Work Text:
Sitting here wishing on a cement floor
Sitting here wishing on a cement floor
Just wishing that I had just something you wore
Bloody your hands on a cactus tree
Wipe it on your dress and send it to me
************************
“I bought you a present.”
Grace’s arm briefly enters her line of sight as he sets something small and green down right next to her cup of coffee. Eva ignores the gift in favor of peering over the top of her laptop to study the man. She can tell by his unkempt hair and the rings under his eyes that he has spent another all-nighter in the labs. His glasses are defying gravity by dangling from one ear and there are the sad remains of a half eaten Twizzler that he's probably forgotten about peeking out from behind that same ear. At least she won’t have to order him to bed like a child. His missing lab coat tells her that Carl has gotten to him first.
The two men have established a bit of a routine by now. Grace will work himself into near collapse, claiming that he's fine and not about to fall off his seat or face plant into a petri dish, and then Carl will come in and force the scientist to shed his coat as if it’s his superhero suit and herd the man to his room to take a nap that usually turns into eight to ten hours of dead-to-the-world unconsciousness.
Rinse, repeat.
Every now and then Grace will put up a fight valiant enough that Carl has to threaten the scientist that he will handcuff him to the bed. As far as Eva is aware, the agent never had to make good on his threat but there is an official betting pool, courtesy of Ilyukhina, circulating the VAT.
For someone who protested his new babysitter role as much as Carl did he is surprisingly good at it.
Grace has planted himself on the edge of her desk, grinning at Eva with that boyish charm that has endeared him to almost everyone on the VAT - from world leading experts to the cleaning staff. Her eyes zero in on the papers he is sitting on and all it takes is the slow rise of an unimpressed eyebrow to make him scramble to his feet. Of course he inevitably ends up shoving most of the papers to the ground.
“Cheese and Crackers,” he mumbles and bends down to pick them back up.
Eva allows herself a tiny smile. It’s gone by the time his head pops back up over her desk.
She finally looks at the gift he’s brought her.
It is a cactus. Eva has no idea about cacti so she can’t tell if it’s a special kind but to her it looks like any other cactus she’s ever seen. It is round and not much bigger than her fist, sprouting long and wicked looking spikes in every direction. The pot is a nondescript brown, the kind of pot you can find in every hardware store.
All in all, it looks utterly unremarkable.
“Why?”
“For your birthday.” He stacks the papers back on the table, miraculously in the right order, and quickly adds as if it’s an afterthought: “Happy birthday!”
This time both of her eyebrows rise to her hairline and there is nothing calculated about it. She’s genuinely taken aback. “How do you know that?”
“I've got my sources,” he says with a smirk.
“Because whoever told you this very personal information,” she continues as if he hasn't said anything, “has broken so many security protocols that I could throw them in jail for the next fifteen years.”
The satisfied grin slips off his face. He blinks rapidly and takes a step back. “Did I say sources? I actually mean that I made an educated guess.”
Eva leans back and pinches her nose. There is still so much she has to do before her next meeting. The engineers have an update for her, the German Bundeskanzler has been clogging her phone with messages and her laptop is still open to an email that she should have responded to over an hour ago. She does not have time for whatever this is.
But, as usual, she feels herself relax in the presence of Grace. He’s got something about him that makes her temporarily forget the mounting tasks vying for her attention. Sometimes she finds herself seeking him out in his lab after a particularly long and hard day just to bask for a few precious minutes in his easy company, listening to his nonsensical scientific tangents. Recharging the batteries.
And she has to admit: the way he won’t meet her eyes, clearly panicking about potentially dooming some poor Trottel to years of prison just because they were too smitten with him to say no, is kind of amusing. And doesn’t she deserve a bit of entertainment after working for eighteen hours straight? On her birthday, no less?
“An educated guess,” she drawls, stapling the tips of her fingers against each other and enjoying the way he’s starting to squirm. “How would that work, Dr. Grace? 365 days is a bit much for an educated guess.”
He hems and haws for another second before she can practically see an idea form in his head. His eyes flash with that cocky confidence that still manages to surprise her. He's so meek and inconspicuous most of the time, rather keeping to the background than being front and center like all the other scientists, that she sometimes forgets how snarky and witty he can be when he’s in his element and feels safe enough to dip into his old academia ego.
He feels safe in her presence. It does something funny to her insides that she'd rather not think about.
“Oh, but that's where you are wrong, Stratt. You see, I once saw you reading the horoscopes and you lingered on the one for Lion. Didn't peg you as the horoscope type of woman by the way, but everyone has got their vices I suppose. But anyway. I knew it had to be somewhere between the 23th of July and 22th of August. That’s 31 days. The probability of guessing the right date is 3.2 % which-” He falters but bravely carries on: “Which still leaves a lot to chance, admittedly. But hey, we know a thing or two about a Hail Mary around here, don’t we?” He beams at her like he expects a pat on the head for his bad joke and then apparently remembers the ruse. “Uh. So. Was I right?”
She does not roll her eyes. Barely.
Instead of answering him and thus revealing the embarrassing truth that yes, she sometimes reads her horoscope (just for fun and just because it reminds her of her superstitious grandmother who’d always make little Eva read them both their horoscopes Sunday morning) she taps one finger against the pot. “How did you even get this? We're in the middle of the ocean.”
“I asked for one to be brought over with the latest shipment.” He's still grinning because he thinks he’s gotten away with it, the silly man. Then he startles. “Unless that would be another security breach that gets someone into trouble. In that case, ignore anything I just said.”
She sighs. At least she won't ever have to wonder about Grace being a potential spy or double agent. The man is the worst liar she’s ever seen. “Relax, Dr. Grace. I'll ignore this just as I continuously ignore the mysterious crates full of extra Twizzlers and Skittles that arrive here every two months.”
Her second in command squirms on the spot. “Great. So I guess, happy birthday? I'll just-”
He gestures to the door, eager to escape the conversation that has turned into a minefield of accidentally revealing acts of unprofessional conduct among the crew. Or maybe he fears Carl will be waiting for him in the hallway if he lingers too long.
Before he leaves she can't help but point out: “It will probably die within the first few months. You know I'm sometimes gone for long periods of time. Between that and the meetings I don’t have the time to care for a plant.”
He stops in front of the door. “I thought this office could use a bit of green, that’s all. And it's not just a plant. It's a cactus. They barely need any care or water. They are surprisingly difficult to kill.”
She hums, unconvinced.
“Don't worry, Eva,” he says after a short pause. He almost never calls her Eva. Grace looks at her with a lopsided smile, his eyes warm and knowing. “I'll help you keep it alive.”
***************************
Eva's been gone from the VAT for a long time and the moment she steps foot back on the boat it feels like a vice around her chest finally loosens.
It’s been two months of meetings and recruitments and turning up on doorsteps uninvited, demanding funds from millionaires and governments who had to be convinced to share some of their wealth to save the world. Some of them had been quite difficult about it which is why she only just now managed to return. While she was in constant contact with all the department heads via Skype and E-Mail and has been kept in the loop for every step of the way, it’s not an adequate replacement for being on-site.
Her mind is already buzzing with all the meetings she’ll have to organize, all the departments she will have to check in with. But despite her busy schedule something has been gnawing at the back of her mind for days now. Like she’s forgotten something important.
It’s only when she puts in the key to unlock her office that she suddenly remembers the cactus waiting for her inside. She pauses for a second, her fingers clenching around the doorknob. Her departure was abrupt, she did not remember to water the thing one last time before she left. And now that she thinks about it, she can’t remember the last time she poured the rest of her water bottle into the pot. It must have been months even before her departure.
It’s probably dead by now.
Eva exhales and pushes the door open. And there it is, right on her desk where she left it, alive and thriving. It actually looks like it has grown a few inches while she was gone. She stares at it for a long time, long enough that Grace manages to slip into her office to welcome her back. He's in the middle of catching her up on their latest discoveries with the Astrophage when he notices her lack of attention. His eyes follow hers and he beams.
“It's looking great, isn’t it? We might need a bigger pot soon.”
She turns to him with an unreadable expression. “Did you water it?”
He waves her off, eyes already back on his report. “I only had to do it once. I told you they don't need much.”
“How did you get into my office while I was gone?”
He stiffens and starts to frantically page through the report as if he doesn’t have the whole thing memorized. “Your door wasn't locked. Don't worry, I did it for you after I was done.”
“How careless of me,” she says and watches a bead of sweat tickle down his temple. “But better than the alternative. If anyone had actually let you in here with a key that would be-”
“A huge breach of security, I know” He laughs unconvincingly and snaps the report shut. “Good thing that would never happen! You know what? How about you finish unpacking first? I'll come by later. Okay? Okay.”
He turns and slams into the doorframe on the way out because he doesn't take the corner fast enough. She can hear him shout “I'm okay!” before his footsteps rapidly disappear down the hallway.
Eva listens until she can't hear him anymore and then slowly goes around her desk. She pulls on the lowest drawer and of course it doesn't budge an inch. Not only does she not think he would go snooping through her possessions, the key to that drawer hangs from a necklace around her neck, always going where she is going.
If he'd managed to break the lock open and look inside, he wouldn’t have been so relaxed around her. He wouldn’t have taken care of her cactus or welcomed her back with a smile and a coffee.
He would have seen his file and the results of his coma gene testing and all the reports about his physical fitness and about his testing of the equipment the astronauts will need to use in space. He would have seen all the information she is amassing about him and he would have started to wonder.
Just a little. Just enough.
Eva Stratt doesn't open the drawer. She looks over to the cactus that has definitely grown a little.
It looks healthy.
*************************
Eva watches him run. The walkie-talkie vibrates in her hand and as soon as she finishes her orders she sets it down as if it’s burning her.
A deep breath and then another. It doesn’t help.
The setting sun blinds her and she presses her eyes shut so she doesn’t start to cry.
Just the sun. Nothing else.
Another deep breath and her head hurts and her breath stutters in her chest and she raises shaking hands to put them on the windowsill. To steady herself. To feel something holding her up, taking the burden off.
She doesn’t get far. Her left hand touches something that sends a sharp pang of pain through her palm and wrist. Eva snatches it up with a hiss and stares down.
The cactus. She put her left hand on top of the cactus.
How did it get here? Didn't she leave it on the VAT? Did she bring it and not remember? Or, much more plausible, did Grace make sure to bring it? Did he put it with his own things, little as they were, and brought it over from the VAT to place it here in her new, temporary office?
She can picture him clearly, humming and placing the pot in the sun, smiling to himself.
“The place needs a bit of green, don't you think?”
He'll never see green again. He'll never see a plant or a flower or a tree again.
She stares at it blankly for a long time, probably long enough for security to catch up with Grace, to tackle him to the ground, to pierce his skin with the needle she didn't want to use, dear Lord she didn't want to use it, she really didn't.
The needle will pierce his skin like this cactus pierced her hand. Unlike her he won't be able to pull back, won't be able to stop it from hurting.
Eva reaches out and puts a finger against one of the spikes. Presses down until a small bead of blood bubbles to the surface. It doesn't hurt. It should hurt.
She only stops when her walkie-talkie comes to life. Carl's voice. Shaking.
“He’s-” The connection breaks up, as if his finger slipped from the button. When it comes back he sounds different. Distant. “Target secured.”
She nods to no one.
A single drop of blood glistens on the tip of that cactus spike. She breaks it off and stuffs it into her pocket.
*****************************
Eva hasn't stepped foot into this safe house in almost two years. It feels nostalgic almost. This small one bedroom cabin was the first place she fled to after the Hail Mary launched and the people who used to put all the power in her hands began to snatch it away from her.
The second whispers of an impending trial started, she'd hightailed it out of there and fled here, to this inconspicuous house near the sea. She always knew that she'd go to prison one day and she is prepared and willing to face her sentencing with her head held high.
But there were still so many things left to do. Loose ends to tie up, debts to collect and repay. She couldn't let herself get captured until everything was done.
This safe house didn’t stay safe forever and so she'd been forced to change location after only a few weeks. She's changed locations a lot over the years.
Now she's back here. Everything left to do has been done and so is she.
Done.
Eva’s just waiting now. The noose around her neck has grown tighter and tighter over the last few weeks and it’s with a sense of relief that she finally stops running. She doesn't know why she came back here to wait for the end. This place has no sentimental value to her.
But then she stands in the bare kitchen and looks at the lone pot sitting on the table and she knows exactly what has called her to this place. Something that had been at the back of her mind this entire time. The memento she left behind when she had to flee in the middle of the night.
A door behind her opens and the man that has hunted her relentlessly for two years steps into the house.
Eva had heard rumours about him and the secret CIA program he belonged to but she’d never paid them much attention. Not until he started following her across continents with a single minded focus that bordered on obsession. His less than legal methods have made her suspect that he’s on a self appointed mission rather than an official one. It feels personal, the way he won’t leave her to rest for more than a few days, the way he’s always on her tail, always just one step behind. If she didn’t still have some very powerful friends in high positions she would have been caught a long time ago.
One time he got so close she was able to catch a glimpse of his face in the rearview mirror of her getaway car. Looking at him for that split second felt like a punch to the stomach.
That face. It haunts her.
When the man enters the kitchen she almost turns around to face him head on. But she can't tear her eyes from the pot, can't bear to look into those familiar eyes again. Not yet.
Sierra Six stops next to her. He doesn’t bother restraining her, not even a hand on her shoulder. He knows he's got her. He knows it’s over. The only satisfaction she has left is that he didn't manage to hunt her down like an animal. In the end she ended this chase on her terms. Like she always does.
He's tense and his loathing for her is almost like a beast sitting between them. Eva thinks that the only reason he doesn’t put a bullet in the back of her head is his sense of duty and his desire to see her punished and suffer for as long as possible.
It's very personal.
It always has been.
“Impressive,” he drawls, his voice loud in the silent kitchen. His gaze doesn't leave the withered cactus, this sad little brown thing that was once vibrant and green and full of life but is now just a husk, forgotten in an abandoned house and covered in dust and mites. “Someone once told me they are surprisingly difficult to kill.”
Eva smiles. Just a little.
“You'd be surprised how easy it really is.”