Chapter Text
Three days. Colt had ignored all calls to his phone for three days in Australia. That was it. His calls to Ryland had been going to voicemail for four days now. That wasn't fair.
The TV murmured senselessly to fill the oppressive silence of his trashed apartment as he scrolled through their texts for the millionth time, scanning over message after message he hadn't answered while everything went down. It wasn't like he didn't have a good excuse; between being flown in for a last minute job, finding a dead body, being tortured, and getting framed for murder, he hadn't had much time to answer texts. Now his stomach turned looking over the ones he had ignored.
(Missed call)
Pick up I have a story
(Missed call)
Fine whatever
I'll be heading back to town soon, like three days
You okay?
(Missed call)
(Missed call)
Are you still mad about the $20
(Venmo sent)
There now call me
(Missed call)
(Missed call)
Come on, I'm worried
(Missed call)
Colt scrolled down further.
(Photo attachment)
Colt
What is this
Call me right now
This isn't funny
(Missed call)
Colt
Please
(Missed call)
(Missed call)
(Missed call)
(Missed call)
(Missed call)
The photo was a blurry picture of a TV in Ryland's temporary apartment with a news broadcast on. He could just make out the words. American stuntman Colt Seavers commits suicide in Sydney.
Colt was going to be sick again.
He had never had to worry about Ryland like this. Not since they became adults and Ryland was the one who chose the stable, boring career and spent his nights in bed by ten.
He tossed his phone on the table and put his head in his hands. Think. For the past couple months, Ryland had been working on the Petrova Taskforce. That much he knew for sure. He got to do his nerdy science stuff in fancy labs and seemed happy enough about it, even though it was the busiest Colt had seen him since college. He had said he was being flown out to a remote location for a few months for the project and stubbornly ignored Colt's protests. Colt kept up with most of the major news reports on the project, but it was kind of over his head anyway. It had everything to do with Ryland and nothing to do with Colt. He saw his name mentioned often in research articles, but that was it. They never went more than a few days without exchanging at least a text, even when it was about something stupid. They had never in their life gone an entire week without talking.
Colt had been anxious for the project to be overwith and for Ryland to get home already. He'd flown out for the movie and planned to be back by the time Ryland came home, a week or two after the spaceship launched.
He flew out. Went off the radar for a few days while the whole Tom Ryder murder-torture-framing-chase thing happened. His supposed murder-suicide was reported on international news. Of course he was worried the whole time that Ryland might have seen it and gotten the wrong idea.
The moment he could, he had called Ryland, ready to explain everything and get scolded for how could you be this reckless, why didn't you tell me anything, Jesus Christ the news said you were dead, come home right now, also I have to tell you about the petty drama between my kids this week.
Instead the call went to voicemail.
Then the second one.
And the third.
Okay, that was fine. There was a massive time difference. He was so exhausted and jetlagged he barely knew what time it was for him, let alone back home. So before he passed out, he left a text for Ryland: NOT DEAD, don't freak out the news was wrong. im fine. Tom Ryder is in jail. crazy couple of days. call me when you see this and I'll explain everything. it was $25 btw
He never got the call back.
Not the next morning when he picked up the phone as soon as his eyes opened, expecting to see fifteen texts from Ryland and instead finding nothing. Not when he checked one last time before boarding his flight back to America. Not when he landed, like how he had convinced himself the entire flight that it was all just some weird international travel thing.
Ryland wasn't petty enough to ignore his calls just because he was mad, right? He might have in the beginning, when he could've thought Colt was just ignoring him to be an asshole, but not after the news broadcast. Not when he thought Colt was actually dead.
Colt wrung his hands and stared at the phone on the table, willing it to light up with Ryland's name.
Four days.
All those texts while Colt couldn't answer, and now that he was desperate for any word from Ryland, his phone was silent.
"... Ilyukhina, and scientist Dr. Ryland--"
The TV snapped Colt out of his thoughts in an instant. Ryland. Some report on the mission. Anything. He'd take anything, even some long research report for molecular biologists he didn't understand a word of.
But Ryland's name wasn't usually on the TV.
Colt snatched the remote and wound the news back a few clicks. It was a woman sat at a desk reporting on the project. The news was always talking about it, but usually the same things just to make people feel better about everything. This time, Colt listened.
"... launch day for the crew of the Hail Mary," the reporter said. "Today we see off the three astronauts who will be remembered as heroes for their sacrifice. We'll be holding a moment of silence to show our gratitude for the selfless crew of the Hail Mary: Captain Yáo Li-Jie, engineer Olesya Ilyukhina, and scientist Dr. Ryland Grace. Just hours after takeoff, all reports tell us things are running smoothly. Please join us in a moment of commemorative silence for the crew of the mission."
... After a long moment of stunned silence, Colt laughed. Relief flooded over him the same way it did when he landed a risky stunt without a scratch.
The news had got it wrong. Ryland was always talking about how it was obvious when the media coverage covering the mission didn't know what they were talking about, especially when it came to the science involved. There was almost never a report without some kind of mistake. This would be embarrassing for the station, sure, and they'd issue an apology and correct the name to whatever it was supposed to be, but there were literally thousands of people on this incredibly fast-moving project with tons of foreign names. Of course they'd get the names mixed up as reports rushed out on the mission. Ryland would roll his eyes and go on a tangent about media coverage when he saw it.
With a new lightness, Colt pushed up from the couch and poured himself a drink in the kitchen, his back turned to the TV, letting the news report drone on.
Fuck it, he thought when he returned to sink into the couch. He'd call Ryland for the hundredth time. Maybe he had been watching and they could make fun of the news station together and forget the last week. He clicked the call button and sipped from a glass of whiskey as the phone rang pleasantly.
Colt had been expecting a few rings, then maybe voicemail which he'd be annoyed about and hang up, but this time the line went to a new automated voice he hadn't heard before.
"This number is unavailable. Please check the number you have dialed."
Then a beep, and it hung up.
He pulled the phone away from his ear to frown at it, and as he did, his gaze caught the TV screen again. It was showing photos of the crew with short biographies over somber, hopeful music. It still showed Ryland's name by mistake. Colt couldn't read the biography before it faded to the next photo, one with all of the leading figures on the mission. Then the next one.
It was a live video feed from a camera on the ship. Three figures laid on platforms with masks over their mouths, each wearing identical suits, so still they could have been dead. The inside of the ship looked cold and cramped. The first figure was an older Chinese man. The second was a shorter Russian woman.
The third was his little brother.