Work Text:
There's something sad about Ryland Grace that everyone seems to notice.
Young or old, friend or not-quite-foe, he always just seems slightly off. Ajar somehow. Like walking down an art gallery only to find one painting has been hung upside down - nothing you'd clock immediately, but once you see it you wonder why.
When he was younger - after his parents died and no one was around to take him in - he was granted more sympathy. They called him a 'poor darling', his friends parents took turns packing him lunches, he was 'ever so mature for his age.' His teachers called the authorities when he came to school with bruises at five years old, getting rid of the family who hurt him for... well, a better one, sure, but not one who loved him.
Little Ryland would just sit on the sidelines. He was fed, housed, clothed. He had birthday parties, gifts, Christmases. But it wasn't the same. They liked him - little Ryland knew they likely cared for him in their own way. But they didn't love him - not like parents should. And he'd watch his foster siblings grandparents and family surround them in a show of support for every milestone, every event, every little pebble on the road of their life, and wonder why he couldn't have the same.
When high school came, it got worse. Not because Ry was a bad kid - quite the opposite, in fact. He was quiet, reserved, more likely to be found with his nose in a book than drugs, which seemed to be a surprise to the more close-minded teachers and parents who seemed to have ideas of what foster children were like. He answered his teachers respectfully, tried hard and excelled in school, and all in all was the kind of son many parents wished they had. But with age comes other issues - well, other teenage boys.
The girls weren't so bad - but that might be because Ry never really interacted with them. But the boys liked to play with him in a way Ry hadn't really been played with since he was five. They slammed him into surfaces, barged him in physical education, laughed at his thin frame and oversized glasses. Laughed at his interests, his friends, his cherubic appearance... Ry just took it, quiet as always. People pitied him, then, if they weren't prodding fun at him. Some defended him, but only to prove their own self-righteousness - never for him.
Then he turned 18, and his foster parents turfed him out. The paychecks stopped coming, and he was one too many heads to feed - once the new toddler found their way into their home, of course. So Ry moved away, to university - no savings, no funds, just a rusting bike and nowhere else to go.
He worked hard, applied himself. Made proper friends - not friends you said goodbye to at the end of the school year and never thought of again. He played board games, crashed on couches, and cried about his life to people who cared about him. He even did the deed with a couple who thought he was cute, just to figure out what he wanted, and when he decided it was neither they accepted it joyfully and showed him a label that wasn't perfect but worked, proved he was neither defective or broken but just different.
But as university ended, so did the friendships. Many moved away for opportunities, some moving back home, others even leaving the country for a taste of freedom, and eventually the phone calls stopped, the meet ups stopped and they grew apart. And Ry was alone again, still chasing and chasing and chasing success because it was all he had left until he became Doctor Grace.
He stood on that stage, knowing not a single soul in that audience was there for him. And when he moved into the field, he was appalled.
How close minded can some scientists be? Doctor Grace had believed that science was the most freeing thing in the world - the pursuit of truth and knowledge, many minds melding together to figure out what was true and considering others opinions with care and grace...
And then Doctor Grace was laughed out of the door in a manner all too reminiscent of high school, booted from his passion and left to rot.
He went back to university. Alone, broken, wounded. He barely spoke, pursuing a teaching degree and going to school.
He thought the kids would be bad. Thought they would see his failure, or sense it. The teachers were the worst.
Mr Grace was, objectively, rather handsome. He was single, alone, and needed someone to 'fix him' - or so they said. There was no acceptance that he didn't want a partner, or that he was happy by himself (he wasn't, but that wasn't the point). If they weren't offering him a partner (themselves, their daughters, sons, siblings) they were trying to persuade him to get a cat, dog or in one case a cockatoo. His neighbouring science teacher joked about getting him a harp seal once, much to the delight of the staff room. Mr Grace just sat there, with an awkward smile, too childish for the adults around him to see him as his own person because he liked silly games, stupid t shirts and didn't date, drink or do drugs. And if that were all his life was from then on out - ribbing (albeit more friendly than before), flirting and standing on the sidelines, maybe he would have ended it. He would have been lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind.
But there's something about children, especially when they sense someone is deeply sad, that can be so genuinely kind that they bring a sort of brightness to your life.
He would never have kids - god no, he could barely keep a cactus alive never mind a child... But after his first few lessons where they did tasks and he stared into space, sad blue eyes glazed and mind so far away they had to call his name thrice before he'd respond, they seemed to notice. They stopped being so loud and noisy, started listening and asking him more questions, as if to keep him talking. In a group project once, Mr Grace heard one of them whispering to another, and the word 'depression' met his ears.
"My mum has it," she's whispered, eyes glancing up at him, "It's the same."
And then the rumour travelled around the school, and Mr Grace hunched almost further in on himself in preparation for more torment, but things didn't change for the worse.
In fact, they almost got better?
The kids were more receptive to his lessons, joking with him freely in a way that brought genuine smiles to his lips. Some brought him sweet treats that they'd baked with their parents, clumsily decorated but delicious. Others came to his room at lunch time to talk about science, about fun games and how some teachers were just the worst but never you, Mr Grace! You're the best!
The understanding seemed to pass from age group to age group - be nice to Mr Grace, or the upperclassmen will let you know about it. And, despite himself, Mr Grace became more confident. He wore stupid science puns, played silly games, indulged a little more in the childish side of him that had so long been repressed it begged to be set free. He made his kids laugh, and cringe, and had a running gag that if they could make him cry laughing in a lesson he would let them go home with no homework, or silly homework that still got the point across. He once assigned them homework to get the maths teacher to send him a flabbergasted Facebook message, and cried laughing when she messaged him 'You're a scientist and you think the Earth is flat??'
He lived happily for a few years, tolerating the adults and adoring his students, until Eva Stratt turned his life upside down.
Suddenly it was a whirlwind - science, suns, astrophage, test tubes. His bed became a foreign object, more often than not Grace drifting off in a chair until Carl or someone shook him awake, guiding him to his quarters to slump on a tiny mattress with a thin sheet for a few hours. Numbers whirled in his head, and he didn't have friends but somehow he made them anyway.
Everyone was so dour. Sure, they were saving the world, but that was a good thing! So Grace wore his silly shirts with pride, was the first to give a grin and crack an awkward joke to try and lighten the mood (even if he found himself slipping into old habits and hating himself for it again). And somehow it worked.
He made friends. He thought, at least. Carl was his friend. Eva liked him. Ilyukhina said he was cute, Yáo seemed to find him similarly endearing, and DuBois and Shapiro seemed to like him well enough to joke with him and play 'the beanbag is lava'. Some of the scientists still believed he was 'away with the fairies', but they had a mutual respect for each other. And as they got closer to launch, those friendships solidified, culminating in actual conversations, inside jokes and gift giving. Grace kept live calling his classes when he had a moment, teaching them about Astrophage and his work in ways they could understand, and thought he saw some understanding creeping into his colleagues eyes as they looked at him.
And then there was fire.
A needle.
Tears dripping down his cheeks.
Everything was going right.
It was never going to last.
His eyes closed.
.
.
.
Who am I?