Pairing: Eva Stratt x Reader
Synopsis: Eva finds you crying on the stairwell. She responds the best she can, and as always, it isnât enough.
Contains: Angst, unrequited (?) love, sleep deprivation, crying, âmaybe in another life,â slow burn? Idk, itâs kind of funny imo. Stratt character study.
Notes: first fic kinda nervous⌠heavily inspired by that one scene in The Fall Guy
Your earphones are turned up just loud enough to soften the research facility.
Itâs never quiet here. Beneath the music, a constant subsonic hum from the coolant pumps pulse through the walls. Nothing can drown those outâ not even when youâre hiding in the emergency stairwell, knees drawn up to your chest.
Your shift ended hours ago. There was a time you stayed late because the work fascinated you. Astrophages were impossible creaturesâ violated everything you believed about biology. They drew energy from the sun, slowly diminishing the heat. Every paper answered one question and raised hundreds more.
You loved chasing those questions. And whenever you had an answer, youâd bring it to Stratt.
She never praised people lightly. Sheâd read through every line in silence, listen to your words with furrowed browsâ most of the time sheâd find a tiny flaw, a small miscalculation.
The rare times she didnât, youâd revel in her short approval.
Sometimes, you wonder if youâd still be here if she werenât. Itâs a terrible, fleeting thought that makes your stomach churn. Without you, a quarter of the worldâs population would die out in the next 30 years. And Somehow, somewhere along the way, your heart decided to make this about one person.
But Stratt belongs to this mission long before she could ever belong to another person.
You know that. Youâve always known that.
The song changes again, into something embarrassingly sentimental.
You slept maybe four hours a night for weeks. Youâve been camping out in the facility, going home just to change clothes and remind yourself you still have a life outside these walls.
Exhaustion has thinned down your defenses, letting the tender lyrics of unrequited love slip through. That irritating feeling in your chest tightens, and somewhere in between the bridge and the chorus, your eye starts to burn.
You let the tears fall, curling into yourself. Itâs strangely relieving, knowing youâre alone in the stairwell, with nothing but the bittersweet melodies accompanying you. You close your eyes and mouth the lines, letting them carry the unexpressed thoughts youâve spent months pushing backâ
âWhat are you doing?â
Your eyes snap open at the voice, body jerking upright so quickly the earbuds tumble into your lap.
Eva Stratt stands above you, her ginger hair tied loosely behind her shoulders. Her eyes search yours with the same expression sheâs worn the first day youâd met her, when she appeared at your apartment. It was a look of quiet confidence and exhaustion, calling you by your full government name, and escorting you into the sleek black government car that carried you to here, the project site.
Your voice, embarrassingly rough, echoes throughout the metal stairs.
âUh, just,â you clear your throat, hurriedly wiping your eyes. âHanging out.â
She glances at the empty space around you.
ââŚEveryone else went home.â
You cringe at how pathetic you must lookâ with the damp sleeve of your shirt, to the earbuds tangled in your lap. The faint tracks of your tears across your cheeks, beginning to dry.
âHave you been crying?â
Warmth creeps up your neck. You donât even know why you bother lying.
âClean your face,â she says.
She waits while you rub at your face. Only then does she lower herself onto the step beside you.
Itâs not a question. Youâre upset. If sheâs curious about why, she does not pry immediately.
âItâs better this way,â she had said when you had asked her to dinner after another 14-hour day. You cried that day too.
âItâs nothing big.â
âThen it should be easy to explain.â
A pathetic laugh escapes you.
âHm,â she hums. âYou went home twice in the last eleven days.â
You blink. How does she know that?
âI check everyoneâs.â
You nod. Sure. As if she has time to check on everyoneâs badge logs.
Hope is a dangerous thing.
âYouâre exhausted. You need sleep. I donât know why you keep refusing to put your health before your work. I need you alive.â
You frown. The word âsorryâ catches in your throat. Youâre sick of being sorry.
ââŚI canât stop the sun from dimming. I canât change the laws of physics. I canât force Tau Ceti to give up its secrets any sooner.â
âThe only thing I can do,â you swallow, âis work.â
âI can work better. Every problem I solve is one less problem at your desk.â
You risk a glance at her.
ââŚMaybe I can lift some weight off your shoulders.â
You try to laugh as you say it, as if itâs a joke.
It does not land on Eva Stratt.
She stares back at you, her lips tight. During the silence, you find yourself imagining the words she could be swallowing. By now, you should know better.
âYouâre doing plenty.â
âI donât expect you to. I already trust your calculations before anyone elseâs.â
âYouâve prevented two major catastrophic errors in the last four months.â
âI donât want your professional respect.â
The words leave you before you can stop them.
You open your mouth. Close them. Try again.
You falter. Eva waits. When it becomes clear you can't finish the sentence, she does it for you.
âI canât give you what you want.â
Something stings behind your ribs. Itâs familiar.
ââŚYeah.â Your mouth feels dry. âOkay. Figures.â
This time, the joke lands. A smile appears on her lips, the lines beside her eyes creasing as she turns her head back at the stairs leading down.
âMy life belongs to this project.â
You try to listen to the tone of her voice, searching for an ounce of regret. Of guilt.
You find neither of those things. Maybe you just donât know how to. You were always better at solving problems and working on equations than deciphering relationships.
Thatâs why youâre here.
âIf you continue like this, your health will deteriorate. Your work will deteriorate. You will eventually collapse.â Eva looks at you, holding your gaze. âHow does that help me?â
God, youâre so sick of feeling sorry.
âI want to matter to you.â
âI am sorry,â she says, as gentle as she can. âthat those are different things.â
When she sees that you have nothing more to say, she stands up, pulling out her phone from her pocket.
âIâve called the car around.â
You watch as she heads to the door. Beneath the neon-green exit light the neon-green exit light, her ginger hair loses its warmth, fading into a dull color.
âIf you really cared about me,â
Her hand rests against the handle.
The door swings shut with metallic clang. The hum of the pumps comes back, layered with the faint sound of a song seeping out of the earbuds resting in your lap.
And because Eva Stratt told you to sleep, you push the earbuds into your pocket, and start down the stairs.