. Usually, he's bouncing off the walls to share this sort of thing. Now, he's struggling just to keep his eyes open. 

"Maybe we should take a break," Shapiro suggests the third time Grace has her rephrase her question because he can't get the words to sink in. He's pushed through about 45 minutes, but, since he's struggling to remain coherent, he's only about halfway through the actual presentation. "Like, for the day. He doesn't look like he can take much more of this."

Eva rolls her eyes. Grace doesn't look up, but he can hear it. "If Doctor Grace needs a break, he's perfectly capable of asking himself." 

"I need a break," he croaks. 

"No," she replies. "Please consider the sacrifice that Doctors DuBois and Shapiro are making for this mission." 

That hits right where it's aimed, and he sits up straighter, smacking his flushed cheeks to wake himself up. 

"Right. Sorry, guys. Not trying to waste your time." He coughs into his elbow, and it doesn’t sound good.

“Have you taken anything for that?” DuBois asks. 

“Not in a while.”

“Can we at least take 5 and get him a dose of DayQuill or something?” he asks Eva. She sighs. 

“Yes, that would be fine. We’ll reconvene in a few minutes.” 

“Come on, Grace,” Shapiro coaxes. “There’s flu tablets in the med kit.” 

After he takes the pills, he uses the opportunity to run to the bathroom and splash some cold water on his face. Maybe that will wake him up a little. 

He groans when he catches sight of himself in the mirror: pale face, flushed cheeks, puffy, red eyes. No wonder Shapiro and DuBois are treating him like he’s dying. He looks like he’s got a foot in the grave. Since he’s guessing he’s not allowed to do so in the conference room, he groans. Getting through the rest of the presentation is going to be a nightmare. It’s not like he’s a baby when it comes to this sort of thing—substitute teachers are a hassle to get and it’s usually easier to just play a movie, so he’s used to pushing through illness—but this is pretty extreme. He really, really shouldn’t be here. 

When his five minutes is up, he drags himself back to the conference room and plops back down in his chair. Deep breaths, he reminds himself. Just think of the mission. Of the fact that the two people before him are volunteering to give up their lives. He can make it through one day. 

That reality doesn’t make this easier. In fact, it might make it harder, knowing that he’s letting down two of the most important people on the planet right now. They’re not judging him. The opposite, really; they’re being very gentle and patient. He just needs to get his act together.

The pills don’t sit well. Perhaps it’s because there’s nothing else in his stomach, but about 15 minutes after he takes them, he starts to feel sick. He breathes through it. Pops a mint to see if it’ll help. Focuses on the PowerPoint as hard as he can as a distraction. 

Nothing works. He's been fidgeting more and more, his body language shifting from listless exhaustion to restless anxiety. When the nausea swells in his stomach and he realizes he's at the point of no return, he clambers to his feet, shoving his chair behind him. 

"Sorry, I'll be right back." 

Eva is probably fuming, but he doesn't care, hustling down the hallway to the bathroom and letting the stall door slam behind him. 

---

"Grace?" DuBois calls, tapping on the door lightly. "You in there?" He groans, sniffles. 

"Yeah." 

"You alright?" 

"Fantastic," he replies, then sighs. "Sorry. I'm--I need a minute." 

"Is that you saying you want me to leave?"

Grace coughs, and it makes him wince. "Just let everybody know I'll be back in a few, okay?" 

"Right. If you're not back in ten minutes, I'm coming back to check on you."

"Thanks. I won't be that long." 

Reluctantly, DuBois leaves him alone, heading back to the conference room to wait. 

"Well?" Shapiro asks. 

"Yeah, he's throwing up in the bathroom." 

"Oof." She turns to Eva. "You know you're torturing him, right?" 

"It's not as if I'm enjoying this. I'll have someone get him back to bed as soon as we're done here." 

"If he makes it that long."

Eva rolls her eyes again. "He's not dying, just ill, and he's almost done. We'll wrap up soon." 

A few minutes of arguing later, Grace enters the room once more, quiet and ghostly pale. When he sits down at the head of the table and reaches for his coffee, his hand is visibly shaking. DuBois passes it to him so he doesn't have to lean across the table, and he nods a thanks. 

"Sorry about that," he says, and man, his voice is shredded. DuBois has to lean in just to hear him. Grace grimaces when he hears it. "Sorry. My voice is kind of shot. Throat's killing me. Can you still hear?" 

"You're welcome to use the microphone, so you don't have to strain yourself," Eva offers. He nods, adjusting it so he doesn't have to move every time he wants to say something. 

"Right. Where'd we leave off?" The microphone only amplifies the roughness of his voice. It sounds painful. To his credit, it doesn't take long for him to find his place and resume. He really is such a middle school teacher. DuBois decides to start typing his questions in his notes document rather than asking them. He can email them to Grace, later. Right now, he just wants to get this over with. 

----

There are three slides left in the PowerPoint. They are likely important. Grace wouldn't know. He can't see them. Everything is blurry, and the light from the computer screen hurts his eyes. 

The meeting has been quiet and awkward since he left, and he's pretty sure DuBois told them all he was vomiting, which is embarrassing. Though, they're both smart. Even if he hadn't said something, they'd have pieced it together. 

God, his throat hurts. The coffee isn't helping anymore. Speaking feels like he's taking sandpaper to his vocal cords, and it sounds pretty much like it, too. It's so bad that for a moment, he contemplates playing Popcorn and letting the others take turns reading aloud, but he has a feeling Eva wouldn't like that game. 

He presses the keyboard to take him to the next slide. Two more, then questions, then he's free to lie down and sleep as long as he wants. So long as that's not longer than whenever Eva expects him in tomorrow morning. 

"This figure is interesting," Shapiro says, gesturing to something he can't make out. "Have other labs corroborated this, or is it your own finding?" 

He squints at the laptop, then at the projector. He's not sure which is worse. If only he could remember the end of this presentation, he might be able to save face, but he can't even remember what he'd talked about three slides ago. Whatever they're looking at, Eva could certainly answer this, but she's staying silent. Is she punishing him, or just trying to make his life hell for no reason?

"They're, uh...I'm sorry, what figure...?" 

Shapiro stiffens. "The only one on the screen?" 

"Oh." 

He's so hot. Shrugging out of his cardigan is enough work that he feels like he has to catch his breath, which makes him cough. He grabs for his cup of coffee and realizes, when he puts it to his lips, that he'd finished it a while ago. That's embarrassing, too. Trying to drink out of a visibly empty cup is humbling. Maybe he should ask for water. A cool drink would probably help him feel a little better. At least it would be nice on his painful throat. 

“Grace? You alright?” Oh, he… hadn’t answered the question. That might explain why they’re both looking at him the way they are. He nods slowly. 

“Yeah. Just give me a minute to get my head on straight.” He's shaking again, but this time, it's not chills. In fact, he's covered in sweat. How had that happened so fast? He tries tapping his cheeks again to focus up, but it's not working. All it does is sting. 

"Woah, hey," DuBois says, and it's not until his chest hits the table that he realizes why: he's swaying. 

"Sorry," he apologizes, though doesn't quite know why. Nausea crescendos once more, and everything is spinning. "Little lightheaded." 

“Do you feel like you’re gonna pass out?” Shapiro asks, and the only honest answer he can give is a shrug. 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” She turns to Eva. He can't imagine the facial response she gives. 

“Alright, let’s get you on the floor." Shapiro and DuBois help him to his feet, where everything goes black for a second until they ease him to rest with his back against the wall. She gently presses on his back to urge his head between his knees. It’s so, so nice to be able to close his eyes. 

“Eva, this is crazy. Look at him.” 

Her voice sounds far away as he lets exhaustion win and drifts. 

“—ace? You with me?” 

“Mhm,” he replies. Dubois has a hand on his shoulder and looks like this might not be the first time he called his name. 

“I’m wondering if we shouldn’t take him to a hospital. He’s kind of fading out on me.” 

“No,” he argues, attempting to sit up straighter. He hadn't realized how far he'd slid down the wall. The motion makes his stomach feel all swirly again. “I’m fine.” 

“Shh. Sit tight. We’re trying to figure out a plan, here.” Did Doctor Shapiro just shush him like a wounded animal? 

"I don't need a hospital," he argues. "Just some meds and some sleep." 

Shapiro looks unconvinced. "You should at least have someone stay with you until you're not so shaky."

"Please, don't worry about it. I'll be okay by myself." 

"Would you want me going home alone in this state?" she asks. 

'"That's different."

"How?"

"You're... important." 

Shapiro shoves his head between his knees again. "Shut up, Mr. World's Leading Authority on Astrophage Biology."

"I'll ensure someone stays with him. Thank you both." They understand that they're being dismissed. 

"Feel better, Grace," DuBois calls on their way out. 

Now, it's just him and Eva, and Grace almost wishes he'd just chosen the hospital.

"I hope you know I wasn't doing this to torture you." 

He blinks. That's not what he was expecting. "I didn't say anything."

"Well, it's the popular opinion, today."

"I know you didn't. Sorry I couldn't push through."

"You did fine. In fact, given the circumstances, you should be proud." He smiles. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital? You could probably benefit from IV fluids."

"Nah. Just wanna go to bed."

"Alright, then. I'll have Carl get you there, safely. Just sit here. I'll come back." He nods. Before she's all the way out of the room, she hesitates. "Really. Don't beat yourself up, alright? You did fine. Get some rest. I will see you on Monday."

She's giving him the whole weekend off? He really must look awful.

"Okay. Uh, thanks. I'll see you Monday." He tips his head back to rest against the wall and allows himself to close his eyes as he waits.