"Oh, I get it now," Eva tells him after another minute-long pause, tilting her head to look past him down the hallway.
Several people are huddled together and peaking around the corner, though all heads disappear except for one; Ilyukhina stays and unabashedly stares.
"This is an intervention."
Grace sighs, not exactly defeated but something close, before saying, "Lokken too, but she's busy."
"Maybe you should focus on yourselves," she says, knowing that none of them are getting as much sleep as they theoretically should, though she's unfortunately beating them by a mile.
"I don't know what you want me to do about this. Unfortunately the world needs saving."
He opens his mouth before stopping himself. With one last look over his shoulder, he softly grabs her by her shoulders, turns her around, and marches them back into her office.
It should probably bother her how easily he handles her by now, but his hands are warm, and she can feel his breath ghosting across her scalp. After being surrounded by cold walls and colder people, it's nice, almost hypnotic, and she allows him to seat them both on her couch.
"Look, I get it, Eva, I do. But—" he pauses when she yawns, and it's suddenly very difficult to resist the urge to lie down. Stupid comfortable piece of furniture.
"You need to sleep. Not an hour between meetings, not on the plane, but lying down for hours undisturbed until you're actually rested."
She wants to, god does she want to, however there's a long list of reasons why she can't. Grace makes it sound so nice, and his voice is steady in a calming way that is becoming increasingly hard to resist.
Despite the daylight in the room, she can feel her eyes fluttering shut, swaying dangerously, and it takes every ounce of willpower she has left to force them open again. Smiling, he squeezes her hand, and no matter how many times she blinks, her vision refuses to clear.
"Sleep, Eva. Let me carry the world on my back for a while."
Something must have shown on her face, desperation, maybe, or fear of how well he knows her and where that might lead them. Or maybe, simply, bone-deep exhaustion.
"Stupid question," she mumbles, leaning down and pulling her shoes off without bothering to untie the laces. "Don't burn anything."
People, bridges, expensive appliances, or just himself. There's more she wants to add, but her brain is rapidly collapsing in on itself, and when Grace gets up to grab the blanket from the chair in the corner, she falls down onto the cushions face first.
He's talking again, word after word running together into a pleasant background hum, and she is drifting off within seconds.
The last thing she feels is him spreading the blanket across her body and his knuckles brushing over her cheek.
(What she doesn't see is the expression on his face when he steps away nor does she notice how carefully he closes the door behind himself.
She doesn't know that for the rest of the day, he attends every single meeting and answers every single call that would have been her responsibility.
She doesn't see every member of her team making sure that she remains undisturbed, that no one dares to get within fifteen feet of her office.
She does notice, deep in sleep, whenever the door is cracked open a few inches because Grace cannot help but check on her.
She knows, somehow, that he does not make empty promises and that although he'd never admit it out loud, he'd rather see the world burn than watch her destroy herself to save it.)
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