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Out of everything, the descent from the Hermes to Earth was possibly the least dangerous thing Mark Watney had attempted over the course of the past three and a bit years. In fact, while most astronauts would be at least slightly concerned about plummeting back to Earth and praying to arrive in one piece, Mark was exhibiting his usual calming influence over the rest of the crew. His easy grin and quick wit had the group reflecting small smiles and breathing easy into their routines when the time came to move from the Hermes to the FederationXI. Their ever strong commander had been dipping into her serious tone over the course of the week, finding that Naval quirk she employed to keep them in line, and now it was loading them into the FederationXI one by one. Despite the regimented schedule and imposing sharp atmosphere, Mark cracked his morbid jokes that the rest of the crew could only roll their eyes at as they strapped in.
“Y’know what’d be ironic?”
“What?” Rick replied, his monotone preemptively unimpressed with whatever Mark’s comment was going to be.
“If I was only one to survive the descent - I’d be the most hated guy on Earth, I’d need to go back to Mars.”
“Shut up, we’ve only got a couple of hours left.” Johanssen piped up from his left side, but the smirk in her chide stole the harshness from it.
“Nah, he’d be pissed if we didn’t make it.” Chris chipped in, clinking his seat belts together from a few heads over.
“Didn’t you say you wanted all the memorials back home to be of you?” Rick asked, “Can’t have that if you’re the lone survivor, buddy.” The mocking voice of reason, two seats to his right, put a grin at his lips.
“Yeah, you’re right, can’t have you guys stealing my glory at the last second.” Conceding his sarcastic stance, Mark continued his checks as he settled in for the last journey in space he would most likely ever have. “All right, Kazakhstan, here we come.”
Lewis’ voice stepped over the rest of them as she started communications between NASA in Houston, the space base in Kazakhstan, and a few other operations managers that had been looped in. Beginning the undocking, Mark nudged a friendly knee off of Johanssen’s. “You okay?”
“Mhm,” She hummed, but Mark could tell her disinterest was only nervous deflection. “Can't wait for real coffee.”
“Is that it? Just coffee?”
“Yep.”
“Y’know, I was just thinking-” Mark started quietly, the hint of mischief in his voice catching Beth’s attention.
“Don't do that, that's dangerous.”
“Shut up,” Mark responded, brushing by her comment, “This must be the most extreme way of introducing your parents to your new boyfriend, like, ever on the history of Earth - are you ready for that?”
Johanssen flicked her eyes towards Mark briefly before directing her attention back to her computer screen, her fingers tapping over the keys all the while.
“I'm pretty sure they'll just be happy to see me alive.” She replied with a pointed look that Mark ignored.
“It's definitely an impressive entrance to make, they won't forget Doctor Beck any time soon.” Mark said, mentioning Chris’ name loud enough for his ears to prick.
“Talking about me?”
“No way, buddy, just asking Vogel what he's looking forward to on the ground.” Mark covered, but knew Chris had probably heard far more than he was letting on. “And he said no more of you drugging us up.”
Although Mark couldn’t see Chris, he knew Chris would be rolling his eyes. The rest of the crew, even Commander Lewis once, loved to annoy him over what exactly were in those vitamins, if were they just vitamins, and what sort of pills was he really pushing here? It wasn’t uncommon for several wild NASA conspiracy theories to be born and stretched over what Chris was doling out with that morning’s rations.
“Ja,” Alex started, “I’m just… really looking forward to seeing my family, y’know?” His soft statement had invoked a few ‘me too’s’ from around the circle.
Alex’s thick accent hadn’t diluted during his five year round trip with a load of Americans and nor had his pride of nationalism since he only smiled at the thought of seeing his family again - no tears, no quivering lip, just a strong smile and twinkling glance over heads to Mark. Mark, on the other hand, only had two people waiting for him. Well, he had all his relatives, of course, but his main two were already in Kazakhstan, refusing to wait any longer to see their son. His parents, Patricia and David, were more than likely sitting in a minibus being run through the streets of Kazakhstan all the way out to the landing site in the bush. Even Mark couldn’t imagine what they were going through now - all this stress. First he was going to space, then he was in space, then he was dead, then he was alive and alone, then alive and in space again and now, the final, final, leg and there was still so much that could go wrong.
“Firing thrusters, three, two, thrusters on-” Commander Lewis was the only one talking, but even if it hadn’t been regulation for the rest of them to be quiet Mark was sure no one would be talking anyway. Lewis, Vogel and Martinez would be thinking of their spouses and kids while Johanssen and Beck would be thinking of their relatives and each other (something that had definitely not come as a shock to Mark who had loudly pronounced ‘finally’ upon hearing their news). Meanwhile, Mark was realising that touching down to Earth had him standing exactly where he had been before - alone in an apartment not far from the space centre with weekends spent at his parent’s house. Of course, other things would be different. The crew would be his friends for the rest of his life, they would meet up and keep in contact over e-mail and text. Except, when Vogel goes back to Germany it may be a bit difficult to meet up so often and not everyone lives in Houston, but a bond like this wouldn’t be one to break or fade. Hopefully.
“Firing engines.” Martinez’ voice had faded into the background as Mark ran on autopilot, relying on his ingrained training as his mind drifted. It really wasn’t going to be the same because he had somehow survived on Mars longer than anyone ever cared to think was possible and now he was about to suffer the media-drench consequences of that. Despite being the media-relations crew member, he was still being faced with an absolute endless run of interviews and talk shows and photoshoots for magazines for the far foreseeable future. It was something every astronaut had encountered, but not to this level. Not to the level of worldwide celebrity status for getting lost on Mars. Where would he be first? Ferguson? Fallon? Cordon? Would he be in Britain for Graham Norton? Jonathan Ross? And radio, be told over and over again that he probably had more expertise in the area than the host had, be subjected to bad jokes about ‘having a face for radio’. Something about travelling across the world for interviews and appearances had him feeling a little empty - he just travelled from Earth to Mars and back again, couldn’t he have some time to stand still and not be in immediate danger from every direction?
As the real descent began their shuttle grew more turbulent, shaking them from left to right, Martinez expertly kept them within their safety parameters like the professional he was. Mark, despite being jiggled about in his seat, was still all too aware of the hopes and prospects the rest of his team had; families, lives, and then there was him and his talk shows. His reflex to avoid sharp, personal truths had him mentally slamming himself for being too smart - just why did he have to survive on Mars? What an idiot. Mark swallowed against the reality; he was being hurtled back into a life he didn’t want.
If Mark could stand to think about it, what he wanted was the opposite of what he had been subjected to for two full years. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. After living on Mars with nothing but his own video diaries as company and then being surrounded by people who had found themselves partners, he didn’t want to be by himself. While part of him had almost grown used to being isolated, it wasn’t what he wanted. Sure, dating wouldn’t go amiss but who could he find that didn’t already know him now? Was there a tinder for astronauts? Or who wouldn’t know what the media had said about him or only wanted to be seen with him for attention? He didn’t want to presume that everyone he met might be like this, but how could he know for sure? He would’ve sighed at his uncertainty of his future he didn’t expect to have had he not been burning up through the Earth’s atmosphere.
He felt the parachutes deploying, the sudden rush through a white hot shake coming to a quick end. And that was it, there wasn’t much else to go wrong at this point. He was a few thousand feet off the Earth and if he knew it would’ve have fogged up his helmet, he would’ve let the tears swimming in his eyes run over.
“Firing final thrusters-” Martinez flicked a switch and a brief vibration shot through the floor up through Mark’s knees, shaking him from his negative thoughts and making him realise that he had a life to live - regardless of how it would pan out.. “Alright, landing in ten, nine, eight,” Eight seconds until Mark was safe for the first time in almost five years. “Seven, six,” The first time in five years he wouldn’t have to be concerned about where his next meal came from or if he had enough water to drink. “Five, four,” Not to worry about what could happen if a seal burst while he slept. “Three, two,” Two seconds away from a future he never thought he would have, a whole life ahead to find his feet again. “One.”
They were all prepared for a rough landing, and despite Martinez’s deft skills, the thump at the end felt like whiplash upon a concussion, but Mark would never be able to express the rush of gratitude he felt for it.
“Report.” Lewis asked clearly, not wanting to suggest even an inch of joy at being back until everyone was accounted for.
“Martinez, here.”
“Beck, here.”
“Vogel, here.”
“Johanssen, here.”
“Watney, inexplicably here.” His chest shook as he rasped for breath under the weight of an emotional burst. The small pod was full of cheers and yelling as Lewis checked in with whoever was listening to tell them ‘All safe, all home, Commander Melissa Lewis over and out’. Mark felt slaps on his shoulder, his legs and an awkward reach from Martinez from behind him that patted his helmet and, at that, Mark couldn’t stop the tears from spilling any more.
The lid of their pod was unscrewed and the bright sun shone down in a single beam causing each member to look up through a squint.
“Welcome home, everyone, how are you?” A heavily accented voice shouted into the pod from above.
“Tired.”
“Shaken, not stirred though-”
“Martinez, you’re not funny, man.”
“Is that the sun?”
“What year is it?”
“Just sit tight, we’ll get you out soon enough.” He said, not taking any of the jokes on board.
“Hey, Commander?” Johannssen said carefully from her seat beside Mark.
“Yes?”
“Mark’s crying again.”
“I’m not!” Mark disputed through a sob.
“He is.”
A round of sarcastic groans and a few ‘aw’s made the rounds of the pod as Mark laughed off the embarrassment.
“I’m happy crying, alright? Leave me alone.”
“If we did that in the first place, you wouldn’t be here.” Lewis noted before sliding a suited hand through his, giving him a small smile of comfort that he accepted appreciatively with a nod of his head. A few workers started to unbuckle the crew from their seats and hoist them out, one at a time. Remaining within the correct order, Mark was last to be dragged out and part of him was glad for it. It gave him time to prepare, time to adjust that in a few minutes he wouldn’t be cramped, he wouldn’t need a space suit or a helmet and he wouldn’t be staring at some sort of technology for the first time in far too long.
Mark wondered if his parents were standing outside, or if they would be a while off in a tent somewhere waiting on him with the rest of the crew’s family. Would they look different? He tried to think of his mom with a few more lines, or his dad with whiter hair, but their picture in his head was a little foggy… maybe it was the sudden grip of anxiety, but he couldn’t quite picture them clearly. His flight of panic was cut short when two men dropped into release him from his chair and grab him out.
His first foot onto soft soil made him crumble with the overwhelming emotion of being home. It was normal for astronauts to struggle with walking after being subjected to no-gravity for so long, but with his lengthy jaunt to Mars and the special gravity-inducing technology on the Hermes, he was expected to get along better than most. It was sore on his feet, but who cared? Who gave a shit, he was on Earth, a bit of pain was worth it. Popping off his helmet and letting it roll across the ground, his first breath of the unlimited oxygen he had missed so much was deep and hungry. It was so thick and perfect and he didn’t dare stop panting for more - even the hardest working NASA scientist couldn’t get the oxygen on the ships to be this delicious, and of course, he didn’t need to worry about extractors or making his own - it was here, free, and all around him.
He grasped at the seals for his gloves, laughing as he delved his fingers into the earth and found it damp. Damp - without any plastic sheeting or burning rocket fuel, it was just damp because it had rained.
“Fucking rain,” He muttered to himself, elated, “It’s been fucking raining.” Hearing footsteps coming over to him and his surname being called, he wiped the dirt from his hands on his suited thighs. As he stood up, a member of the extraction team threw a blanket around his shoulders and warned him to sit, but he ignored them and staggered to the rest of the crew, some of which were already in a hug. Throwing his arms around them, they laughed with tears in their eyes while thundering their boots off the ground.
“We fucking made it - 500 days in Space, two years on Mars, we’re home - we fucking did it-” The hug didn’t last much longer before names in familiar voices came from behind them. Mark heard them all but didn’t process any until he heard his own mother, her watery voice shouting as she ran, her hands extended out to reach him from metres away. She broke down immediately as she reached him, barely able to hold herself up under the weight of her relief. His dad had come up behind her, running after her all the while to throw his arms around Mark over his wife.
“You’re never going up there again, do you hear me.” Mark laughed at his dad’s remark into his ear and wasn’t surprised when his own throat was tight with emotion while his mom sobbed uncontrollably into his space suit.
“Never, never.” His mom weeped as she choked out a few words. “I thought we’d lost you, I thought-”
“I know-”
“No you don’t,” His mom cut him off, a traumatised sternness in her voice. “You have no idea, Mark, so you won’t ever do that to me again.”
Mark didn’t know what to say to a look like that, full of tears from struggles he caused, so he just nodded as his mom fixed at his poorly cut hair and cried.
“Besides,” Mark started, getting his voice back, “I think NASA’d go bust if they let me up there again.” Mark said as his dad eventually stepped away after pressing a kiss to his forehead, but kept a firm hand on Mark’s shoulder. His mom couldn’t stop looking up at him, stroking his cheek and bursting into tears all over again. She kept her arm around his and held his hand as they were lead towards a series of minibuses as if he might disappear from her grasp. The Watney family was taken on a bus with Martinez’s family back to the space centre for debriefing and their first press conference. It was the bus ride they all needed, with kids climbing all over Rick as they recalled the more lighthearted moments of their mission.
With his parents still hanging onto him, the crew were ushered in to see a plethora of doctors, all specialists of different things. The initial results were surprisingly upbeat - the stack of vitamins had obviously done their job since everyone was still technically healthy. Blood pressure and heart rates were still a bit off their baseline, but under the circumstances, how could that be strange? Half way through their doctor's appointment, Mitch Henderson strolled in, much to their delight. The crew all called his name at once which had them all, parents, kids and Mitch included, grinning and laughing.
“Alright, kids,” His gritty British accent had thrown Mark back to his briefings before they went up to space, when the only interesting thing about some of those meetings was that accent. “How’re you getting on? Commander?”
“Fine, everyone’s fine - happy to be home.” She nodded at him with a certain look that the rest of the crew definitely caught - a look that said ‘happy to be home - thanks to you’.
“Then, that’s great, s’all I wanted.” Laying a pleased palm onto Beck’s shoulder as his doctor checked him over for signs of anything malicious, Mitch’s gaze fell to the clipboard in his hand. “I know you have had a hell of a journey, I might not’ve been with you, but I know all about it, but, there’s one thing you have to do for me.”
“Press conference.” Beck and Martinez groaned while Mark listed it as the first of many to come.
“Yeah, press conference, but I’ll keep it short, don’t worry - I want Lewis in first and Watney at the end in the hope that you won’t be targeted any more than the rest of them.” Mark nodded, accepting the idea but definitely skeptical of it’s effectiveness. “This conference could’ve been avoided, but we thought not to let the press see you coming out the pod - give you some personal time first, public time later.”
“All this way and our Sixth-in-Command gets the spotlight.” An affectionate jab from Johanssen had the crew smiling again. “Hope your shit-tatoes are worth it.”
“That’s all I’m gonna talk about for the rest of my life, isn’t it?” Mark realised with disappointment.
“Probably, but we’ve told the press not to ask anything relating to close calls ‘cause this will be going out across the breaking morning news back home - this means you’re not talking about any either and this includes the methods of the shit-tatoes.” A pointed look from Mitch told Mark that he was to basically keep his mouth shut. “But you know what to do, keep your answers short so we can all go back to the hotel for a rest and then on a flight tomorrow back to Houston.”
They all agreed on that and a few hours later, after biopsies and samples of various varieties were taken, they were shuffled away from the doctors. They were ushered down a hall and through some double doors into what seemed like a different annex of the hotel to a much larger conference room absolutely filled with cameras, microphones, notepads and pens at the ready, and, of course, the hungriest looking journalists Mark had ever seen. He had done as Mitch suggested and stumbled in last, hoping to sit quietly for the half hour conference before sneaking off, but his first step into the room had it erupting with the journalists calling his name. His shock would’ve been clear - it was caught on about six hundred different cameras.
After spending the night in a room with no beeping, no whirring, no noises of any sort beyond his own breathing, Mark was exhausted. Somehow the silence was so unsettling it upset his sleeping so much that he spent most of the night awake and watching the walls. He would’ve gazed out the window to the lit city in the distance had there not been a sea of cameras pointed up at all the rooms in hope of a glimpse of the crew. Still, Mark knew that he had to sort his sleeping pattern out, even though he hadn’t been on Mars in months, he still woke expecting to be on Mars at least twice a week on the Hermes. The silence still wasn’t helping. At four in the morning, he turned on the hotel room television and attempted to find a channel with no signal and hope that white noise was better than no noise. However, when he found that all the channels were satellite and in fine working order, he got up and started to fiddle with the wires in the back of the tv. After pulling out a couple of cables he finally lost signal and found the static he was after. The issue with that then, was the flashing bright white that was keeping him as awake as the silence had. By the time morning came, he had made enough modifications on the room to catch himself about an hour of sleep. Despite this, he was still agreeable and happy to see everyone at breakfast, joking about asking for their buffet to be freeze-dried first.
While Mitch relayed their schedule for the day, Mark and Beth hugged their coffee with dark eyes while the rest of the crew and families had decimated the real food on offer.
“Alright, NASA have sent their second nicest jet for you lucky lot, so we need to leave for the airport after we’re finished here.” Mitch went on, trying to eat as much as he could while he spoke. “It’s gonna be about eight hours from here to Houston, so you’ll get some rest on the flight.” Nodding specifically to Beth, but Mark appreciated the thought of buzzing background noises just as much.
“Once we get back, another press conference back at Johnson, this time you can be more detailed with your answers - except you, Mark, we’re gonna sort something else out for you, so be short with what you say for now, maybe release a statement or a separate conference, we’re not sure yet.” Mark nodded again, he knew this was coming and found no reason to argue over it. “After that, you’re free to go… until Monday morning, bright and early at nine Venkat wants you back to base for your psychological debriefs. Mark, yours is on Monday, too, but bring a bag ‘cause you’re staying in until Wednesday.”
“What? A two night debrief?” With his brows dipped and coffee thudded down on the table, he left no doubt that he wasn’t taking this in his stride. “C’mon, Mitch, I’m fine, I don’t need a two night observation.”
“Look, you were almost in for five days, okay, I cut it as much as I could for you.” Mitch looked at him apologetically, he didn’t enjoy seeing the crew he worked to look after moaning or upset, but there was no way around this.
“Fine, fine, I love sleepovers with forty year old psychologists, I really missed them since I’ve been away” Mark mumbled as he sighed into his coffee - ‘just another perk of the job’, he thought.
They had all taken their own space on the jet. Each family had planted in a separate nook and spent the time catching up, or in Mark’s case, being watched by his mom as he slept like an ill child. He didn’t blame her for it and when he woke up to find her watching him with a smile and a reassured look of relief in her eyes, he smiled back at her.
“How’re you feeling, honey?” She still looked like she could burst into tears at any moment so Mark kept his complaining to himself for now.
“I’m fine, mom, really.” If anything, he was hungry from not filling up earlier that morning.
“Mitch had something to tell you earlier, son, said you’ve to go see him when you’re awake.” When Mark looked to his dad in askance for the content, his dad just threw his head towards Mitch. “He wants to tell you ‘diplomatically’, but it’s fine with us - we’re glad, really.” With an encouraging smile, David sent his son off to Mitch to be filled in.
On his way past Rick and his sleeping wife, Mark stuck his tongue out at one of the kids who giggled and stuck out their tongue in return. Mark felt a tinge of want he hadn’t had before as he threw himself down across from Mitch.
“All right, why are my parents being cryptic, Mitch.” With a gruff chuckle, Mitch put down the three phones that had been vibrating almost constantly all day.
“It’s nothing, Mark, just a bit of an inconvenience for you.” His gaze glanced to one of the phones that buzzed again before he took a breath to continue. “Turns out the media have your address and your building is covered in journalists.”
Mark’s brows knitted, but he shook his head in misunderstanding. “So, what? You’re putting me under a gagging order? Can’t talk to ‘em?”
“No, not like that, but we think you should stay with your parents until things calm down.” Mitch said carefully, as if he was waiting on some sort of eruption of rage.
“When do you think it’ll calm down?” With a building full of mathematicians, surely one of them knew the answer to this, but he only got what he was truly expecting - which was a quick shrug from Mitch.
“‘Dunno, but we’ve picked you some clothes up from your apartment and left them at your parent’s.” Both of them sighed, Mark in realisation of how bad this was going to be, and Mitch is recognition of Mark’s situation. “We’ve had Annie lay it on thick with the media to back off, but we’re not expecting much cooperation… might be an idea to look at a new place.”
Being back home had gone as well as he had thought it would. He woke almost constantly thinking he was back on Mars way before the crack of Earth-dawn, which meant that his parents were the only people in the world to be worried about getting fully cooked breakfasts from their son in the mornings. Mark had also failed to relinquish his tightly-filled NASA schedule and found himself doing odd-jobs around his parent’s house all day. He had mowed the lawn, dug out old flowerbeds, planted more plants, tended to the trees, repainted the garage door, washed both cars, fixed wiring, cleaned gutters, cleaned windows, dishes, shoes, dusted, vacuumed, ironed - by Sunday night he was praying to be tired enough to at least sleep until a reasonable hour before he was dropped off for his psychological sleepover on Monday. Yet, despite going to bed when he could barely keep his eyes opened, he was awake at quarter past three and ready to go with nowhere to actually go… except maybe one place.
By half three he had dressed in dark jeans, quiet sneakers, a thick hoodie and one of his dad’s fishing caps that read ‘what happens on the boat, stays on the boat’, but with nothing else to hand, it would have to do for now. Grabbing two sets of keys he quietly made his way out the house and down to the end of the street before calling a taxi on his dad’s phone he borrowed from the kitchen. He was glad enough that the driver didn’t recognise him, or even really say much of anything to him except when Mark’s surprise got the better of him at what used to be a familiar street.
“What the hell is all this traffic?” His forehead almost pressed to the window as he gazed down the street of his apartment, watching as they passed van after van after truck after van.
“S’for that astronaut guy, he lives down here - didn’t you know that?” The driver’s eyes flicked to the mirror to catch Mark’s eye for an answer.
“I was… - my girlfriend just moved in here, I haven’t been up yet.” The driver’s suspicion eased with a knowing smirk. “Uh, could you drop me off at the corner-”
“Sure... trip to your girlfriends at this time? You’re a lucky guy, man.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Pressing a few notes into the driver’s palm, he stepped out the cab a little further down the street and began to walk back up towards his building - his logic dictating that they wouldn’t expect That Astronaut Guy to be wandering up a street at this time, alone, in a cap about fishing. As his eyes glanced up up the steps to the main door he was doused in regret - seven journalists sitting on the steps, microphones drooping in their hands as they chatted amongst themselves, cameramen behind them with their cameras hooked up to the vans, wires trailing over the path. Cursing under his breath, he wanted to go back in time, tell himself to stay in bed - he didn’t actually need anything from his apartment, he had only been curious.
He was still approaching his building and he knew if he turned around now he’d be caught so, instead, he took a leaf out of one of the episodes of Lewis’ old shows Mark watched on Mars and while he didn’t have a partner to talk to and look inconspicuous, he did have a phone. Taking his phone out his pocket, he put on the accent he knew best - Vogel’s.
“Ja, Ay’m joost getting in nowh, my flieeght wohs soh lohng - much toorbewlence, ja.” A few of the journalists looked up but ultimately paid no attention as he fished out the copy of his apartment keys that his parents kept and flashed the fob off the register.
“Welcome, Mr Watney-” The register muffled in its automated female voice.
“Fuck-” Mark, almost dropping his keys as he cursed himself for forgetting that stupid system.
“Did that just say Watney-” The journalists all piqued, grabbing microphones and cameramen scrambling to stand as other journalists’ cameras flashed.
Slipping in and slamming the door shut with his back for it to lock, he didn’t waste time waiting for the elevator in full view of the snapping journalists and hit the stairs instead. In a five storey building, he was on the third floor with his apartment towards the back of the building and since he was trying to be James Bond in sneakers, he kept the lights off in the hallway and used the torch on his phone to see.
Unlocking his door, the first thing that hit him was the smell. The smell of a stagnant apartment, but his stagnant apartment. It was the smell Mark thought of as the one the homeowner didn’t know their home had until they experienced another and came back to it. It was partly his favourite aftershave and partly earthy, as if giving away his best plants before he left for space didn’t quite scrub the place of their presence.
Stepping in a bit further, his gaze followed the beam of light around the two sofas pointing towards the empty corner where his tv used to be. Beside his tv stretched a low unit against the eastern wall that was once filled with books on botany and engineering and some fiction space books he both comforted and unsettled himself with. They were long gone now, in a box taking up space in his parent’s garage probably. On top of the unit were stained rings, or as he liked to think, the ghosts of plant pots past. Drawing a finger around one and being coated in dust, he resigned not to touch anything else while he was here or he’d be in need of a shower.
Leaving his lounge, he went left to his kitchen, finding the cupboards empty bar the non-perishables he forgot to give to his parents before he left. Opening his fridge to find it unplugged, the lack of light from it made his apartment feel emptier than it already was. Tapping his fingers off the top of the dusty kitchen units, he stared down his hall further to the left, wondering if he could face the empty bedroom. Making his way to his blue tiled bathroom instead, he had a brief look around, moved his shower curtain back to hear the familiar sound of the rails. Opening the small opaque window, he cast his eyes down to see a few journalists gathering around the backside of the building, looking up but not far enough over to catch him before he shut the window and continued on his exploration.
His bedroom door was shut over as he remembered leaving it, but he knew it wasn’t the last time anyone had been in - Mitch, or whoever NASA sent, had come by to pick up things to leave for him at his parents - and it wasn’t that that was making him hesitant. Curling his hand around the door, his other hanging onto his phone-come-torch, he opened the door and leaned in, careful not to step over the threshold just yet.
His bed remained in the middle, untouched and the covers flat as if it was expecting someone to lie in it. His closet doors, drawers and storage cupboards were shut. The blinds were drawn as were the rest of the curtains in his apartment - obviously to deter journalists. But this was too quiet, too dark, too alone. Beyond the soft furnishings there was absolutely no mark of his actual life in here. Any photographs he was in were in his parent’s house or in a locker in NASA. There were no framed photos on the walls, no rugs on the floor or books in the shelves, no evidence of anything bar a single tenant who had been away for a while.
With a sigh, he let go of the door and waded in to flop down on the bed he hadn’t seen in almost years. Lifting his feet up for them to overhang the edge as his head hit the unused pillow he tried not to think how nothing had changed in here except himself. Everything he had learned had brought him here. All those college days surrounded by people he thought were clueless were actually onto something - peace, love, weed - and only now did he realise their philosophy was more evolved than he had been giving them credit for. Maybe without all the recreational weed. But peace and love - those were fairly big and wide concepts but wasn’t that what he was after? Space exploration was peaceful, except the riotous explosions when it went wrong, but when it was right it was truly science at it’s best. And all that talk about love. Those hippies at college fucking anything with the same ethos… Mark didn’t think he’d be as picky to have someone with a similar ethos right now.
Lying there with his arms up behind his head, he felt restless as his mind continued to wander. The recent memory of one of Martinez’ kids sticking her tongue out at him made him smile, but the echo of an ache brought his mood down further. Kids had never made it into his plans - or maybe they had in the long, long, run, but not anywhere in the present. Still, Martinez wasn’t much older than him and he had a small army of kids, a wife, a house - probably a dog and Mark had parents and a dusty apartment. Four years was a long time to give up from his life to travel the galaxy, but he hadn’t thought of it like that when he had agreed to it. It was exciting and amazing and he was going to go to Mars! And now he was home and he realised that he was just as alone now as he was on that empty red sandbox. Despite the fact that he was quite literally surrounded by people who wanted to know him, with their cameras pointed upwards, he felt unreachable and isolated.
Lying in the dark trying to talk himself out of a negative mood was harder now with no life or death scenarios at his back to compromise for, but when sunlight tinged the sky and he realised he would have to get out soon he discovered a problem.
The building was still swarming with journalists - more than he really thought there would be - and they knew he was in here. His plan to leave through the front door with another accent and his phone pressed to the side of his head was really a non-starter. Thinking he better get changed, he went for a trifle through his closet finding some old jeans and a few shirts to choose from. His jeans were too big for him and even with a belt looped round, they sagged in the wrong places. Still, for an escape, they would do. As would the dark red hoodie he pulled over a loose-fitting shirt. He put the hat back on - his dad would kill him if he lost it now.
There was a small sense of relief when he left his apartment. As if his dark mood was confined within it’s walls and not within him as he turned back towards the stairs. Mark didn’t get much more than a foot away from his door when a neighbour almost ran into him.
“Oh, sorry-” Mark was too worried in case it was a journalist to say a word but recognition quickly doused him. “Tracy!” His small dark neighbour had always been an early riser. She liked to run and stop at the local deli on her way back for croissants. His grin widened as he remember all the details he picked up about her.
“Mark?!” She was clearly shocked before she threw her arms around him. “Oh my god, Mark - Mark you scared the living shit out of us - the whole floor - we were so worried - oh my god, you’re here!” She took a step away to smile at him before pressing herself against him again. “When they said you died I cried for a week, I couldn’t believe it and then when they said you were still alive, I just-” She didn’t quite finish that sentence coherently, just made an excited noise into his chest. “You’re so skinny!”
“That didn’t sound like a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.” Finally letting go of him, she let him get his own breath back from all her squeezing. “We really missed you - wait” Her brow creased as her eyes darted around the hall, “Why are you here - the cameras-”
“Oh, I know, I tried to sneak in but that piece of shit ‘Welcome Mr Watney’ system busted me... I got in but they were snap-happy and now they’re all over the building, so, I was thinking of calling someone to come and get me but, that’s kinda lame.”
“You could always climb down the fire escape?” She looked like she was joking but he could tell she was trying to see if it was a truly viable option. “I know how you like to keep it exciting.” Raising a brow and hinting at all his wild adventures, it showed that neither of them could really imagine Mark calling someone to come rescue him from the media, not when he survived alone on Mars. “Y’know my window leads onto it and if you wait a few minutes, I could go down and get rid of the crowds from the back for you? Give you time to escape?”
“Tracy, I don’t know -” He didn’t really want to drag her into his mess.
“Do it, it’ll work.” She had opened her door and dragged him in before he really got a chance to think about it. Tracy was one of the nicer neighbours in this building, along with his elderly neighbour on the other side, Mrs Oliver, they both worked to look after him even when he didn’t need it and in return he gave them plants. Mrs Oliver always tried to set them up and tell him and Tracy they’d be good together, but with Tracy’s on and off boyfriends and Mark’s training for his mission, they never stood a chance. And now, as he was pulled into her apartment, he could feel the cool band of an engagement ring on her finger.
Mark was greeted with disdain at NASA. Even his excited exclamation at Venkat was cut short by Teddy who had roughly guided him into his psych report with only so much as a ‘hello’ grunted at Lewis on his way by. Mark assumed Teddy’s bad mood was due to Mark’s daring escape. Or, lucky escape, as it had only been successful until half way down the fire escape where his jacket got caught and he got himself tangled and apparently his cursing could be heard from the front of the building. By the time he had shed his jacket and continued down, he had only managed to get a quarter of the way across the parking lot before the news crews were on him. Still, he jumped the fence at the end of the lot and didn’t call a cab until he was three streets away and behind a Wendy’s.
Now he was faced with the same quizzical psychologist he had seen prior to his mission with the same dour, yet pressingly curious expression on his lined face.
“Why don’t we start with today, Mark, before we start on before?” The psychologist asked, which Mark answered with a shrug. “Why did you go back to your apartment at three this morning?”
“It was four by the time I got there.” Mark said, purposefully being pedantic as he knew NASA liked their details.
“Four, then.” The psychologist corrected himself, pushing his question.
“I wanted to see it.” Mark shrugged again, thinking it was a pretty simple thing to do.
“And why did you want to see it?”
“Dunno, ‘cause I haven’t been there in four years.”
“Weren’t you told not to go back, Mark?”
“Well, no, no one said ‘Mark, do not go to your apartment’, they said there were journalists but no one said ‘don’t go back’, so I thought I’d just go see it.” The psychologist made a few notes on his page before looking at Mark in silence for a few moments.
“You met your neighbour, is that right?”
“Tracy, yeah, she helped me get out.”
“How do you know her?”
Mark looked at the psychologist with a raised brow and carefully sounded out his answer. “She’s my neighbour - you just said it yourself.”
“That’s your only relationship to her?”
“Oh my god, she’s engaged.”
“Are these questions annoying you, Mark?”
Mark sighed, knowing his usual sunny persona should’ve been shining through, treating these questions like a game but after the morning he had, he wasn’t in the mood for it.
“No, I just thought we were gonna talk about Mars and everything else, not my neighbour.” Ex-neighbour, Mark thought sourly, since he had mostly concluded that Mitch was right and he really ought to start looking for a new place to live.
The psychologist kept Mark under an interrogative eye for hours. By the time the psychologist was finished for the night, and had set out their timetable for tomorrow, Mark was exhausted. He snorted at the recommendation to ‘relax’ for the rest of the night in his isolation pod, and at a suspiciously thoughtful look from the psychologist Mark rolled his shoulders and raised his chin, showing he was more than capable of not being so readily agreeable when he wanted to be. But the fight against the psychologist and and the fight against the dark spaces in his mind were tomorrow’s job now. Tonight was over, and even if he couldn’t relax, he could at least treat it as time to breathe without being told how or why.
Before he had the iso-pod door shut behind him, Mitch appeared with files in hand that had Mark sigh at the sight.
“I really don’t need any more files, Mitch, I’m full of files- and aren’t you going home?”
“Yeah, I’m on my way out, but I wanted to give you this - some reading, if you get bored.” Handing Mark the papers and a plastic folder, Mitch shrugged as Mark investigated. Pulling out what looked like a journal article, Mark started to roll his eyes; didn’t he deserve a break from science?
“Watneyi… what’s this?” Peeling the article out the folder fully, Mark briefly read the title and the lines of the abstract. “They named a plant after me?”
“Yeah, it’s a bush tomato - grows in red soil, like Mars, sort of.” Mitch gave him a pat on the shoulder while Mark read deeper, but he was clearly touched.
“It’s from the potato family, and they named it after me ‘cause all I had were potatoes…” He let out a small laugh and gave Mitch a warm smile. “Thanks, Mitch, I’ll give this a good read.”
He didn’t want to tell anyone he might’ve shed a tear over having a plant named after him, but he had been a little emotional. A whole plant in the North-Western territory of Australia had been named after him and it was named for him after they found him alive and got him back on board the Hermes so it wasn’t even a memorial plant, it was just a point of recognition of his efforts in the field. He hadn’t noticed until a few hours later when he attempted to put the article back into the folder to protect it that there was a little bag of fifteen or so seeds in the corner.