Chapter Text
I am not an aggressive person. I’m really not. Most people would describe me as calm to a fault, in fact. I can count on one hand the times I have gotten mad in front of another person, let alone in front of a superior. I am as even-keeled as they come.
“Motherf—GRACE!”
Except when it comes to Dr. Ryland Grace, apparently, who is a pain in my ass, a thorn in my side, and the bane of my peaceful existence aboard Stratt’s Vat. It’s been 6 months since we first met, and not a day has gone by that I haven’t wanted to throw him overboard. And now I’m shouting from above the partition that separates our labs as if I have nothing better to do.
“GRACE! I told you not to touch my column.”
Grace leans back in his chair to look at me. He’s got a dumb, smug smile on his face and a Twizzler in his hand.
“It was running too slowly. I wanted to help you out,” he says. “We don’t want our best biochemist losing sleep now, do we?”
I’m a little thrown by the backhanded compliment, but also too mad to think much of it. “This is the third time you’ve touched my things without permission, Grace. I know Stratt lets you get away with stuff, but even you must know what personal space is.”
He seems mildly remorseful now. Sort of like a wet cat. There is a reason why no one is able to stay mad at this man.
“Look, I’m sorry. I really just wanted to save you some time. But you’re right, it’s your experiment. I shouldn’t have.”
His blue eyes have gone all soft and awkward. God give me strength.
I sigh. “Just don’t do it again, okay? Or at least ask before you do it.”
“Will do,” he replies, giving me a mock salute and putting the Twizzler in his mouth.
“Stop eating in the lab.”
He starts sucking on the Twizzler.
When he gets up to check up on his own experiments, I lean over and comment out one line of the code he’s working on.
Ha. Suck on that.
—
You see, Grace is petty. Not many people know this about him. But he’s so, so petty. And I am, too. That’s why I’m constantly… frustrated with him.
My first day on the aircraft carrier. I am trying to set up my lab space, which I had been told was right next to Dr. Grace’s. I’m nervous to meet him. The guy is the world’s leading expert on astrophage! There are so many things I want to pick his brain about.
But first, coffee. I am still jet-lagged and cranky from my journey to the Vat. I make my way to the tiny break station that the labs share and brew myself a cup of something that shouldn’t legally be called coffee. I find some Skittles in the cupboard and chase down the coffee with a handful to get rid of the bitterness.
A man is sitting at the small table there, watching me behind the scientific journal he’s holding up to his face like a newspaper. An actual, physical journal. How quaint, I think.
“Hi,” I say. It’s only polite.
“Hello,” he responds. He lowers the journal. “You’re eating my Skittles.”
His face is familiar, but I can’t put a name to it. I’ve met so many people today.
“Am I? Sorry, thought these were for everybody.” I pointedly look back at the open cupboard. There are ten bags of Skittles there.
“Stratt limited me to 15 bags. I have to ration those.”
Fair is fair. A man’s candy is sacred, especially on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the ocean. I put down the bag.
He’s still staring.
I clear my throat. This is getting awkward. “Any good papers?” I ask.
He’s holding the journal up to his face again. “Yes,” he simply says.
Okay. This is going nowhere.
The moment is broken by Dimitri, who barges into the break room and successfully dispels the awkwardness.
“Hello, all! Grace, my friend, I must take some of your candy again. The cafeteria food is simply awful. Awful!” He takes the bag and starts shoving the candy into his mouth. “A disgrace! Ha, get it?”
The man is silent. His eyes dart back and forth between Dimitri and me.
“I must go now. Much to do!” With that, Dimitri takes his leave.
“Grace” slowly lifts the journal back up, this time hiding his entire face behind it.
I try to process what just happened as I make my way back to my lab. One, I’ve just met Dr. Ryland Grace, molecular biologist extraordinaire.
Two, Ryland Grace is a bit of an asshole.
—
Over the course of 6 months, Grace’s vocabulary evolves beyond monosyllabic responses. Unfortunately for me, this means that he can now string those syllables together to make longer sentences with the explicit purpose of teasing me.
The thing is, he isn’t like that with anyone other than me. People think he is charming and entertaining. Maybe I would have, too, if I hadn’t been exposed to his personality.
I like to work late. I enjoy the peace and quiet of the lab after most people have gone to bed, though the Vat is never really quiet. My research is on the astrophage citric acid cycle. The way these tiny beings store energy is fascinating — so deceptively simple, yet elegant.
I reach for the buffer I’m using, but it has moved. It’s probably because of Grace. Recently, he has gotten into the habit of changing the order of the reagents on my bench, so that I never know where anything is. As payback, I’ve drawn a caricature of him following after Stratt like a puppy on the whiteboard. He hasn’t noticed it yet.
“You’re not supposed to be working alone,” a voice comes from behind me. Grace, obviously. “It’s regulation. What if you blow us up?”
I look at the clock. It’s 2 a.m.
“I’m not using any astrophage right now.”
He’s leaning against my bench now. Ah, the American lean.
“You could still blow us up.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I say. He chuckles, low and warm. I notice that he’s in his pajamas — a matching set, with tiny starships.
“What’s got you awake at this hour, science officer?” I ask. He blushes a little bit.
“Nothing. Just…couldn’t sleep. Must be the waves.”
We’re both silent after that. I continue working. It’s routine stuff, pipetting solutions into other solutions. He sits down on the stool and watches me.
He’s the first to break the silence. “I like watching you work. You’re so precise. I get impatient.”
I look over at him, but he’s watching my hands.
“Yeah? Well, you’ve got great ideas. And you’re a good teacher.”
“How would you know? I haven’t taught you anything. I don’t need to.”
For some reason, my heart rate picks up. I turn my eyes back to my work and try to calm down. Pipette up, pipette down.
“Well, I’ve watched you teach. DuBois and Shapiro sing your praises.”
“You’ve watched me?” He sounds teasing and completely serious at the same time. A tingly feeling grows in my stomach.
“You’re everywhere, Grace. It’s impossible to avoid you.”
“Not really,” he replies. “I think you just don’t want to avoid me.”
I dare to look back at him. His eyes are shining with mirth. I am, once again, struck by their blueness. With pillow marks on his face and his hair rumpled from sleep, he looks strangely vulnerable.
I can’t stand the silence. I can’t stand the intimacy.
“If you say so,” I dismiss. I turn my back on him and hastily take off my gloves. “I should go to bed.”
“I’ll walk with you,” he says. He’s a bit thrown by my change in attitude, I can tell. But this night has taken a strange turn, and I need to shut it down. Right now.
On our way out, he notices the whiteboard.
“Is that me as a fudging chihuahua?!”