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"Hey Carl do we have an expense account?" Grace asks. He really really hopes that they do.
If he has to do things the conventional way then he will but it will be a struggle on all fronts. A struggle for him to connect all the theories tumbling around in his head and a struggle for Stratt and whoever else is on her team to wait on his brain to forge those connections. It would take time that they do not have.
He looks through the glass and across the hallway that seperates them to see Carl lazily sitting in his office chair, half-heartedly twirling as he considers Grace's question. He'd given up on broodily standing by the window hours ago. Even less time for him to drop his posture and with it any attempts at remaining a shady governmental figure.
How high up on the chain of command is he?
He watches, hope in his throat as Carl brings the radio to his mouth. A blast of static sounds from and with it comes the answer.
"We don't."
Grace sighs, shaking his head in defeat. The old fashioned way it is. He picks up the radio intent to say his thanks regardless as Carl is under no orders to entertain his attempts at conversation. But then he watches a slow smile curl the other's lips, a twinkle shining in dark eyes.
"But I do."
Grace doesn't bother to respond over the radio, he's staring right at him. He claps and jumps in place doing a little victory dance. Carl joins in, mimicking how his hands are held in the air and the back and forth swish of his hips. They become in sync and he sees Carl laughing. The elated smile, the rise and fall of his chest. It's infectious even if he can't hear it.
Carl stops with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head as he turns away from him. He watches Carl leave the room, disappearing from view as he no doubt winds his way through the facility to get to him. Excitement thrums in his chest while he waits.
_____________
The drive to the store is quiet, unbearably so. When he was first driven to his new lab he'd been too busy thinking about how his life was imploding to be bothered by the silence. He has no such distractions now. Carl sits in the drivers seat, eyes on the road and mouth closed. It feels like a government sponsored Uber with the cars fancy leather seats and clean smell.
"You got any music?" He blurts unable to handle the silent stillness any longer. He gets enough of that with little old him in that lab.
Carl shifts in his seat, his hands squeak on the steering wheel as he adjust his grip. "I do, got any requests?"
"Anything."
"You'll regret saying that," Carl says with a chuckle as he turns on the radio.
Immediately the car is filled with the sounds of…slurping? Grace looks around the car as if he'll find the answer within the leather but Carl just laughs over the sound. He watches Carl's shoulders bob up and down with each laugh as he dutifully continues to look towards the road.
The strange noises persist while vocalizations sound just as an electronic horn blares. Grace recognizes the song immediatly, its beat far too distinct. He hasn't heard it in a while and here, in the back of a car that he could never afford with a government agent is the last place he expected to hear it.
"Carl! I never knew you had it in you," he says an incredulous laugh bursting from his chest as red colors his cheeks. Carl laughs harder his shoulders shakeing while he hunches closer towards the wheel as he lets out a frankly adorable wheeze.
Grace moves in his seat, dancing as best as someone can with a seatbelt strapped across their chest while the sound of Brown Shuga by Sir Mix-A-Lot wraps around them. This is so much better than the stuffy silence of before.
Their laughter dies as the song continues on. Their lungs getting a much needed break. Carl glances at him through the rear view mirror, their eyes meet and it starts all over again. His stomach hurts from how hard he's laughing, tears prick at his eyes and he hasn't smiled this much in what feels like weeks.
They continue like that for a while. Carl plays more and more songs like that one, classics of the era. Some he knows, others he doesn't but the good mood lasts. For him at least. As they draw closer to the entrance Carl's posture shifts. He stands taller, straighter and the easy going gate to his steps turns purposeful. It reminds him of how Carl was when they first met. A stoic imposeing figure, every bit of what he thought a murky government agent would be.
It's fascinating really, to see how quickly Carl changes into someone unreadable. Grace still has joy nestled within his chest, light, warm and fuzzy. He wonders if Carl does too, where the man in the car had gone and if he'll ever see him again.
He hopes he sees him again. That Carl was fun and his smile is cute. It reshapes his entire face, softening his eyes and his jaw in a way that is unexpected for such an imposing figure.
They grab their respected carts and set off. Wandering through the endless aisles as they search for what he needs. Utterly mundane and domestic in a way Grace tries not to think about.
They find the duck tape not long after and Grace throws some into the cart. Carl studies him a moment and then copies him but he throws it behind his back, adding a bit of flare. Carl teeters on his feet after he does it a pause like one of his students waiting for him to notice something purposeful they've done but won't say.
It's surprisingly bashful and Grace can't help but to tease him for it. And with how Carl was laughing at him earlier it's more than fair.
He looks him up and down before adding in more duck tape. A tilt and a pointed nod with his head and the challenge is set. He sees the moment Carl gets it, a nod back and that stony exterior chips. It lets some of the light shine through the cracks. Grace feels a smile trying to escape and he bites it down. He can't look so smiley right now he has to be serious to make it seem like he has a chance at winning.
Carl takes aim and nails a long shot throw into the cart. Impressive but he has something better. He picks up more duck tape and juggles it, ending his little stint by depositing each roll into the cart. He holds his hands out at his sides, daring Carl to find fault with it. He doesn't and they wordlessly decide that there needs to be other challenges.
Bowling pins get fashioned out of boxes of tinfoil, duck tape as the bowling ball. Carl beats him at this one, getting a strike and although he's losing Grace silently cheers for him. Waving his hands in the air as Carl preens. He smiles real wide, looking at the ground as he waves Grace's joy away. If he could show it he bets Carl would be blushing and as it is he's two steps away from clasping his hands and swooning like a rom-com lead.
Rom-com? He thinks but he quickly shoves it away. Best not to ruminate on the direction his mind is taking him. He has star eating space dots to worry about.
But he can't help it.
More and more of his facade cracks and he's back to the Carl that had brought him here. His gate turns easy and the line to his shoulders disappears. He smiles freely and Grace is glad for it, he likes seeing it. It makes his chest feel all fuzzy.
They finish gathering what he needs but their little unspoken contest has no clear winners. "A tie?" Grace suggests, sticking his hand out as they walk to an available register.
Carl clasps his hand, giving it a firm shake. "A draw," he says getting one last little tease in there for the road.
Neither one of them lets go, maybe it's a matter of pride. One last game as the loser is who lets go first but Grace's heart begs him to consider another reason. His heart should know better, he thinks but he stays clasping his hand. They remain like that, their hands clasped together as they squeeze back and forth even as they reach the register.
It poses a problem when it comes to unloading the carts something the young woman behind the counter elects to ignore. She doesn't bat an eyelash at them and Grace has a pang of sympathy for the woman. Someone has to be in customer service for a long time to gain this level of not caring about what customers are up to. It's like a second skin and he remembers it well. He had to pay for his schooling somehow.
Him and Carl lock eyes and lift their joined hands between them. They lift them up and down as if they're about to play rock paper scissors.
"One," Carl starts.
"Two," Grace says although he doesn't want to let go but efficiency demands it.
"Three!" And they let go of each other's hands at the same time.
Carl nods at him and he nods back. They unload the carts much better now but Grace likes this little field trip. He wants it to last a moment longer. He eyes the items by the register and spots some things he definetly needs. Licorice and sour Skittles get heaped onto the belt, a quick glance at Carl and the last minute editions are accepted.
Carl grabs a pair of sunglasses and slips them on. They're a see through brownish yellow and usually he doesn't get the point of them but he does now. They look good on him and thankfully don't hide his eyes. It's a shame everytime his usual shades do.
His hand itches to hold Carl's again. He's always been a touchy feely guy. Absent touches and loose hugs and he gets much less of it as of late. At least in his classroom he has people to talk to. In the lab it's just him and the specimen. Sure, there's the crackle of Carl's voice over the radio but it's not the same as him being there.
The itch intensifies, becoming an ache in his chest and Grace nabs a packet of licorice before it becomes too much. He twirls the candy in his hand, chewing on it and the burst of tacky sweetness helps. It also ensures he doesn't blurt out anything stupid.
Carl hands him a pair of sunglasses, headless to his inner turmoil and he'll keep it that way thank you. Grace doesn't hesitate to put them on. Carl hands one to the cashier and she pauses, scans it and puts it on her head, nestled in her hair.
"Do you have a coupon?" She asks once they're nearing the end.
Carl's face turns blank. "We don't need a coupon, we're the government."
Doubt darkens the cashier's brow. "Which government?"
"All of em," Carl's face breaks into that same easy smile he had when he suggested this little outing.
_____________
Somehow they manage to load everything into the car and get it back to the lab. Carl helps him build his model and a baby is born. Their baby and it is beautiful and shining, they have their other father's twinkle to his eyes. Well, that is all their child is but the point still stands.
Grace peers down at their kid through the microscope, lovingly labeled Baby as opposed to the other three. Their child is spectacular, shining so brightly. He coos at it and he swears he sees it ripple in response in its petri dish. He reaches for the walkie talkie and turns it on.
"If I wasn't always watching the kid then you would know that they are looking spectacular," Grace says.
He hears a sigh over the line and he can envision how Carl must look right about now. He's probably slumped in his chair aimlessly looking at the ceiling because Grace imagines that staring at him puttering around a lab all day is about as boring as it gets.
He feels a pang of sympathy for the guy coupled with a healthy dose of guilt. They don't have much longer with their child. The plane that will take Grace to Stratt is almost here. He pets the top of the microscope, he'd do so to their child if he could, as he murmurs reassurance.
"Your other father would be here if he could."
"He is correct, I would if I could," Carl confirms.
He gently pats the microscope a couple times as added reassurance because words can only do so much. He pulls away from the microscope, rubbing a hand down his face as he looks over at him. Carl isn't looking at him, well he's looking in his direction but his gaze in unfocused. He sweeps a glance over the man, considering his options to ease the guilt brought on by his own teasing.
Carl meets his gaze, his eyes lighting up in recognition as he gives him a little wave. Grace waves back and turns his attention to the lab at large, roaming over the equipment, the door and the safety gear he had once used when collecting their child. It's funny he thought he had thrown most of that away- wait.
He bolts upright and snags the radio again. "Carl…I think you can see the baby after all."
Carl hums through the line but Grace ignores it as he bolts towards the door. He sifts through the available safety gear, goggles, gloves and flimsy looking white coverings one would wear at the doctors. He does quick glances back at Carl as he tries to gauge his size. Carl is now up and pacing like a worried expectant father except his bundle of joy is already here.
Grace nabs what he thinks will fit and waves them above his head. Carl stops his pacing to stare at him and Grace motions for him to come over. With a decisive nod Carl does exactly that. Grace steps out, handing him the items and is pleased to find that his guesses were correct. Everything seems to fit just fine over his clothes.
"Don't touch anything," he says as he lets Carl in.
"I wouldn't," Carl says while standing before the microscope.
He silently stares at it for a moment, tilting his head to one side. "Is there any way to lift it?" He moves his hand upwards as he says it.
Grace shakes his head. "No."
His mouth thins but Carl bends down and looks through the microscope, his hands steadfastly at his sides. "That's them?" A smile spreads across his face, bright and blinding. He glances to Grace. "That's our baby?"
His smile is so big it's bordering on goofy and oh frick his heart is melting. Is he having heart palpitations? His heart is making a sound effort to beat through his chest and his breath is knocked out like a punch. Sorry Earth, your oh so important scientist dies from Carl being too cute.
He swallows it down and he swears he sees Carl smirk, that challenging twinkle to his eyes that their child somehow inherited. His tongue feels heavy and stupid in his mouth.
"Yup, that's our- that's our baby."
But Carl has already turned back to looking at their child. His smile hasn't lessened an ounce as he does. "Wow. Our baby is as red as you Sunshine."
Grace chokes on his own spit.
________________
Grace walks out of the party feeling a little fuzzy around the edges and he'd feel even better if his bladder wasn't screaming at him. Even if it wasn't he'd step out anyways. The energy in the room is odd, equal parts joyous and desperate. Hard not to be when three people attending are getting sent off to their deaths sometime soon.
They take it in stride though, better than he would if he was in their position that's for sure. The thought unnerves him, a cold shiver sent up his spine that the warmth of the alcohol in his gut is powerless against. He pushes the thought from his mind as he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other.
He makes it to the restroom and he is in the process of relieving himself at a urinal when the sound of footsteps alert him that someone else has entered the room. At first he ignores the other person, it's rude to look but curiosity gets the better of him. He sneaks a glance in their direction and then has to do a double take.
"Carl?" He asks before he can think better of it.
Carl nods in his direction, already relieving himself too and Grace wishes he would die. Why did he say something now? Neither one of them can do a thing about it, trapped with their dicks in hand. Grace finishes up and he tucks himself away but neglects to move.
He doesn't think he'd have the willpower to keep his eyes to the floor.
His face feels hot, from the alcohol and the embarrassment that's slowly crawling up his neck. He hears Carl zip himself back up and they move to the sinks. They stand side by side washing their hands.
A million questions race through Grace's mind. All that comes out is, "I didn't see you at the party."
Carl finishes washing his hands quicker than he does. Stupid sober minded dexterity. His hands are already dried and Grace had hardly noticed him doing it.
Carl looks at him and for the first time his eyes are hard. Steeled over with a somber edge that makes Grace's stomach twist.
"Best not to get attached," Carl says.
Uh oh.
That's not his fun voice. That's the one he used when he had shown up at his job with Stratt. Carl turns to leave and Grace does something even stupider. He reaches out and grabs his hand, tugging him back towards him.
"Dance with me?" He says a little too loud judging by Carl's wince. "Please."
Carl's face flickers through emotions faster than a television channel. Elation, anger and sadness is all he catches before it goes blank. Grace fears the worst but then his hand is squeezing his and a familiar smile creeps onto his face.
"Alright."
Grace lets out a breathless laugh, warmth flooding his veins so powerfully he's lightheaded. "Yeah?"
"I can change my mind…"
Grace doesn't need to be told twice. He pulls him closer, an action that Carl must oblige as there isn't a shred of evidence to suggest that Grace is stronger than him by any means. He holds their joined hands out, wraps an arm around Carl's waist and swings into the first steps of a slow dance.
"Here?" Carl laughs, joy lifting some of the somber sag to his shoulders.
Grace can't help but to giggle madly at his own antics. This is stupid, idiotic really but he doesn't regret it. Not with his hand in his, an arm around his waist and their chests nearly pressed together to accommodate for the crowded space. The crowd consisting of a row of urinals, sinks and stalls.
"Hey! YOU said that you could change your mind big guy. It's your fault," he says through his giggles and what a sight he makes.
He knows he must look like a mess to Carl. His face red for a myriad of reasons, laughing manically as he's dressed in his frumpy fox sweater complete with jeans he's worn for two days now. Meanwhile, Carl is calm and composed in his fresh pressed suit and easy smile.
He doesn't stay composed for long.
At Grace's accusation Carl's smile widens, until he too is laughing. It is quiet, barely heard over the thumping of music that bleeds through the bathroom walls but it is wonderful. He had missed hearing it.
Carl ducks his head against Grace's shoulder as if to hide his face. Both of them laugh harder for it as they continue to shuffle their crappy impromptu dance. It hardly works, Carl is taller than him and throws their already shoddy balance so off course that Grace looses his footing.
He begins to tip backwards and all he can do is flounder, holding onto Carl tighter like that'll do anything to stop their descent. Carl takes notice soon after and he swiftly corrects it. He wraps his arm around Grace's waist and tugs them both up, righting them but eliminating any space between them. They stand pressed against one another, chests heaving and shoulders shaking as they laugh at what they've gotten themselves into.
"You laugh at my accusations, you laugh at almost killing us…" Grace says, trailing off. His tease has no real bite to it, it's hard to keep it when Carl's warmth and the smell of his cologne envelopes him.
He stares up at him feeling gooey and warm as their dance has transformed to rocking side to side. Carl doesn't let him go, there is no scramble to get back to how they were. The music has changed, some slow sad song that an equally as somber female voice sings.
We can meet again somewhere.
Grace looks to his lips, tracing the curve of his mouth and the way his mustache curls around his upper lip.
Somewhere far away from here.
Carl leans down and Grace rises to meet him, standing on his tip toes until their lips meet. Carl's lips are soft as they shyly move against his own. Slow, unsure but oh so warm. His facial hair tickles his upper lip but Grace wouldn't trade it for anything.
Carl grows bolder with his movements. His mouth and his hands. The hand at his hip hooks into his waist band. Carl's free hand burries itself in his hair and Grace sucks in a breath as he inevitably pulls a few strands. Grace tightens his hold on him in kind feeling how his soft stomach squishes against his front.
His insides are liquid, molten and as slow moving as their abandoned dance. Where they are and what they're gathered here to celebrate falls away as nothing else matters but the two of them.
He hears Carl moan into the kiss, the sound sending a burst of heat across his skin. He smiles against his lips and as much as he doesn't want to, he still needs to breathe. He breaks away from Carl and they stand there, holding one another as they breath the heated air between them.
The door to the restroom creaks open and someone stumbles in. It isn't anyone he recognizes and the person is too drunk to take any notice of them but Carl pulls away regardless. He knows what's coming before it does.
"I'll see you later Sunshine," Carl says as he slips out of the restroom.
We never learn, we've been here before.
"No, no I don't," he mutters to himself as he stares at the space Carl had just occupied. He catalogues the places where the warmth of his touch lingers before heading back out into the fray. He takes a seat at the bar and watches as Stratt sings.
He follows her out without hesitation.
____________
The day has arrived. The stage is set, their people ready.
The air is cold, nipping at his nose while the clouds are swollen and dark with the promise of rain. But hope lingers as Stratt and him talk of a distant future.
Then fire plumes up into the sky as a great cloud in the distance and an impossibly loud boom sounds. The building beneath his feet violently shakes while a rumble reaches into his chest and shakes his very bones.
Cold dread sinks into his gut like a stone. Grace instantly knows what the destruction means. People are dead.
He's running before he can think and later, when the worst is confirmed, he sinks to the ground and cries. The hard concrete hurts his knees but he doesn't dare get up as the sobs wrack his body. He shakes as hot tears run down his cheeks and through the gaps between his fingers.
He can't breathe around the pressing weight in his chest. The notion that he played a part in this. If he had just- he should have-, ravages his mind in a loop. Round and round it goes as he shudders through every breath.
He thinks Stratt was ahead of him. Maybe behind him? He can't remember anymore.
Distantly, he registers footsteps approaching. Heavy footfalls that slap against the pavement as they run towards him. The sound grows louder as they approach until arms are wrapping around him.
He recognizes the touch. Carl. It's Carl.
He half leans, half collapses into his embrace as he loses the strength to hold himself up. All he can do is sob, his muscles weakened due to the air his body refuses to give. He chokes and stutters while his chest heaves.
It hurts. His chest is heavy while his stomach is restless. It twists itself into knots, bundles that slither around and through each other constantly.
His face is pressed into Carl's chest and he feels the area growing wet with his tears. Probably snot too.
Carl holds him through it. A hand carding through his hair while another rubs his back. It chases away some of the sudden chill in his bones.
"Come on Sunshine," Carl says. "Shine again for me?"
Grace shakes his head. He tries to speak but nothing comes out except a pitiful wheeze while he nestles his face further into Carl's jacket.
"You will," Carl says and his words are firm like this is fact not fiction.
Carl's hold shifts, one arm loops around his midsection the other hooks beneath his knees and Grace realizes far too late what is happening. He's jostled a bit as Carl stands, taking him with him.
__________________
The air is tense, swollen and fat with the heavy question yet to be answered.
The fact of the matter is that Dr. DuBois and Shapiro are dead. They have no more options left.
So then why are they looking at him like that?
The longer they stare the more things slot into place with a horrible amount of sense. "I'm not an astronaut," he says and even he knows the argument is weak. He's the only option left despite never being one at all.
"I don't need an astronaut," Stratt says, her words calm and measured. "I need an expert in Astrophage who is mission ready."
"I'm not ready. I don't have any training," and he can't help but to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. At the crushing sense of finality that has taken residence beside his heart.
"You'll pick it up," llyukhina cuts in.
He hates the way they're looking at him. llyukhina and Yáo. Their mouths frowning slightly, their eyes dimmed in that certain way they get when expressing sympathy. Shouldn't this be the other way around? They're the ones actually going.
"I'm not an astronaut," he says banging the table in emphasis because can't they see how unprepared he is? "I put the naut in astronaut. I've never done anything. I've never done a space walk. I can't even moonwalk! I haven't done the the whole pool thing."
The others continue to stare at him, blatant sympathy in their eyes for the dilemma they've all but dumped into his lap. Technically it's not their fault either. Technically it's whoever accidentally gave the originally intended, and backup, scientists the wrong amount of Astrophage.
Grace feels like he's hardly there. Floating inside his mind a thousand miles away from this cold office room and the stiff wooden chair he's sitting in. He feels his mouth move as he continues to spout all the reasons why he isn't the one for the job. He hears himself speak, the others too but it's like they're behind a thick wall.
Carl silently stands towards the wall behind Stratt. His expression blank in a way that only now Grace can see the cracks in it. He wishes he could sink into his arms again. To slot himself between them and nestle into his chest and forget that this is happening. Carl doesn't acknowledge him and the ache this sends through him jolts him back into the conversation.
His head throbs and his ears ring with a high-pitched noise. He covers his face with his hands, dragging them down as a means to further ground himself.
"So…just so I'm clear you're asking me right now to," Grace says the words like they're ash on his tongue. Something he wants to get rid of as fast as possible. "Give up my life."
"I am. We all are," Stratt nods.
"Can I think about this?"
"You have three hours."
______________
He spends those three hours listless and crying. Alone in an empty conference room save for himself. He paces, he mumbles to himself about his students. He can do it for them, right? They deserve a future too, a good one but then his stomach drops as if he's high up in the air and the weight of what getting on that ship would mean crushes him all over again.
To say he thought about it would be a lie.
The only thing theat runs through his mind is, I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to di-
________________
Eventually, his time runs out. Carl appears in the doorway, a familiar face that has relief and dread surging through him in equal measure. Happy to see him, pained because of the circumstances.
Carl doesn't say a word while he politely averts his gaze as Grace cleans the tear tracks from his face. Silently they wind through the hall towards Stratt and as they walk he stares at Carl's back. The bathroom feels like it was ages ago. A fuzzy thing wrapped up in warmth, happiness and the echoes of muffled music through the tiled walls. He tries to grasp it, to fit it around his shoulders in order chase away the dreadful chill that has taken residence within his being.
But it escapes him. It fizzles and dissolves into wisps he can't grasp, like a dream upon waking. Perhaps that is all it was and ever will be. A silly pipe dream that Grace was stupid enough to think could be real.
Carl slows until he's walking right beside him. He feels the other man glancing at him but he ignores it. He can't give in to the fantasy. He doesn't deserve it for what he's about to do. In an act of selfish preservation he's going to doom them all. Including Carl.
I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to di-
Without thinking, Grace intertwines their hands. It's cruel of him, he knows but he is selfish to his core. He needs him. He needs his warmth and his silent strength that he manages to pull out of nowhere at a moments notice. Even if seconds prior they were laughing until they were breathless.
Carl squeezes his hand in comfort and he latches onto it. He squeezes his hand so hard he can feel his tendons shift beneath his skin. Carl squeezes right back, making the delicate bones in his hand creak but it helps. God, it helps.
They hold hands until they reach Stratt's door. Grace misses it immediately but he won't embarrasse Carl by blatantly reaching for him. He shouldn't make this harder than it is. Selfish, selfish, selfish. Carl holds the door open for him and when Grace fails to move he gently pushes him through the door with a hand between his shoulder blades.
He wonders how poorly Carl will think of him when he delivers his decision. He hopes he hates him for it, he really, really, does.
Carl shuts the door behind him as soon as he's through it. The click of it closing rings with the weight of a judge's gavel.
His legs feel heavy and stiff, about as sturdy as a baby deer's first wobbly steps but he sits in the chair across from Stratt and pleads his case. She dismantles every argument he makes with brutal efficiency. Two men clad in suits, one of them carrying a briefcase enter the room and start to crowd him.
"What is this?" He asks as he backs away. His hands held out to give himself a sliver of added distance.
"Mission plan has stated to induce your coma early in order to maximize your safety. You will be remembered as a hero."
His stomach drops at her words, the finality in them. Hot tears dribble down his cheeks as he keeps his eyes glued to the two men advancing towards him. They draw closer, he pleads, he begs but nobody is listening to him. Panic seizes him. And he stops thinking rationally.
He throws a chair at the two men and they deftly dodge it. His back hits something hard, a bookshelf, and he scrambles up the shelves as they reach for him.
"Sit down and we do it differently," Stratt says, her voice thick with unshed tears.
"I can't," he pleads and he bolts.
He runs out of the room and down the halls. He hears others tailing him, their footsteps loud and many. It's a lot more than two. Hallways meld together as a bland blur. They all look the same but he doesn't care where he goes as long as he ends up outside. Somewhere far away.
He finds an exit and he nearly weeps as fresh outside air hits his face. But the men aren't far behind and just as he's about to reach the fence hands drag him to the ground.
"No! No!" He yells. He struggles in their hold but there's too many of them.
Hands clasp his arms, roughly pulling them behind his back. He kicks but they take that away from him too as they hold him down. The ground is hard beneath him and he scrabbles for purchase as his world crashes down around him.
"I can't do it!"
I want to live. I want to live. Fear consumes him totally and completely. The dread is a stone in his stomach, twisting and pulling him to act in any way that he can. He rips up grass, he wriggles, he thinks at some point he bites as he makes it as difficult for them as he can manage because he's not meant for this. Why won't they listen to him? He can't do this. Please.
He feels a weight on him shift and catches sight of the needle in his peripheral vision.
"No! Don't do it, don't do it don-" he begs but it's too late. He feels a prick as the needle pierces him, the cold rush of fluid flooded beneath his skin.
This is it. He's failed. He is going to die. His vision grows fuzzy around the edges like he's stayed up longer than he should have and still fights sleep. As his conciousness begins to fade he sees a familiar face that once looked at him with kindness.
"You know who you are," Carl says.
Behind him a rainbow stretches across the sky. Its edges blurred and bleeding into the gray sky behind it. And after everything Grace can't tell which is prettier.
Carl smiles at him, an attempt at comfort as it's the last kind thing he can give him. It doesn't reach his eyes.
"You're gonna do great."
The last thing Grace sees on Earth is Carl's smiling face.
______________
"Grace have mate, question?"
He remembers warm brown skin, a baritone voice, laughter, pressed suits and sunglasses. The feeling of lips on his and warm touch but when he tries to think of something substantial, a name or a face, it's blank.
"No," he says but the word leaves a sour grit on his tongue.