Green Witch From The Woods

You clasped your hands tightly in your lap and gave a faint nod. "As always... right?"

Something in your voice finally made him turn around. His eyes found you. Yours never left your hands, your fingers curled together so tightly your knuckles had turned white.

"You know..." You spoke just as quietly as before. "If I did something wrong... you can tell me."

"You didn't." His voice remained calm and steady.

You nodded again. "Maybe I said something."

"No."

A slow breath. "Maybe I reacted the wrong way, or..."

"No."

"So what the hell is happening?" Your voice cracked. You were seconds away from crying. K knew it. Your throat tightened painfully as you struggled to breathe. "Something's been wrong for weeks, and I have no idea what it is. You avoid me. You don't even look at me anymore. When I touch you…” Your voice trembled. "Your whole body tenses." A shaky laugh escaped you. "Damn it... I don't even know what I'm supposed to do anymore."

K shifted where he stood. There was worry in his eyes. Sadness and pain. You looked so fragile. So defenseless in front of him. And every second he remained silent only deepened the despair consuming you. Because of him.

The rain filled the silence between you for what felt like forever. Then your voice broke through it once more. Small and exhausted. Almost defeated.

"Is it because of what I am?"

The question had lived inside your head for weeks. He was a replicant. You were human. To you, it had never mattered. Apparently...you were the only one. 

K frowned and took a cautious step toward you. "What do you mean?"

You brushed a strand of hair away from your face before standing abruptly, pacing across the room as though movement alone could untangle the thoughts trapped inside your head.

"I keep replaying every conversation we've had." You laughed bitterly. "I'm searching for the moment I ruined everything. The mistake I made." You stopped walking. "I keep thinking it's because of who I am. If I were like you..."

"No…" He tried to interrupt, but you didn't let him.

The words had been trapped inside you for too long. Now they poured out all at once.

"Maybe I'm too emotional."

"I love that about you."

"Maybe I smother you without realizing it."

"You don't."

"Maybe..." Your voice almost disappeared. "Maybe you're disgusted by what I am."

Not who, but what. Your eyes finally met his. They were glassy with tears. Your lips trembled. You looked like you were barely holding yourself together. K wanted to cross the room, to hold you, but he was terrified that if he came too close you would fall apart in his hands.

"I see it, K." Your voice was barely audible. "I see the way you look at me. I feel it when you touch me. When you kiss me. When we make love. You do it because you think you have to, not because you want to." A tear slipped down your cheek. "I disgust you." You laughed softly through tears. "And I hate myself for it."

The words settled heavily between you. K looked as though someone had placed a bomb in the middle of his apartment. A countdown only he could hear. You, meanwhile didn't care anymore.

"Maybe..." You swallowed hard. "...if I were someone worth choosing..."

"I choose you." K's voice was quiet.

You looked up at him. "Do you? Because it feels like every day you choose to leave me instead."

His eyes fell to the floor. For the first time Officer K looked less like the man you'd always known and more like someone completely broken. You would've given anything for him to tell you what was really happening inside his head. But he remained impossible to read. You spoke the same language. Yet somehow you couldn't understand each other.

"I think..." His low voice filled the silence. “if I were enough you'd have a better life."

Your head jerked up. "W-What?"

"If I were human. If I could give you the future you deserve. If I could give you a family. You'd be better off with someone else."

The air left your lungs. It felt as if someone had punched you straight through the chest. After everything you'd been through together… After every promise… After loving him with everything you had… Those were still the words that came out of his mouth.

When you spoke again, your voice shook with anger. "How dare you decide that for me?"

K looked up.

"How dare you throw me out of your life behind my back and hide behind this ridiculous excuse that it's somehow for my own good. That you know what's best for me."

"You say that now."

"I've always said that." You rubbed your temples, staring at him in disbelief. "I knew who you were from the very beginning. I told you, over and over, that it didn't matter. And now you're using that against me?" A hollow laugh escaped you. "I can't believe this. I can't fucking believe this."

You stood there with your hands on your hips, blinking furiously to keep more tears from falling. This was worse than you'd imagined. You felt sick. Like you wanted to scream until there was nothing left inside you.

"You know what's funny?" A faint, broken smile crossed your lips. "I always thought you weren't afraid of anything, K. Nothing. But you're terrified of me."

He didn't move.

"You're terrified of living."

His expression faltered.

"You're terrified of wanting something. Or someone."

His eyes stayed fixed on you. Dim. Defeated. Yes, he was afraid. Every single day. Not for himself, for you.

"You don't get to decide what kind of life is worth living for me." Your voice was calm now, almost frighteningly so. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do to make you believe in me...in us. But I don't have the strength to keep fighting anymore." A shaky breath. "I'm so tired, K."

He flinched. He'd imagined this moment. He'd feared it, but now that it stood in front of him… He'd never felt more terrified. He took a step toward you.

"You have to understand…"

"No." The look you gave him stopped the words in his throat. "You have to understand. I can't keep you trapped. You don't want me."

"That's not true."

"No?" A sad smile tugged at your lips. "Because every single day says otherwise. Stop hiding behind concern for me to justify your own fears. You keep pouring your doubts into me… And like a fool, I keep trying to prove to you...to myself...that my love is enough for both of us." You drew in a deep breath. "If you really loved me..."

His jaw clenched. He did. God, he did. He had never been more certain of anything. But the fear, the certainty that one day you'd finally realize he would never be enough, paralyzed him. The more he loved you, the more terrified he became. He wanted to tell you. He wanted you to understand that it had never been about you. Not once. The fault had always been his. Always.

"I need time." Your voice cut through the silence like a gunshot. "I need space."

K froze.

"I can't do this anymore. It's destroying me."

His brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"

You looked at him, at the man you loved. The man you trusted. The man you would've given everything for. And at the same time, the man who had hurt you so deeply that you were finally searching for a way to survive without him.

"It means..." Your voice was barely a whisper. "I need to learn how to breathe again. How to be enough for myself. I don't want to keep fighting a battle I was doomed to lose from the very beginning." A tear rolled down your cheek. "I'm sorry."

He watched you pick up your jacket and walk toward the door. And then… He listened as it quietly closed behind you. That night, you walked away carrying such a large piece of him that K wasn't sure there was enough left to keep going. He had spent weeks believing this was what he wanted. That pushing you away would protect you. That losing you by choice would hurt less than losing you by fate.

But as the silence settled over the apartment, as your footsteps disappeared into the rain… He realized, far too late, that this had never been the future he'd wanted. His fear had won. And in the end it had taken the only person he'd ever loved with it.

“The fuck happened to him?” You asked. It wasn't the showing up unannounced that bothered you. That happened more than enough times for you to grow used to it by now. It was the scrapes along his face, the line of dried blood trailing from his nose, and an already forming bruise at his temple.

You were used to the three of you getting injured all the time, and ever since you joined their business, it was inevitable that you were now more accident-prone than at your last job as a hitwoman. Especially because of Holland. But it wasn't normal that he came home like this after what was supposed to be a simple night out to the bar.

“Just a little fist fight. Then he fell down the stairs,” Healy huffed, adjusting Holland over his shoulder. The drunken man giggled at that like it was some joke. “He shouldn't go home to Holly like this. You were nearer too, and he kept asking for you.”

He asked for you. You expertly masked how your heartbeat surged at that, only nodding in response.

“I think Holly would be used to it by now, but yeah—” You stepped aside, making room for them to enter. “I'll handle this. Can you get him to my bathroom?”

Healy dragged Holland from the door all the way to your bedroom, using his foot to push the toilet cover down over the seat, where you had to assist him in keeping Holland upright just so he wouldn't fall to the side and crack his head open again.

You escorted Healy out, thanking him for the help, and returned to your bathroom where Holland was slumped over on the toilet, head in between his knees and arms dangling at his sides.

“March,” you said, trying to wake him. You knelt down on the cold tiles as you struggled to push him back upright. “God, March, you're heavy. Sit up.”

He’d finally resurfaced from his drunken stupor at your words. Somewhat. He lifted his head up only to fall forwards, putting his full weight on you. His hands found your waist, fingertips rubbing at your skin through the silk of your nightgown. You were practically hugging him now, arms wrapped around his shoulders, with no other way to support the larger man.

“March—”

“You're so soft.”

You shuddered. From his words or from his touch, you didn't know. Again, you tried to rise to your feet so you could get him to sit up. And he let you, head slipping from the curve of your neck down the valley of your breasts, to your torso, where he rested against your stomach. You swallowed, before saying in a louder voice, “March. Please? I'm not letting you into bed if you don't let me clean you up.”

His head shot up, swaying from the movement, but more attentive than before. “Yeah? Bed with you?”

“You sound like a baby.” You were smiling now. Though it was also to brush off the nervousness that rose up to your chest.

Hesitantly, you brought a hand to the side of his face to stop the swaying. Then, with a lighter than featherlight touch, drew your nail down beside one of the scrapes on his face. “Can I fix this up now?”

Holland nodded against your hand. His fingers were still playing with the side of your nightgown, occasionally caressing the skin there.

After making sure he could properly balance himself on the toilet cover, you washed your hands at the sink and returned to him with a washcloth to clean his face first.

He shifted on the seat, widening his legs for you. His hands wandered up your thighs and brought you in close, stationing you in between his knees. He tilted his head up at you, waiting. His fingers resumed their movement around your thighs. Now, you could have better access to his face. But holy shit.

You swallowed and leaned in to wipe the dirt off his face with precision, avoiding the abrasions and being gentle over the bruises, then getting the blood off afterwards. His eyes haven't left your face once, even when you left to set the cloth aside, soon returning to clean the scratches.

“What was the fight about?” You asked, going over the biggest one first, a cluster of little scrapes. Holland winced, eyes squeezing shut. You ceased your movements and took his face in your hands, softly rubbing your thumb along his good cheek.

“I forgot,” he muttered. You waited until he opened his eyes again to continue. “'M sorry, sweetheart. Hate droppin’ in on you . . . like this. 'M sorry.”

“It's okay,” you assured him. You dabbed at the wound again,. He inched away from your hand, and you had to hold him by his jaw to keep him in place. “March. Stop. Almost done.”

Holland groaned, like an insistent child. “Holland. Come on, sweetheart, call me Holland.”

“March,” you repeated, just to tick him off. You grinned at his disappointment.

You went over the last cut along his chin, and you felt him move away instinctively at the sting. As gentle but firmly as you could, you kept him in place to finish cleaning the last of his scrapes. “Shh, I'm almost done.”

Holland hummed in response, giving in and allowing you to finish up on his face. You finally cleaned every abrasion and got to placing bandages over them. With light fingers, you rubbed ointment over the open wounds and sealed them with the plaster.

“Better?” You asked. Your hands were still at the sides of his face, gently holding him up. He purposefully fell forwards, resting his head back against your torso instead.

“You gotta kiss ‘em first.”

You blinked, hands settling on his shoulders. “Sorry?”

“Won't feel better unless you kiss ‘em first,” Holland mumbled against you. His hands trailed lower, down to the hem of your nightgown, where they touched and squeezed at your thighs.

“Fuck.” You gasped, trying to move away from him despite everything in your body protesting against it. “March. Stop. You're very . . . very drunk.”

He whined, honest-to-god whined, at the loss of your touch. “Please? Sweetheart. Gorgeous, please. Jus' this one time an' I'll leave.”

“Healy left with your car,” you reminded him.

“Right,” Holland sighed. “Bed. Yeah, then I'll get in bed with you. That's what you want, right? Come on, please? Please . . .”

You stayed silent for a moment. Your chest ached, because you really, really wanted that. But it felt so wrong, with him this gone.

“Is that what you want?” You asked quietly.

Holland scoffed, like it was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. “God, yeah. I can't . . . couldn't lie to you. Especially not now. Even if I tried.”

“Holland.”

He let out a broken sound at that, like your voice wrapped around his name physically pulled something out of his soul.

“Sure?” You asked again. He nodded, eyes pleading like a dog.

Slowly, you put a hand against his good cheek, laying your other on his shoulder. Then you moved closer, pressing your lips over one of the bandages. You heard Holland sigh, like the kiss actually healed something in him.

You pulled back and did the same on the light bruise forming on the side of his head. Before you could do anything stupid, you fully pulled away and looked at him, seeing if he was satisfied.

“Missed one,” Holland slurred, hazy from you and the alcohol.

You scoffed, going back in to kiss the one on his chin. Before you could move away again, he asked, “One more? Little higher, sweetheart.”

Your eyes flicked up to his lips. Bad. This was bad, the man was drunk.

Leaning in, just enough that your lips brushed against his when you spoke, you teased, “Stop trying to kiss me, Holland.”

He sighed, grimacing like the sentence hurt him. “Please? One. One. Then I'll sleep. You wanna . . . wanna sleep with me? Come on. Please.”

“Why?” You stood up, hands leaving his figure. Holland caught one before it could fall at your sides.

He brought one up to his lips, turning it over so he could kiss your palm. Something rooted deep in your chest ached, and you wanted to cry. He was so pretty like this, and you wanted to be close to him. So impossibly close and never part from the man.

“Why do you think?” Holland asked. He pulled you closer by the hand and moved further up, pressing his lips to your wrist, then to your arm. “‘M in love with you.”

You couldn't move. Couldn't speak for a moment, couldn't resist the kisses he planted on your skin. “Is this the alcohol? I swear—”

Holland pulled away but kept your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your smooth skin. “Christ, no. Never . . .”

Nothing in this situation was something you ever thought would happen to you. As if it couldn't get any worse, or better, he wrapped his arms around your waist and hugged you tight. Like you were smoke—an illusion, something no cigarette or any alcohol could ever give him, and could disappear at any moment now.

“Please? How much more do I gotta beg? Need you. Please, need you so bad, baby.”

His arms dropped now, just low enough that you felt his large hands settle over the curve of your backside. He pressed his forehead further into your stomach beggingly, kissing you there through your nightgown again and again.

You caved.

Slowly, you planted your hands firmly on his shoulders, pushing him away just enough that his arms loosened. Then you quickly went back in and finally pressed your lips to his.

He tasted like whiskey, and it took a moment for you to fall into a rhythm, both moving like you couldn't get enough. A moan left his mouth, a needy sound muffled by your lips.

Holland rose to his feet, albeit unsteadily, and pushed you against the cold wall. His mouth never stopped moving against yours as he enclosed you in his arms, head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss. He held your hips in his hands, pulling you closer while your arms encircled around his neck.

To let you breathe, he pulled away, reluctantly. It wasn't long before his lips transferred to your neck instead, peppering kisses on each side. You let out a shaky gasp, spurring him on to move to your chest, kissing the entire area there as well.

His finger hooked under the neckline of your nightgown, tugging it low so he could kiss the curve of your breasts as well.

“Holland,” you huffed, dizzy from the sensation. When he didn't let up, you tried again. “Holland. Honey.”

Holland lifted his head up to look at you, eyes dazed from the feeling of your skin on his lips. You inhaled deeply, regaining your breath. “Why don't we continue this tomorrow?”

He didn't reply, only dropped his head back against your chest, stubbornly giving the skin there one more kiss.

“Let's go to bed, let you sober up,” you offered. He obviously wanted more than this, and you did too, but you'd rather it be while he was clear-minded. “Tomorrow. I promise.”

You felt him nod against you. His moustache tickled your skin as he spoke. “You love me?”

You wrapped your arms tighter around him. “I do. So much.”

Holland planted another kiss on your chest. “Then that's fuckin' great.”

You walk next to Ryland, both drinking coffee from takeaway cups, your other hand carefully steadying a third cup you picked up for Stratt. The air is cold and biting. Without a word, Ryland reaches across, his bright yellow raincoat brushing against the back of your hand as he gently slips the extra cup from your fingers to carry it himself.

You raise an eyebrow at him, a silent question in your eyes. He mimics your expression perfectly, a look of faux-innocence on his face. “What? Am I not allowed to assist my girlfriend?” The corner of his mouth quirks up, knowing exactly the kind of effect his words have on you.

Rightfully, your heart skips a beat. The word girlfriend still feels new, making you feel a sudden rush of warmth that defies the cold weather. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling wide like an idiot. Taking a deep breath, you try to steady your racing pulse. “You are” you quip, taking a slow sip from your own cup to hide your expression. “But I know you only took that from me so you can hand the coffee to Stratt yourself and make it look like you got it for her all along”

He gasps playfully, “How dare you accuse me of such ill intentions, partner?!” He leans in, bumping his shoulder affectionately against yours.

He still calls you partner sometimes, though most of the time it’s other endearments. It is funny to think about how much has changed - how he transformed from being your academic inspiration, to your mentor, to now your boyfriend. The night of the karaoke party is still clear in your mind: the exact feel of his lips against yours for the first time, and later, the low whisper of his voice asking, “You’re mine, aren’t you?” when he hovered over you after leading you back to his room. Since that night, everything has shifted. The way he intertwines his fingers with yours every time you walk out of the lab together has become a default setting, an instinctual habit neither of you questions.

Being a mere intern, you originally thought you would be terrified of starting a relationship with the lead astrophage biologist of the mission. But the fear evaporated weeks later. You still remember when Stratt first witnessed the change in your dynamic - you had been helping Ryland organise his notes so he could seamlessly explain the complete workings of the astrophage to Dubois and Shapiro. Ryland had dropped a folder, and as you both reached for it, he casually muttered, “Thanks, baby”

You had frozen, rigid, terrified of the impending lecture on professionalism. Stratt had simply paused, raising an eyebrow at your tense form. She moved her gaze to Ryland, who hadn’t even noticed the slip of his tongue, and then looked back at you. Instead of a reprimand, she just gave you a tiny, rare smile before focusing right back on the project details. The boss of the mission didn’t give a single damn if an intern was romantically involved with her lead scientist, so long as the work got done.

Since then, things have been beautifully stable. You still work the same as before, except now you naturally lean into each other’s space without awkwardly smiling and looking away. When you help him solve a data sequence that has been troubling him for days, he looks at you gratefully and murmurs, “I love you so much, you’re the best” instead of awkwardly masking it behind a defensive, “Wow! You’re learning from the best, partner” When others see you being close, they don’t question it. They just know it.

All in all, everything has been going too well. And now, the Hail Mary is set to launch. Every ounce of effort the entire global team has put in is finally culminating in this one, desperate shot at saving the world.

“We ran the sampler simulation again this morning” Ryland’s voice brings you back to reality.

You look ahead and realise you have reached the where Stratt is waiting, staring out at the launch site. Ryland steps forward, handing the extra cup to her. “Shapiro and Dubois nailed it again” he completes.

She takes the coffee from his hands. “What about the others?” she asks, her eyes darting toward you to offer a familiar, tiny greeting.

“They’ll be ready” he responds, his gaze dropping to his shoes.

“I expect so. They have a great teacher” she compliments with a smile. She looks at you, finding you already smiling proudly at her words.

Ryland looks at Stratt, then at you, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. He shifts his weight, looking away toward the open field.

“Can you take a compliment, please?” Stratt asks, a hint of dry amusement in her voice.

“No” he chuckles.

“Come on, Ry, take it” you add, nudging him with your elbow.

He looks down at you, his eyes softening the way they always do when his gaze lands on your face.

“It’s an order” Stratt adds teasingly.

It causes Ryland to flush a little, totally embarrassed. “Okay, if it’s an order, I’ll take it. Thank you” he mutters, staring at the ground. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing aloud at how adorable he is when he’s flustered.

“Good” Stratt smiles at the two of you. Taking a slow sip of her coffee, she gestures with her cup toward the massive, built spaceship towering over the facility. “So, what do you think?” She directs the question to you both.

“It’s…” you start, your voice trailing off as your eyes trace the magnificent lines of the ship. Never in your life had you ever imagined seeing a piece of interstellar engineering like this in person, let alone helping build the science that went inside it.

“It’s pretty impressive” Ryland says softly, watching your wide-eyed reaction with a tender expression. He turns to Stratt, offering a genuine nod. “You’re…you’re good”

“You’re awesome” you add, turning to her as well.

Both Stratt and Ryland let out a low chuckle at your enthusiasm.

“So, what are you gonna do for the next twenty years?” Ryland asks her, his tone turning casual, “you got a plan?”

She chuckles, “Yeah” She pauses, looking between the two of you with a genuine expression, “You both going back to your lives?”

“Yeah, going back” you say, a bittersweet smile touching your lips. A sudden wave of nostalgia hits you, realising that the chaotic, high-stakes world you’ve lived in for the past few years is about to disappear, leaving you to return to normal academia.

“Together” Ryland adds firmly. He reaches down, sliding his hand into yours and squeezing your fingers. He smiles down at you, and your cheeks hurt from how much you are trying to hold back your joy.

Then, everything shifts.

A deafening explosion rips through the far side of the facility where the main labs are built. Everything seems to happen in a blink. The blinding flash of light is followed instantly by a massive shockwave, the impact of which knocks the three of you to the ground.

You gasp as your breath is driven from your lungs, the hard ground scraping against your palms. The air is suddenly filled with the roar of alarms and thick smoke. Through the ringing in your ears, you feel fingers blindly reaching for your arm, gripping you with a desperate intensity. Looking over, you see Ryland. Even though he is dazed himself, his first instinct was to blindly search for you in the chaos.

Stratt is already on her feet, pushing herself on her feet, and running toward the burning building. Ryland quickly moves, pulling you up by your hands as you both sprint behind her, heading into the wreckage.

“One nanogram of astrophage just isn’t enough to blow up a building!” Ryland says, climbing up the short stairs of the facility.

Dr. Lokken informs that the quartermaster accidentally gave the science team a full milligram instead of a nanogram.

Ryland instantly says, “That’s a million times the heat energy that they’re prepared for”

Commander Yao follows, his face a mask of grief and disbelief, “A measuring mistake killed my entire science team?”

“Doesn’t matter” Stratt states, her voice steady as she walks ahead, completely shutting down the panic, “we have to launch”

You watch her back as she walks away, your heart aching. You can’t even fathom how difficult it must be for her to say those words, because you know, despite her icy exterior, she values every single person on this project. But she knows the stakes - the mission must take place to ensure the survival of humanity, no matter the cost.

Before they enter the briefing room, a guard stops you. You are explicitly asked not to follow them into the meeting.

“I’ll be back” Ryland says quickly, turning to you outside the door. He ducks his head, pressing a kiss to the top of your hair, his hands squeezing your waist before he steps into the room.

The doors click shut, leaving you alone in the corridor.

You have no idea what is happening behind those closed doors. Minutes bleed into an hour, and your anxiety spikes into overdrive with every tick of the clock. Unable to pace the hallway anymore, you retreat into a smaller, empty side room nearby, sitting on the edge of a chair and staring at the floor, waiting desperately for him.

Finally, the click of the door opening echoes through the quiet space. You snap your head up.

Ryland is standing in the doorway. Your breath catches at the sight of him. He is slouched, his movements heavy and slow. He is staring straight ahead with a blank, empty gaze. His beanie and glasses are missing. His hair is smothered down against his forehead, and his eyes...his eyes are a mix of fear and a hollow dread. Your heart drops into a bottomless pit at his state.

“Hey, Ry” you breathe, slowly rising from your chair and closing the distance between you two. The closer you get, the worse his condition appears. Your hands itch to reach out and touch his face, to ground him, but you hold back, terrified of breaking whatever fragile thread is holding him together.

“What...what happened?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly.

He doesn’t say anything for several agonising moments. He just stands there, staring down at you, his mouth parted slightly as if he is trying to physically force words out of his throat, but his lungs won’t cooperate.

“They...they want me to go” he whispers. A sheen of tears glazes over his blue eyes.

You blink, your brain refusing to process the sentence. “What? Where?!” you rushingly ask, taking a step closer.

“Tau Ceti” he responds.

The gravity on Earth is perfectly intact, but in that exact second, you feel like the ground beneath your feet has vanished. A sickening sensation pulls you downward into a panic. No. No, no, no. He can’t go. It’s a suicide mission. The Hail Mary doesn’t have enough fuel to bring the crew back. They are going there to die so Earth can live.

No, please, no, is the only thought screaming through your head.

You don’t even realise you’ve been holding your breath until Ryland’s warm palms come up to rest on either side of your shoulders. “Hey” he says softly, his grip tightening to steady you as your knees begin to buckle.

A ragged gasp tears out of your chest. You look up at him through a vision that has gone blurry with tears, your hands flying upward to frantically cupping his face.

“No...no, you-you’re not going” you start, forcing the words out through the painful lump in your throat, “you can’t” You take a shaking breath, your fingers digging into his cheeks, “No, please, Ry. I can’t...I don’t know how to...please don’t go”

The panic takes over, your chest heaving. Ryland sees the hyperventilation starting and immediately moves, gently leading you back to the chair and guiding you down.

“Baby, hey. Look at me” his words sound slightly muffled, reaching you through the loud ringing of your own heartbeat. He drops to his knees in front of you, wrapping his hands tightly around yours and pulling them down from his face to hold them against his chest. “Hey, it’s okay. Just breathe for me, okay? Follow my lead. I’m right here. I’m here”

He tries to soothe you, his thumbs running rhythmic patterns over the skin of your wrists, trying to anchor you to reality even as his own tears finally begin to spill over his eyelashes.

After a few moments, the rhythmic rising and falling of Ryland’s chest anchors you, and your breathing finally begins to regulate.

“You’re okay” Ryland whispers, his trembling thumb reaching up to gently brush the corner of your eye where a stray tear has escaped.

The tenderness of the gesture breaks something inside you, and your eyes shut tightly as a fresh wave of tears forces its way past your lashes. He shifts, pulling you just a fraction closer as he finishes explaining the nightmare that took place inside the briefing room.

“They’ve given me three hours to think” he says, his voice flat, drained of all its usual energy. He looks down at your joined hands, his shoulders sinking. “I-I don’t wanna go. I’m terrified. They’re asking me to give up my life. There is no coming back if I go on that ship. I don’t want to leave everything behind...I don’t want to leave you behind”

The vulnerability in his small voice devastates your heart.

“Tell them no” you say instantly. Every piece of logic you possess, all the years of knowing exactly why this ship was built, the understanding that this mission is humanity’s last stand, flies completely out the window. In this room, he isn’t the lead project biologist. He isn’t a commodity or a savior. He is your person. Your partner.

He lets out a shaky sniffle, leaning forward until his forehead rests against yours. “Do you think they’ll listen?” he whispers. For the first time since you’ve known him, he asks a question with doubt.

“I don’t care” you say, forcing a stability into your voice despite the lump in your throat, “they can’t force you into this”

“I don’t want to lose you” he murmurs, his warm breath fanning across your lips.

“You won’t” you whisper.

You tilt your head, closing the small distance to seal your lips against his. You have kissed plenty of times before, but none of them felt like this. It is a desperate, bruising kiss, the salt of both your tears mixing together between your lips. Your hands move up to cradle his face, holding him with the same frantic intensity he used the night of the karaoke. Ryland presses closer, burying his fingers into your clothes, kissing you as if he is trying to physically erase the rest of the universe.

The quiet of the side room feels like a shroud when you are finally left alone again. Three hours have bled away, and Ryland has finally gone to Stratt’s office to deliver his final answer.

A dread settles in your stomach. You know Eva Stratt. You know she is a deeply pragmatic human being who has spent years carrying the burden of keeping the world from ending. So many years of global sacrifice, so much money, the relentless efforts of thousands of people, and the tragic loss of the primary science team just hours ago, it all rests on her shoulders. You know with absolute certainty that Stratt will not let this mission fail. And to her, postponing the launch is the exact same thing as failing.

Your stomach twists in waves of anxiety. You realise, with a flash of horror, that Stratt has figured out the only variable left to ensure the mission goes exactly as planned: she needs your boyfriend on that ship.

Suddenly, a bright flash of yellow streaks past the glass window of the room, followed immediately by dark silhouettes.

Ryland. Ryland in his yellow raincoat.

He is running.

Your heart begins to hammer in your chest. You slam the door open, sprinting out into the main corridor just in time to see Ryland throwing himself down the hallway, a frantic sprint of panic, with a few security guards chasing right on his heels.

The terrifying, suffocating realisation that they are forcing him onto the mission settles over you. Your knees buckle, nearly giving out, but you force your legs to move, sprinting as fast as you can to catch up to the chaos.

By the time you get close, the guards have Ryland pinned to the ground. He is thrashing wildly, his limbs flailing as he struggles to break free from the weight of the men holding him down.

You sprint straight toward Carl, who is standing just next to them. Ryland’s voice rings out, repeatedly screaming, “No! No!”

You force yourself to stare directly at Carl, knowing that if you look down at Ryland, you will lose your mind. “Carl, please don’t!” you cry, your voice cracking with desperation, “don’t do this to him!”

“Please...” Ryland’s voice squeaks, the wind knocked out of him as a guard presses a knee into his back. Then, a wheezing gasp tears from his throat, choking out your name.

You can’t help it. You look down.

A sob tears out of your chest at the sight. One side of Ryland’s face is pressed hard against the ground, his dark blonde hair a wild, dusty mess. His arms are pinned behind his back by the security team as his eyes lock onto you, silently pleading you to help him.

“Shit, please stop! Don’t do this!” You lunge forward, your hands reaching out to pull the guards off him, but Carl’s arms wrap around your torso, locking you in place and pulling you backward.

“I’m sorry. We have to do this” Carl says, his voice tight but unyielding. He looks over your shoulder at the struggling scientist on the floor, “you know who you are”

The needle plunges down into Ryland’s skin.

Ryland’s blue eyes lock onto yours one last time, filled with a heartbreaking, silent betrayal. Slowly, his eyelids begin to flutter shut. His desperate pleads fade as the sedative takes hold, his body going limp against the floor as he loses consciousness.

You are crying so hard you can’t even form a coherent word, the air hitching in your lungs. The security guards lift Ryland’s unconscious form from the ground, and a fresh wave of panic hits you.

“No, stop! Put him down!” You twist within Carl’s grip. “Don’t do this! You know him, Carl! He said he doesn’t want to go! Please, just let him go!”

“Hey, get it together. Look at me, get it together” Carl grunts, his voice strained as he maintains his iron grip on you, keeping you from rushing after the men who are now carrying Ryland’s limp body through the secure doors, “We need him. The world needs him”

Ten minutes later, you are standing in the corridor in front of Stratt’s office door. You aren’t wiping your face anymore, you just let the tears fall, your chest still heaving with the remnants of the panic attack.

“Come in” her voice comes from the other side before you can even knock.

You push the door open, stepping into the room, and let the door click shut behind you. Stratt looks up from her desk, her eyes tracing the distraught, trembling mess you are.

“You can’t send him!” The words rip out of you, loud and furious. You have never once raised your voice in front of her. For years, you have been acutely aware of your position on this mission. You are an intern, a student, a temporary shadow. But job descriptions and official designations don’t mean a single damn thing now that she has literally kidnapped a scientist who was only supposed to study the astrophage, forcing him into a ship to launch him into the dark of space.

Stratt lets out a slow, heavy sigh, leaning back in her chair. She looks at you with an expression that proves she has been expecting this exact confrontation from the moment that Ryland started running.

“He is the only one left who possesses the complete knowledge of the astrophage and the ship’s biology systems” she says evenly, though for the first time since you’ve known her, a distinct hint of guilt flickers in her eyes, “He is our only option”

“He has a life!” you shout, taking a step closer to her desk, your fists clenched tightly at your sides, “you can’t just rewrite his entire existence and throw it away because it’s convenient for you! And he isn’t the only one with all the knowledge. I’m not as smart as him, and I don’t have his years of experience, but I was right there beside him for every single sequence. I was involved in pretty much every single breakthrough related to this entire mission”

Stratt tilts her head, her gaze narrowing as she studies your posture. “What exactly are you trying to say?” she asks slowly, dropping into the calculated tone she uses when evaluating a structural problem.

”If you’re sending him” you say, your voice leveling out as tears spill over your cheeks, “then I am going with him”

Stratt stares at you for a few long seconds, the silence in the office becoming absolute. “This isn’t a field trip” she says quietly, her voice dropping into a gentle rhythm, like a parent trying to explain a harsh reality to a child, “It is a one-way journey into deep space. To another solar system”

“I know that” you snap, refusing to let her diminish the weight of your words, “I know exactly what it is. I know all of it. I’m asking you to send me along. I know the ship’s schematics. I know you can arrange another coma pod for me in the crew quarters”

“Do you even comprehend the reality of what you are asking for?” she asks, her voice gentle.

You roughly wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, but more tears immediately rush down to replace them.

“Please” you whisper, the anger draining out of you, leaving only a bleeding plea, “please just do it. You think I can just go back now? You think I can live a regular life, go back to my classes, and pretend like none of this ever happened? Like I didn’t spend all this time of my life loving him? You think I can just sit on a bench somewhere, looking up at the sky, knowing the man I love is out there somewhere in the universe, floating in the dark, entirely alone? I can’t do that. I won’t survive it. So please...just send me as well. Please”

Her jaw tightens, and you can see the faint movement in her throat as she gulps down her own rising emotions, her rigid armor cracking just a fraction for the first time in all the years you’ve worked under her.

She lets out a long, defeated sigh, turning her head to look out the large glass window at the launch pad.

“Okay” she says softly, “I hate to do this to you. But if this is truly what you want...a second pod will be arranged for you”

Your eyes move beneath your shut eyelids, your brain straining to muster the strength required to open them.

“What is two plus two?”

A distant, mechanical voice echoes through the white space. Bright, clinical lights flash painfully against your retinas the moment you finally force your eyes open. Your brain, your body, your very thoughts - everything feels like mush. Before you can even process the shape of the room, a plastic tube is smoothly pulled up out of your throat, causing you to gag and cough around it. It is too much. The sensory overload is too much.

“What is two plus two?” the automated computer voice repeats.

You let out a low grunt, shifting your weight in a desperate attempt to push yourself up, but your muscles feel like liquid jello. Your balance vanishes, and you almost slide off the station.

“Mary, please stop” another voice commands through the room.

This one is a human voice, a man’s voice. When you frantically blink, trying to clear your vision, and look in his direction, you see a man standing a few feet away. He is wearing a white T-shirt, with a red jumpsuit covering his lower half.

“Hey, you’re up” he says softly.

Your breathing picks up, a spike of panic hitting your chest at the sudden sight of another person while your brain is still so foggy. Sensing your terror, he stops a respectful distance away, raising his hands in a grounding, non-threatening gesture.

“I’m here. I’m here to help, okay?” he says soothingly. His calm, gentle cadence stands in stark contrast to the ship’s relentless interrogation.

“‘Kay” you manage to croak out, though the syllable comes out as a slurred whisper.

A genuine, relieved smile breaks across his face at the sound of your voice, “I’m so glad you’re up. Do you remember your name?”

You close your eyes for a split second, digging deep into the empty blankness of your mind. The fog in your brain clears just a tiny fraction, enough for you to whisper your name.

He lets out a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping with a weight of relief, “Okay, that’s great! That is really great” He reaches up, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Uh, I’m Ryland Grace” He smiles a slightly crooked, nervous smile at you.

The moment his name leaves his lips, a vivid flash of memory passes your mind. You see him introducing himself outside a laboratory, but in the memory, he isn’t wearing a jumpsuit, he has a fox-patterned cardigan on.

You look back into his blue eyes, which are watching you with patience and worry. “Ryland” you repeat. His eyes soften instantly at the slow, slurry tone in which you say his name.

Over the next few days, the two of you throw yourselves into a routine, trying to piece the fragments of your lives back together. The amnesia is a stubborn, heavy thing, but the connection between you is immediate.

You remember each other. You remember him as your academic inspiration, someone you spent years looking up to from afar. He, in turn, remembers you as the brilliant intern who worked tirelessly alongside him, always asking him too many questions that consistently left him impressed by your mind. You both clearly remember the long hours of working together, but it feels like something massive is missing from the timeline. A crucial, emotional piece of the puzzle remains just out of reach.

During a quiet moment in the laboratory, he turns to you, his expression turning solemn. He explains that he woke up one week before you did. He drops his gaze to the floor, his voice cracking slightly as he admits that he had to give a funeral to the ship’s primary crew - the pilot, Commander Yao, and the engineer, Ilyukhina. They didn’t survive the coma.

You feel your heart drop at his words. Even though you still have no memory of them except their faces and their voices, a wave of grief strikes your chest. It hurts to know that these brave people traveled light-years into the dark, carrying the weight of a dying world on their shoulders, only to never wake up to see the destination.

Sensing the sudden shift in your posture and the tears welling in your eyes, Ryland quietly shuffles closer to you. He doesn’t touch you, keeping a respectful boundary, but he positions his body close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off his shoulder, letting you know that you are not alone.

“I was so scared of being alone out here” he admits softly, turning back to the whiteboard where the two of you have been mapping out your returning memories. The terminal monitors behind him blink steadily, confirming that the Hail Mary is on a direct trajectory toward the Tau Ceti. “But...good thing I have a partner here” he adds, offering a small smile in a brave attempt to lighten the suffocating atmosphere of the room.

Your train of thought comes to a halt. The term partner. The word echoes through your mind. A rapid succession of memory flashes floods your brain of Ryland’s voice whispering the word over and over again.

“Hey, you okay?” Ryland’s concerned voice abruptly cuts through the mental noise. Before you can even blink, his hand moves forward, his palm resting gently, instinctively against your shoulder.

You look up at him, your chest heaving as you try to force the panic down, and dismissively whisper, “Yeah. I’m...l’m okay, Ry”

The nickname slips past your lips with ease. The way you so naturally say his name like that, seems to trigger a memories for Ryland as well.

He freezes. His hand stays locked on your shoulder, his fingers tightening slightly against the fabric of your jumpsuit. His blue eyes widen to an impossible degree, the pupils dilating as a look of recognition passes through his eyes.