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Grace noticed things. They weren’t the most socially obvious things though. The fact that rest of the Hail Mary crew seemed to think that he and Stratt were in some sort of relationship, escaped him for an alarmingly long time. It had to be pointed out to him. He disagreed that he was Stratt’s second in command, her right hand. Grace felt more… akin to a long haired, fluffy, golden retriever. Director Stratt patted her thigh, ‘Come boy, walkies’ and he would follow, tail waggingly happy.
Although Grace doubted someone like Stratt would say ‘Walkies!’. She didn’t seem the type to baby talk an animal at all. Ryland wondered what this said about him.
He fetched her coffee in the mornings. Two if she had enough sleep, three if not. Sometimes one for himself. That felt good. To be rewarded with the small smile that no one else saw.
Ryland Grace noticed things. Or rather he paid attention to Stratt. Imaginary dog ears twitched, his head turned to one side. The way Stratt habitually reached for her miraculous medal, never quite letting herself grab it. The action was often aborted half way through. “God Willing, Dr Grace, God Willing”. How her eyes would look up to the heavens as she spoke the words. The odd time she had flinched when he made a joke that could have been construed as blasphemous.
Director Stratt was through. To a fault. Her encyclopaedia-esq knowledge never seemed to fail. She listened to the experts, she could wrap her mind around concepts unfamiliar to her. She could follow a strict schedule with ease. Grace always followed two steps behind, pacing a little faster to keep up with his boss. The fabric of their formal suits brushed together. Stratt would do what she always did, but inhale, exhale, turn her body further from him. Grace wasn’t going to jump up and lick her face anytime soon, she wasn’t looking for a lap dog, but he felt he could be content at arm’s length.
Like a dog curled up on the other side of the sofa while their owner works.
They had almost exited the studio building. Glimpses of light could be seen by the front door. Carl waited outside along with the car. “The Belgians.. know we are coming”. Stratt spoke clipped as always.
Objectively Grace could interpret that as a statement, but he knew better. Eva Stratt left out words commonly, partly due to the English language, her quiet thought process, but she was not a woman who was afraid to ask questions. He had seen her, witnessed her, asking scientists and world leaders about concepts that sometimes even had him stumped. Eva Stratt worded these closet questions to him. Only to him.
Grace nodded. “The Belgians know, and if not, you’ll give them hell like you always do”. Stratt hummed in acknowledgement. The pair entered into the fresh air and bright sunlight. Carl opened the car door for her.
Once in the car, Grace watched. A habit he was nervous about. He probably shouldn’t be looking at his boss like that. Not that Stratt wasn’t pretty (she was - is pretty), this just wasn’t his first rodeo. When she leaned forward into the front seat and pulled down the mirror, it certainly wasn’t to check her hair as she made out. The world needed saving. This was and would never be contingent on how the hair on the world’s whipping boy looked. Eventually she found what she was looking for. The way her silver necklace glittered in the light.
Ryland bit back the impulse to say that it was still there. Just the glimpse of the chain. She sat back down beside him. Her right hand moved to her left wrist. A pause. The left hand moved onto the right. Another pause. Carl only started the car once she nodded in his direction. Not a moment before.
Eva turned and offered a smile in his direction. It wasn’t his favourite one though. This one was tinged with a sadness that seemed to meet her eyes. “Thank you, Dr Grace. That will be all”.
“Ayeaye Captain”. Grace replied, raising his hand in a mock salute. She didn’t laugh. For a moment he wanted to reach for her hand, to squeeze it. He knew better however, instead he nodded. Eva preferred to drive in silence, without the radio on. She said it was so they could catch up on lost sleep. But that was a lie, he had never once saw her sleep. Sometimes she would push her head onto the head rest, her eyes squeezed shut, as though faced with car sickness he knew she didn’t have.
He pretended not to notice the relief in her eyes when she opened them. It is not a dog’s job to judge. He settled for being beside her, napping beside her, hearing the soft tones of her breathing, the tap of a pen as she reviewed notes.
As the trio made their return trip to the Vat, it was only Carl who noticed the way Stratt would glance at him periodically as he slept, if only through the rear view mirror.
Grace was awake late the next morning. He didn’t grab coffee for either of them. Hell, he was barely able to grab himself from bed as it was. Dressed in his usual jeans, a ‘punny’ t shirt while wearing his fav fox cardigan, it didn’t exactly scream ‘I slept in and this is all I had’ but nor did it scream ‘I’m a super professional scientist just like the rest of you. I had a real breakfast. Not skittles’. He was just a little late, not enough to cause alarm, but just enough to make him the last one to enter the briefing room. Sitting down beside Stratt after everyone else had already sat. Her shoulders were tense. They remained tense throughout the rest of the day.
She charged ahead of him as always, she talked at him, not with him, about things they were ultimately meaningless to his side of work on Hail Mary. He followed her, two steps behind, nodding, making vague agreement sounds until she dismissed him. That didn’t stop him from finding her again around lunchtime. This time, he entered her office with coffee in hand.
“I know you didn’t have any coffee earlier so..”, he held up the cups in front of her. Stratt looked up from the document she was writing, biting the inside of her lip. “That will not be necessary, Dr Grace, but thank you”. She bent down and resumed writing.
“Already had some?-‘, his eyes seemed to zoom in onto her right hand. The scratching sounds of the pen, she was unusually unsure of herself today. “Your hand is shaking, Stratt. That’s a bit excessive even for you”.
Stratt placed the pen down. “I tolerate caffeine well, Dr Grace”. “The lack of it, that’s different”.
Ryland perked up again. He had the solution right here. His metaphorical tail wagged. Then sagged almost immediately. ‘I can do without today”.
He frowned “Stratt, you are shaking”.
“I can handle a little shaking, thank you”.
“Just a sip -‘. Stratt’s eyes met his and in a change of pace, it was her who looked away from him first. “Alright, very well”.
He had no sooner placed a single cup in her hand, as it had spilt everywhere, over her own hand and onto the document and desk.
“ScheiBe!”. Stratt hissed out, the coffee cup immediately landed on the desk. She shook her hand, splatters of coffee shaking off as she grimaced. “I will clean this. You are dismissed”.
“Eva -“
She raised a single eyebrow. “Disregulation is common in Autistic people, Dr Grace. I was sure you of all people would know this”.
Ryland sighed. He should have known, like he really should have known. Damn his autistic ass!
“Point taken. I’ll get out of your hair, in case you decide to rub my nose in it”, he teased her with a smile. Maybe it was too on the nose, but she rewarded him with that smile and he knew he was forgiven.
Her habits increased as the launch of Hail Mary drew nearer. He still brought her coffee every day, still followed her into meetings, he knew that she seemed to enjoy the quiet company they shared. But she was pulling away. From him. From everyone. The Hail Mary was essentially a suicide mission. Stratt’s behaviour wouldn’t be that unusual given the context. But the pocket rosary she carried more openly in an enclosed hand, the tell tale clicking of metal beads as she browsed documents, the far away look in her eyes told a different story.
Things changed once she fell asleep at her desk. Ryland entered her office, the polite knock on the door didn’t even startle her awake. That was when he finally admitted to himself that his feelings for her were.. complicated to say the least. His Director was exhausted and he wanted nothing more than to be the one who took care of her, the one she could rely on. The one who made her smile. “Stratt, you fell asleep - Director Stratt - Eva”.
The sound of her name roused her, only a little. Her eyes opened blearyly, she hissed as she sat up, the crook in her neck evident. Her eyelids fluttered half closed. “Did I say my prayers?”, she murmured. She rubbed her eyes. “Do you think the door is”. She paused, shaking her head. She got up from her seat but the movement was wobbly. Her words slurred together by sleep. “This is irrational. Forgive me”.
She leaned down and searched through the contents of her desk. “Gott im Himmel!”. “Have you seen my rosary?”. She asked, desperation in her voice.
Only then did Ryland enter the room. He didn’t want to spook an already skittish Eva more than she already was. She was on her hands and knees, checking the carpet under the desk, perhaps she had knocked it over in her sleep. With the clarity of someone who had yet to fall asleep, he spotted it almost immediately. Dark green beads with a metal woman at the centre, he could only assume it was Mary but he wasn’t well versed enough to be sure. The cold metal of the crucifix dangled from his hand. “This it?”.
He held it outstretched towards her. He almost blushed at the intensity of her gaze, he might as well have hung the moon on a string for her. Or saved the sun from exploding. She looked up at him, exactly how he felt he looked towards her. The thought made him uncomfortable.
Eva nodded, slowly getting off her hands and knees. She brushed the stray carpet dust off of her trousers. Her hand shook as she took it back. Or rather she had yet to take it back, for the moment her hand entwined with his. Christ on the cross between them. “Talk about saving room for the Holy Spirit”, Eva quipped although there was no joy or mirth in her voice. “Forgive me for being unprofessional, Dr Grace. I’m afraid I must go and say my prayers”.
Neither wanted to be the first to part. It felt almost painful to feel her take her hand from his. To let her leave knowing that she wasn’t going to bed, at least not straight away. Based on the scientific evidence, his observations. He dared to think about her doing compulsions. Alone, in the dark, her hands shaking.
Grace had his children. The three astronauts had each other. But who had Eva? When she was too busy concerning herself with saving humanity, in too deep to see the words for the trees, who had her?
If there was a God. Grace wished he would listen to her.
They didn’t speak about it again until closer to the launch. Three days to be exact. As the countdown ran into single digits, no one had time to be stressed. But this is a misnomer. Eva had never felt so close yet so far. She tried to remain aloof, floating above it all. Of course that was impossible. After her spiral in front of him, she relaxed slightly. But not much.
They held hands now. That’s something they did. Only away from others. When Grace was tired deep into his bones, berating himself for making small mistakes, mistakes that he reasoned could cost the whole project, Stratt would reach for his hand. And somehow even her touch made him feel enough. He could be brave for her. Though she still didn’t talk much about it. Ryland figured she didn’t have to.
He walked her to her quarters at nighttime. Sometimes Eva would linger in the doorway. Not in a sultry, come hitter way, which he thanked God for,
Reason being he felt that if she ever did, he was highly likely to burst into overwhelmed tears. No, instead she merely pressed her palm to his cheek. Her thumb stroked at his skin. “You are very… wieich, Dr Grace”. “It pleases me”.
That warm smile again.
He wanted to please her. Very much so. Not even sexually (although that too if she wished). Ryland would fall at her knees, content to be petted and stroked by her again. He felt as though he’d fellow her to the ends of the earth if she let him, perhaps he’d follow even if she didn’t. They were learning. As much as he wanted to bury his face into her hair, the small of her neck, kiss her on the forehead. He restrained himself. Something like that would overwhelm her, frighten her.
She told him little things. “I like cats more than dogs”. “I’d rather be too cold than too warm”. “Some of your shirts are funny, Dr Grace but not at all of them”.
This time she merely said, “Three more days”.
“Three more days - you’ll still boss me around after it’s over?”.
“If you wish”.
Ryland ran his fingers through his hair. Down boy, sit, stay calm. Do not jump on the petty lady, do not beg for ear scratches! He swallowed. “Goodnight, Eva”.
“Goodnight, Dr Grace”. She smiled and for a moment he swore she called him that on purpose. Nine more days until he was Ryland.
He tried not to reassure her. He was well aware that was counterproductive to the OCD. But God, as he crawled into his own bed, in his own quarters, he felt like he was going to have the midnight zoomies. Chase his own tail, bark at the moon and his own shadow. It was different. He didn’t have anybody before joining the project, ‘Not even a dog’ as Eva had pointed out. He couldn’t quite explain it, but whatever it was, he thought he and Eva had it.
Something that was different but undeniably theirs. So part of him couldn’t resist. Once he read her usual text. ‘You are well? Yáo is well? Ilyukhina is well?”.
‘I guess so 🤷 I mean I think im alive’
“Not a yes or a no. Clever”.
‘Infuriating.”
He resisted, just about. He smiled at the mental image of her scowling at his answer. While Eva may have wanted reassurance, he had three days left working with Director Stratt and he would continue to obey.
In the morning, he met her outside. Disposable coffee cups in hand. “Accept the compliment, that is an order”. He ducked his head down at the praise. “So, what are you going to do in the next twenty years?”. He saw the fire behind her before he felt the impact of the explosion.
He wanted to cry out, ‘Eva don’t look!’.
The exposure rocked both of them back onto the grass. Eva was up before him, running to the scene of the accident. She was fast but not that fast that he couldn’t catch up. He wrapped his arms around her as she strained to move. “Let go of me! Ryland”.
Eva rocks forward, then back. An animalistic wail tears itself from her chest. “Ave Maria, Virgin of Virgins! I prayed so hard, I prayed so hard, I prayed so -“.
The pair sink to the grassy ground, Ryland pulling her into his chest. As though he could physically block the disaster out of her mind. Maybe they could pretend it never happened. Rewind and stay in that warm little bubble. Eva scrunching her nose a little as she smiled, a proper smile with teeth, he wanted to study her forever.
“I know, I know”. His heart ached at the very sight of her.
They stay there like that for a while until the others show up, medics, firefighters. Eva has long stopped being burrowed into him, but she stays no more than a finger length. Her eyes are red, leaking still. Her throat was raw. The professionals got there five minutes later, five minutes being protected by his arms was all she allowed herself. He could see her hands shake.
Yet she stood firm, her back straight. That was when he found out. Eva didn’t have the gene but he did.
“I think they say, Man plans and God laughs, right?”. His voice was shaky. Eva snorted, quickly pulling her scarf to her face, quieting the sob she let out.
“Ja. That is what they say”. “I think you Americans say… whomp there it is”.
God, Ryland couldn’t help but laugh through his own tears.
-
His other comrades had family, letters from loved ones, photos. Trinkets, even certain books to read when they woke up. He didn’t have any of that. Apart from his Hacky sack lava, and a crisp white envelope. It had a little weight to it but it wasn’t very heavy by any means. A small letter slipped out.
‘I do not ask you to forgive me. That is for The Lord. But I am sorry. This is my mea culpa, mea maxima culpa’. ‘- Eva’
Whoever she was, she had written down prayers. The prayer to Saint Christopher made him smile, the word car had been replaced with ‘ship’. There was ‘the act of hope’, alongside two prayers for the intercession of the Virgin Mary.
Remembering the weight of the letter. He took a second look, this time pulling out a silver miraculous medal along with a St Christopher's medal on the same chain. He unhooked the necklace and put it on without thinking.
He didn’t think he believed in a God but that didn’t prove anything. He couldn’t remember his own name.
The man in the ship did not know his age, his occupation, if he had always been an astronaut but the man in the ship knew one thing.
That he was loved.