Work Text:
It was because of Martinez (that asshole) that it even became an issue in the first place.
Despite NASA’s best intentions of creating an environment that provided for every human need, there really was no such thing as privacy on the Hermes. Watney had once calculated the per square foot value of the vessel was 5.5 million dollars (which didn’t really take into account that space allowed the third dimension to be used much more efficiently than the standard Earth home), so he understood why privacy was literally priceless.
Theoretically, each astronaut had his or her own quarters, which would enable them to have privacy. Beck had the largest because it was designed - with NASA-like contingency planning - so his berth could be turned into a sick bay should the need arise.
Needless to say, the need had arisen with Watney’s successful rescue.
Watney’s rescue had been good for morale, but lousy for the confined quarters. With Watney’s and Martinez’s rooms hotter than the Mojave Desert due to a mechanical malfunction, space was at even more of a premium. Vogel and Martinez were hotbedding, but Beck still needed a space to sleep even though Watney would be confined to bed for the foreseeable future.
Beck considered the matter and communicated with Dr. Shields, the mission’s official psychologist back on Earth, before declaring that he and Watney would just share. The berth was large enough for two if Beck stored his personal belongings in Watney’s quarters (tolerable for only the briefest of time periods), and Watney would benefit by having someone close. Watney had been alone on Mars for well over a terran year (546 Martian sols to be exact), and physical proximity to someone would be good for his readjustment and the very long road to recovery he was embarking on.
In short, Beck and Watney were officially approved to sleep together by NASA.
Both men were large (even with his extreme weight loss, Watney had a large frame), and it was more comfortable to sleep without drawing the privacy curtain since Beck (although he would deny this), tended to sprawl all over the place. By now the crew had spent so much time together that there wasn’t much they hadn’t seen, and earplugs handled the ambient noise issue.
Inside a week, Watney and Beck could be found snuggled up together regularly, with Watney as the Little Spoon.
Martinez (that asshole) took a picture with his watch and posted it on his Twitter.
Actually, he submitted it to the queue NASA managed, since neither Comcast nor Verizon could get a direct internet hookup with the shuttle (although they had certainly offered contracts and plenty of promises for publicity’s sake). Unfortunately, the person in charge of NASA’s social media screening (a position which had become much more restful while Watney was incommunicado) was snoozing on the job, and automatically approved the post without thinking on the consequences.
That person was fired the next day by an extremely irate Annie Montrose, but by then the damage had been done.
Happily Shipping for Two Decades! @slashfangrl2010
OMG OMG OMG. I SHIP IT. #bunkmates #beckney #markchris #whatstheshipname #ares3
My Porn Name is Ave Maria @whatthebeck22
Wouldn’t you like to be in the middle of that sandwich? #bunkmates #ares3
Lucretia Živadinov @spaceartista
MORE PICS, @martinezrares3! #bunkmates #ares3
Einstein Had It Right Amen @redeemedscience
We paid all this taxpayer money for a pair of fags to fuck in space? #bunkmates #ares3 #leavehimthere
Finger Licking Good @friedkaleyum
I prayed & prayed for Mark’s safety & this is my reward for keeping the faith! Hallelujah! #bunkmates #ares3
The problem with the 24 hour news cycle was it didn’t respect normal working hours. Thus Annie Montrose had a good, solid PR staff to deal with the off-hours stuff, and she was only called in when something catastrophic was going down (like the freaking hijacking of the Hermes).
Martinez’s post came through at 8:17 UTC, which was a little past 2 a.m. in Houston.
She was not pleased when the phone rang at 2:23 a.m., waking her out of Stage 3 sleep.
“You need to get in here,” her assistant, Matt Langley, said.
Matt had worked with her for four years, and his even temperament and good judgement was why she put him in charge of the nighttime shift, since he knew how to cool fires and deal with the drunk tweets that increased as the east coast started to go to bed. Annie stumbled to her feet even before she was fully aware, knowing he wouldn’t call if there wasn’t a situation that needed her attention.
“What happened?”
“Get on Twitter and see for yourself,” Matt replied grimly.
She order the large screen in her room to bring up her Twitter with a voice command, and immediately saw the problem. Fully awake (rare without an infusion of Temporada espresso), she swore as she made her ungainly way around the room to assemble something resembling a matching outfit. Hopefully none of the reporters would corner her before she arrived at her office, but it paid to be prepared.
Objectively, it was a cute shot. Watney and Beck were curled up in the bunk on their right sides, both wearing light sleepwear with NASA logos. Beck was wrapped around Watney’s back, his face half-visible from where it was buried in Watney’s neck. Watney had his mouth open and was drooling just a little (a good sign that he was properly hydrated).
It was cute, and it was already trending.
“Wake up everyone else,” Annie demanded. “We’re going to need all hands on deck.”
Despite the advances in technology, and the regular updates to official social media feeds, the Ares astronauts did not have internet access. All of Hermes’ communications were controlled by NASA (as documented by the two-month blackout on the news that Watney had survived Sol 6). Friends and family would often send screenshots or PDFs of particular interest (Beck’s sister reluctantly sent the Aerospace Medicine and Human Performance Journal on a regular basis, Lewis’s husband kept her up to date on gossip boards about disco, and no one wanted to know what Johanssen received from her online-only acquaintances she’d known since she was eleven), and NASA would keep them informed of relevant professional information and provide current world news as an attempt to keep them connected with society.
At least, that was the theory. Recent practice made the crew very aware of how much they weren’t being told.
This was where Mitch Henderson, as flight director, came in. He was an Ares astronaut’s bestie.
All of them recognized that by sending the Rich Purnell maneuver, he had scuttled his career. The lack of additional possible consequences (since he was well aware that Teddy would be canning him the day after the crew touched down on Earth), made him dispense with the usual political shenanigans that permeated NASA, and send on whatever the hell amused him.
And he hadn’t precisely been restrained to start with.
He had an assistant curate the best of the postings under the #ares3 hashtags, using the excuse that they would need to be prepared for the occasional interviews Annie coordinated. It was a very thin lie, since no way in hell would Annie be sending them any questions about fandom.
It was still a lot more fun than reading about the latest tribute to Watney’s supposed heroism (Watney was of the opinion that a real-ass hero wouldn’t have gotten stranded in the first place). There were only so many motivational posts that a sane person could tolerate before longing for some time on 4chan to be reminded of how awful humans could be.
Annie tried to make him stop, but Mitch had bribed Dr. Shields to back him up with her favorite Godiva chocolate. He certainly wasn’t doing any harm… except to Annie’s sanity.
The Ares crew always gathered in the Rec for breakfast and to go over the day’s schedule. Beck assisted Watney in, one of the few times a day he was allowed out of bed. Moving was necessary to avoid bedsores, and Watney was allowed a couple hours out of sickbay to socialize.
That didn’t mean they actually socialized. After going over the daily orders for the repairs needed and the sciencing allowed, they would spend their time buried in their laptops looking at the personal dispatches.
When Johanssen started laughing, a deep, rippling roll that sounded too big to come out of her small frame, the entire gathering looked at her with surprise. Johanssen was a snickerer, and her full-blown laugh was rarely heard.
“Want to share with your buddies?” Watney asked from where he was leaning against Beck’s side. The really comfortable seating was limited (thank NASA for doing a cost/benefit analysis of furniture), and someone had to share. Beck had declared it would be easiest for him monitor Watney for complications if they were close, thus avoiding Martinez’s attempts at bro-cuddling.
“Mitch’s selections of the latest leading tweets,” she said, shaking her head and laughing.
All of them (except for Lewis, who was a professional), immediately brought up Mitch’s daily summary. Vogel was the fastest, and a second later he was laughing, (really, it was a slight snorting, but it was as much as the German would allow himself). Then Martinez joined in, followed by a bemused huff from Beck. Watney, who was still feeling the effects of those 12Gs he’d gone through, was the slowest as his clumsy fingers managed the navigation.
“Beckney?” he voiced aloud, then gave Martinez a scowl as he saw the picture from ass-a.m. in the morning.
“Or WB - ‘Welcome Back,’” said Johanssen, somehow getting her laughter under control to speak in a serious, professional tone. “Stands for Watney/Beck and the heroic, undying love Beck displayed in taking a spacewalk to return Watney to the rest of the civilization.”
“I’m the EVA specialist,” Beck murmured, his eyes not leaving his laptop as he started to scroll through the tidbits with growing dread. These would have been the ones that had been deemed acceptable by Dr. Shields. He could only guess what was really going down on Twitter.
“It must have been fate,” Martinez (that asshole) said without a trace of contrition.
“Fuck fate,” Watney predictably replied, before grinning evilly. “There’s fanart!”
Has Unprecedented Space Mission Led to Fraternization?
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN MARS AND EARTH - The Ares 3 Mission has shattered all records, isolating its crew for over two years. Recent photos sent back by Astronaut Rick Martinez show shocking evidence of a budding relationship!
Mark Watney, the subject of a multi-million dollar rescue effort by NASA, was safely retrieved less than a month ago. The new images show him sharing Dr. Chris Beck’s bed, curled up together in a traditional “spooning” position.
“It’s natural that Mark Watney, after being without human contact for over two years, is in need of physical contact with other human beings,” said Dr. Keela Hobbes, a counselor who has worked with other NASA astronauts. “A relationship might develop very quickly, or he might have ‘imprinted’ on Dr. Beck as his rescuer, and need Dr. Beck’s presence as a kind of security blanket. This photo clearly shows that there is more than professionalism between the two.”
But is it too soon for Watney?
“Mark is still in a fragile state of mind,” said Hobbes. “Dr. Beck has an excellent reputation, so I’m sure he’s not taking advantage of his crewmate. But that’s assuming that Dr. Beck hasn’t been affected by the extended period of isolation the return trip to Mars took the Ares III crew.”
Happily Shipping for Two Decades! @slashfangrl2010
Do you think Mark is even in shape for sex? #beckney #ares3
My Porn Name is Ave Maria @whatthebeck22
All guys are in shape for masturbation. ;) #bunkmates #ares3 #beckney
Laura Christa Eileen @otdrnina12
Chris could just be giving him a doctorly hand. Victorian Drs used to give women orgasms to treat hysteria. It was a legitimate medical treatment. #ares3 #beckney
Lucretia Živadinov @spaceartista
Perfectly reasonable! Being on Mars for two years by yourself would lead to a lot of tension. #ares3 #beckney
Happily Shipping for Two Decades! @slashfangrl2010
I WANT THIS FIC. #ares3 #beckney
Einstein Had It Right Amen @redeemedscience
Stop using the #ares3 tag for your perversion. #leavehimthere
Lucretia Živadinov @spaceartista
@redeemedscience, they’re famous. We’re just showing how much we love them! #beckney #ares3
My Porn Name is Ave Maria @whatthebeck22
I’d rather watch how much they love each other. Since Martinez is not obliging with more graphic content, I’ll just have to read fanfic. #beckney #ares3
Annie and Mitch agreed that forwarding the internet conversations about the article wouldn’t help anyone. They definitely weren’t going to let the crew know about the ontd_ares3 anonmeme that had sprung up.
While Mitch was amused at the fandom, he was less amused about the armchair psychologists who were dissecting Watney and Beck’s psychological states, debating the ethics of doctor/patient relationships and exceptions that should be made on a space mission (because Chris Beck deserved sex, too, and he was everyone’s doctor and it wouldn’t be fair if he alone was to refrain from the space orgy a vocal minority believed was happening on the Hermes).
The discussion of Beckney and fandom in general died down quickly on the Hermes, since the crew had to keep their ship running. Despite the general public’s belief that the Ares crew was perfectly safe now that Watney had been safely recovered, they were anything but.
Space was dangerous. Every day they survived only because they fought a constant battle to keep space from killing them. They had to do everything right, because there were so many things that could go wrong that every minute they kept breathing was a minor miracle.
Watney personally thought the worst danger was boredom, especially since he was officially on the not-allowed-to-do-anything-until-you-reach-a-healthy-weight-we’re-not-kidding list. Now that he wasn’t facing constant problem solving, he was faced with the nonstop drudgery of waiting to heal.
He was stuck in Chris Beck’s bed, and Dr. Beck wasn’t about to let him lift a finger. He’d even limited his screen time to no more than four hours a day, setting Watney’s tablet with a kiddie lock that prevented him from using it for more than 90 minutes at a time. Watney, still adjusting to the temporary glasses Beck had fixed him up with, wasn’t about to admit Beck may have had a point since fatigue made his vision blur.
Thankfully, he was allowed to move around a couple times a day, mainly to keep him from losing what little muscle mass he had. Along with two physiotherapy sessions (one in zero grav, thank the little green men who did not exist), he continued to attend the daily briefing sessions in the Rec. It was a great shock when Lewis turned to him after handing out the usual daily assignments to the rest of the crew.
“As for you, Watney, I’m sure you’ll be relieved that NASA and our esteemed Dr. Beck have cleared you for light - very light - duty,” she said.
“Really?” Watney asked excitedly, thinking of the ventilation problem in the crew quarters that desperately needed his touch. Martinez (that asshole) claimed to be subbing for him as mechanic well enough that Watney could take all the time he needed getting his ‘beauty rest,’ but Watney doubted Martinez knew a wrench from a screwdriver most days.
Then his common sense rose, keyed off by the slight smile on Lewis’s lips. Whatever NASA had decided was appropriate wasn’t going to be anything he enjoyed.
“Are they looking for back reports?”
“Luckily for you, your video logs have been deemed sufficient,” Lewis said. “But they would like you to take up your duties as social media director for the crew again. Specifically, they would like you to participate in a weekly Q&A session for The Watney Report.”
Knowing that an entire half hour on CNN had been devoted to his well-being still made him cringe, but he hadn’t really processed that tidbit among the information overload that had greeted him. He’d been much more interested in talking with his crewmates (real people!), exchanging messages with his parents (sorry, mom, promise I will never get stranded on a different planet again!), and finding out how the Cubs had done (the one-time blip in 2016 remained so, lovable losers).
“That’s still going on?” Watney asked.
“Annie said it will continue until we return, and after we return, you will be offered the timeslot to host your own talk show,” Lewis replied.
“Huh,” Watney said, for lack of anything to say. He opened his mouth to make a crack about being the next Bill Nye, before he caught on.
“You’re kidding about the talk show,” Watney said, not sure if he was disappointed or not. He could totally rock the mad scientist educator gig.
“You could get a talk show on any platform you wanted, but NASA’s already made a big down payment on your soul,” Lewis answered. “I suspect you will be spending a lot of time with the Human Health and Performance Directorate.” She tapped her fingers together, resembling an evil scientist herself.
Or, more specifically in Watney’s case, a medical doctor who wanted to be published and had just landed a very unique subject.
“I have dibs,” Beck said on cue.
“I’ll give you fucking dibs,” Watney muttered, knowing that Beck was just the first in a long line of doctors who would turn him into a living pincushion for the rest of his life.
Watney didn’t intend to take it lying down. It was a long way back home, and Watney would eventually be well enough to tamper with Beck’s leave-in shampoo.
The next post NASA approved was a collection of photos from Johanssen called “A Day in the Life of Mark Watney.” The Watney Report was the best publicity the agency had ever gotten (especially with its very satisfying, made-for-the-big-screen rescue), and Annie’s staff had been told to help hype interest in Watney’s upcoming section on the show.
Maybe she should’ve been more careful. The pictures were, in and of themselves, innocent enough, but fandom had a dirty, dirty hive mind. The series of fifteen photos taken in approximate one hour increments lit up Twitter like a Christmas tree on steroids.
Happily Shipping for Two Decades! @slashfangrl2010
Chris is in all of them! #bunkmates #beckney #ares3
Lucretia Živadinov @spaceartista
It’s so adorable how he won’t let Mark out of his site! #ares3 #beckney
Happily Shipping for Two Decades! @slashfangrl2010
I love the one with him sitting and reading while Mark’s taking a nap! #ares3 #beckney
Einstein Had It Right Amen @redeemedscience
Stop reading your queer agenda into everything! Beck is a good dr. #ares3 #chrisbeck
My Porn Name is Ave Maria @whatthebeck22
I’d like to play Dr. with him. #ares3 #mcdreamy #beckney
This time, the post was uploaded during normal working hours, and the bad news bearer was Annie’s second-in-command, J.J. Jackson.
Jackson, who had more experience than even Annie, was a perfect 2IC since she was highly competent but dreaded being in charge by herself. Annie had poached her from a prestigious PR firm (one which handled clients based in Silicon Valley), and spent the next couple years gloating.
But not even the greatest PR strategy could defeat the might of the Internet. Once the hive mind decided on something, it was impossible to dissuade.
“So Beckney is trending again,” Jackson concluded, after succinctly outlining the way the pictures had triggered a resurgence in the shipping antics.
Annie rubbed the bridge of her nose out of habit, and forced herself to count backwards between five. “Who approved it?” She’d made it very clear that only senior personnel would be allowed to handle the social media following The Incident (henceforth to be known as “The First Incident”).
“Matt,” J.J. said.
“He never did learn to think like a teenage girl,” Annie sighed, pulling out her phone and looking at Johanssen’s tweet series. Beck was in Every. Damn. One. Individually the pictures were fine, but the series would cause a feeding frenzy among the conspiracy theorists and shippers.
She would be having words with Beth Johanssen, even if Mitch had to listen in. Johanssen had been a teenage girl, and Annie would get even if she had to wait until Ares 5.
“Do you want to issue a denial this time?” J.J. asked. “I can have the press release drafted in ten.”
“If we issue a PR, we’re going to end up the punchline on every late night show,” Annie returned. “We’ll ignore it, but you’re going to personally take over the social media accounts until they’re back on earth.”
J.J. nodded solemnly, even though the assignment was the equivalent of being sent back to elementary school. “This has legs now.”
“I think it always did,” Annie sighed, running a hand through her hair. Annie reminded herself that she had gone into PR because she liked sparring with the media (though she would privately admit that another major motivation had been that she liked watching herself on film). She just preferred fighting battles she had a chance of winning.
“They’re all very pretty,” J.J. said, as though it was explanation enough.
Annie narrowed her eyes, before remembering who she was talking to. J.J. was speaking from a strictly academic standpoint, pointing out the reason that Annie had really made a push to strengthen the Ares 3’s social media presence even before the ship left earth.
“Any bright ideas on how to spin this?” Annie asked.
“I wouldn’t say ‘spin’ so much as craft the message. Mark is in serious condition, and of course the flight surgeon is going to be hovering.” J.J. tapped her nails against the table in a rhythmic, almost soothing, fashion. “When we start filming the Watney Q&As, we could have guest spots by the other astronauts talking about what they’re doing. It would allow Chris to discuss Mark’s health without being too obvious a ploy for sympathy.”
“That’s feeding the beast,” said Annie.
“Remember those computer games from when we were kids? The ones where you raised cute little monsters, and their evolution depended on what you fed them and how they were treated? I think we feed the beast the right things so it turns into something snuggly.”
“I wish it would just go away,” Annie replied, knowing her wish was futile.
“You cannot kill fandom,” J.J. said wisely. “The only way to keep it from turning into an ugly Hydra is to give it plenty of love.”
Working out the details of the ‘Watney Minute’ (really more like three minutes) took time. CNN wanted unrestricted access, which they would get over their dead bodies (Annie wasn’t dying for those twits). Alas, she hadn’t finalized the details before the next Ares “crisis” rolled out.
Annie had cursed when Watney had been the one NASA (Mitch, that bastard) had appointed as social media liaison. Despite his vibrant personality, Watney was Annie’s last choice. The optics of a blond white male spokesperson didn’t fit in a crew that was celebrating the Ares program’s first female commander, and Watney lacked anything resembling tact. Vogel was ESL and Commander Lewis had way too much to do, but Johanssen and Martinez would’ve played the diversity card perfectly (though she was starting to realize Martinez would’ve been just as bad as Watney for her stress levels).
If they had to go with a white male, she would have preferred Dr. McDreamy. Beck, the son of a senator, had discretion bred into his genes. It was too bad that he had the personality of a turnip whenever on film, and wrote like he was preparing a dissertation. Despite his boring prose, she always could have attached his picture and kept the public happy. It might not have been as interesting as Watney’s vlogs, but it would’ve spared her headaches.
That was why she wasn’t happy with his next article, although she had no basis for rejecting it.
Beck kept a blog on his experiences as a medical doctor in space, targeted at academics. He didn’t disclose much about his research - he was canny enough to want peer review before discussing his findings - but he would point out interesting things he’d observed, or comment on someone else’s work (always positively).
Since Mark Watney’s health was now public domain (the multi-million dollar rescue was the price of waiving HIPAA without specific consent), Beck’s readership had skyrocketed.
Unfortunately, Beck was a technical writer, and lay people didn’t understand what he was writing about, so they cherry picked lines out to make a story they could comprehend. And the conclusions they drew fed right into what they wanted to believe.
Everything the Patriarchy Fears @nasastemlady
‘Therapeutic’ massage? Chris isn’t even trying for subtle. #beckney #ares3 #scienceissexy
Laura Christa Eileen @otdrnina12
It’s actually an interesting article. Mark really screwed up his back, and the impact of blood flow in zero g could benefit diabetics. #ares3 #chrisbeck
My Porn Name is Ave Maria @whatthebeck22
@otdrnina12, are you the only person in the world that doesn’t really massage = sex? #beckney #ares3
Lucretia Živadinov @spaceartista
I want fanfic, fanart, and pictures. LOTS of pictures. Help a girl out, @martinezrares3! #ares3
My Porn Name is Ave Maria @whatthebeck22
When Chris gets back to earth, I volunteer as control subject if he’s doing more massage! #mcdreamy #forscience #ares3
Happily Shipping for Two Decades! @slashfangrl2010
I think Mark might object, @whatthebeck22. #beckney #ares3
Einstein Had It Right Amen @redeemedscience
Fuck off, all of you. #ares3
My Porn Name is Ave Maria @whatthebeck22
@redeemedscience, we’re trying to do that vicariously through #beckney! :) #ares3
The instructions from Annie were very clear yet somewhat confusing for people who weren’t current on pop culture. Watney was to talk about his life in general (please make it boring as possible and do not include anything resembling innuendo, much less direct references to sex), the joy of sciencing (but not mention blowing himself up since people were still very sensitive about explosive references in space), and answer questions from a very carefully curated list Annie would provide. He was not to swear, make jokes about his health or the danger the crew was still in (do not remind anyone space was dangerous), or mention anything Marvel Cinematic Universe related (DC was okay, barring Aquaman).
Dr. Shields added her own requirement: someone needed to hold the camera and film. Under no circumstances was Watney to set up and record on his own. She was concerned about the possibility of triggering Watney’s PTSD (which hadn’t been very evident yet, but there was no way he had survived Mars without a severe case that was just waiting for the right stimulus). Watney’s vlogs had kept him sane, but Dr. Shields believed that there was a high probability that being alone with a camera might cause a flashback.
Despite Annie’s wishes, NASA decided Beck was the one who should be assigned as cameraman. NASA’s schedulers thought it would be most efficient for Beck to add it to his assignments, since he already spent most of the day monitoring Watney.
This was one of the many times Annie wished she could tell NASA’s efficiency experts where to shove it.
There was some discussion among the crew about the best place to film. Watney wanted his lab, but Lewis vetoed that suggestion since Watney wasn’t allowed to set foot in there without getting medical clearance. The Rec always had traffic and keeping the others out for extended lengths of time a weekly series would require was just asking for trouble. Since none of them were stupid, everyone knew Beck’s room would not be met with Annie’s approval. And while the center of the ship would make an awesome Zero G visual, the logistics ruled out prolonged filming.
In the end, they decided to use the biology lab, although Beck and Lewis had to go through to make sure none of the charts Beck was working on regarding the crew’s (Watney’s) health would be visible on camera. Since half of the room had been converted with experiments examining the damage prolonged life on Mars and going 12Gs did to the human body, it took several hours to “internet sleuth proof” the space.
Then it was time to start filming. Beck, being a child of the Post-Millennial Generation, had no problem operating the equipment, but he knew that the frame wouldn’t be entirely still. Sure, post production work could help, but if NASA had wanted the best visual, they would’ve let him mount the stupid thing.
That wasn’t his main concern, though. From the slightly dazed expression on Watney’s face, Dr. Shields had been right about not letting him do this alone.
Watney stared into the camera, feeling all kinds of deja vu, and not in a good way. “Greetings, earthlings!” he said, giving an awkward wave from the office chair. “I’m here on the Hermes after my semi-successful colonization efforts on Mars, and very grateful to be heading back to the wonderful blue marble that is Earth.
“This is the part where I insert how grateful I am to everyone who contributed to my rescue. The list is so embarrassingly long that it would take the rest of the trip back to name everyone… it’s just amazing to think of how much work went into saving my sorry....” he paused, shaking his head as he realized he was about to break the no swearing rule less than a minute in. “It just really affirms my faith in the essential goodness of humanity,” Watney concluded instead, his stomach tied in knots as he once again tried to wrap his brain around what had been accomplished.
The silence stretched, and Beck knew he had to say something to keep Watney from spiraling. “Are you preparing to be the next John Glenn?” he asked. “Because that sure sounded like a campaign speech to me.”
“You would know,” Watney shot back, his smart-ass reflex on autopilot.
“I attended many campaign events growing up,” Beck replied easily. “If you cut out the swearing, you might be ready for 2040.”
“Only if Lewis selects me as her VP.” Watney’s shoulders relaxed, and he tilted his head. “I’d offer the same for you, but I know you hate politics.”
“It’s hard to be a doctor when you’re worried about fundraising.”
Watney shook his head. “We just need to license some calendars with you in your skivvies, and you’ll have millions of donations into the campaign coffers!”
“There is not enough money in the world to persuade me to strip down on camera.”
“Sure. All NASA had to do was promise you a ride on a spaceship.”
“That’s space,” Beck corrected, making a huffing noise that implied he didn’t think much of Watney’s intelligence.
“Touche. Okay, I think we had a list of questions I needed to get through?”
“Right. Okay, the first question is from Olivia P. and she wants to know… huh. I should have read this before we started.”
“What is it?”
“Asking about exactly what you did to yourself with your self-surgery.”
“I think I know what I did!”
“Not better than me. I’m your doctor. Anyway, Olivia, this idiot risked his life….” Beck began, before launching into a highly technical explanation of Why Mark Watney Was Luckier Than He Knew. Watney, as a card-carrying botanist who had taken enough biology courses to follow, started to squirm as he realized he could add yet another item to the “Dumb Ways Mark Watney Almost Died on Mars” list.
“....and did more damage to his dermis. I estimate the scarred area is twice as large as it would have been if he’d taken a little more care.”
Watney couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “You try performing surgery on yourself!”
“Do you really want to go there?”
Watney bit his lip, glancing away, before smiling brightly into the camera (and at Beck standing behind it). “Next question!”
“They’re flirting,” Annie said, grinding her teeth. “Those little shits are flirting.”
Mitch, watching the footage with her, gave her an evil grin. He had his feet propped up and was twirling the golf tee he’d taken to carrying around like a talisman between his fingers. “They’re extremely compatible. One of the selection factors for the crew was…”
“Can it, Mitch,” Annie ordered. She took a slug of the whiskey she’d stolen out of Mitch’s desk drawer (Mitch only stocked the good stuff, and he owed her more than a couple of drinks). “There’s no way I can edit this into something that looks innocent.”
“It is innocent,” Mitch replied. “Mark flirts as easily as he breathes, and Chris is more relaxed when he’s not actually on camera. It’s standard astronaut banter. They took the sexual harassment seminars, and there’s nothing crossing the line.”
Annie shut her eyes, taking another sip and focusing on the burn of alcohol going down her throat. “They’re doing it on purpose. It’s all your fault. You could’ve kept the whole Beckney thing away from them, but noooo… you had to aggravate the situation and let them know what the internet thought.”
“What are they going to do? Fire me?” he asked with the confidence of one who knew he was safe from further consequences
Annie entertained a brief fantasy about tossing the whiskey on him to use as an accelerant so she could literally fire him before her practical side won out. The whiskey was too good to waste on Mitch (that bastard).
Everything the Patriarchy Fears @nasastemlady
If Chris Beck cannot be seen, does he still look like the personification of all that is right in maleness? #voiceofbeck #beckney #ares3
Marry Me Mark Watney @astrochick16
I’m accepting the gift that is a healthier Mark. Give him another 30 pounds and he’ll be just as hot as he was before Hermes left. #ares3 #hotwat #beckney
Laura Christa Eileen @otdrnina12
Do you know how much 30 pounds is in less than half gravity? I’m not a fan of Chubby!Watney… #ares3 #beckney
Marry Me Mark Watney @astrochick16
Get over yourself, @otdrnina12. #ares3 #beckney
Happily Shipping for Two Decades! @slashfangrl2010
Why are they wasting the hot splendor of Dr. McDreamy behind the camera? I need more pics of them together! #ares3 #voiceofbeck #beckney
My Porn Name is Ave Maria @whatthebeck22
I didn’t realize how much I kinked on voices until now. Ohhh, fuck yeah. #ares3 #voiceofbeck #beckney
Everything the Patriarchy Fears @nasastemlady
Not my kink. He’s pure New England Prep. #ares3 #voiceofbeck #beckney
Happily Shipping for Two Decades! @slashfangrl2010
I just love the way he keeps Mark in line. Did you see Mark shaking? So hot! #ares3 #voiceofbeck #beckney
My Porn Name is Ave Maria @whatthebeck22
Funny you should mention that, @slashfangrl2010. I’m working on a BDSM fic… want to beta? #ares3 #beckney
Einstein Had It Right Amen @redeemedscience
You are all sick, sick people. #ares3
The fuss might have died down if Annie been allowed to rotate other crew members in as cameramen (and rotate Beck out, never again to appear behind the scenes again). But people liked Watney and Beck’s back-and-forth dynamic, even those that believed a ship was only a thing that floated in water. After every one of their segments on The Watney Report, NASA gained a couple of approval points, something which Teddy Saunders was well aware of.
“If it makes people happy and doesn’t cost us money or reputation, I say we leave well enough alone,” Teddy said when Annie had broached the idea of having Johanssen or Vogel take over for Beck. “They’re pretty funny together.”
Annie was not about to explain the dark underbelly of fandom to NASA’s Chief Director and Administrator (and her boss). She was paid to keep that kind of distraction away from him.
Instead, Annie started a new tradition of visiting Mitch’s office on Thursday afternoons when the ‘Watney Minute’ finished transmitting to NASA. They had the option of reviewing it for classified information before passing it on, but everything was just the right side of appropriate, so she had no reason to cut anything.
Annie blamed fandom for the way her brain automatically went there at the slightest hint of innuendo. Fandom, and working with the male hierarchy her entire professional life.
Beck’s voice was all kinds of sexy and in-control. The way he would jerk Watney out of his dissembling and back on topic was a thing of beauty. Beck spoke with gentle authority that assumed it would be obeyed, and people were responding to it in unsurprising ways.
Mitch suggested they play one of the Beckney drinking games that were becoming popular on college campuses, but Annie wasn’t going to give up the last shred of her dignity. Instead, she would nurse the tumbler of whiskey over the eight minute segment, mentally thinking of all the ways people could interpret the Q&A sessions in a sexual fashion.
Thankfully, Mitch kept restocking. Maybe it was his version of an apology.
Then the memes started, and they expanded beyond the general fandom sphere. When The Tonight Show started using the never-seen but always heard Dr. Beck as a running gag, they had crossed the Rubicon. Annie was never speaking to Jimmy Fallon again.
#voiceofbeck was the first hashtag to be named Dictionary.com’s Word of the Year.
“Did it arrive?” Watney asked, catching Johanssen at her usual station after making sure that Lewis was safely locked away doing some kind of geology experiment with the Martian dust she’d collected off Watney’s spacesuit.
Watney wasn’t dumb enough to think Lewis didn’t know every single thing that happened on the Hermes, but plausible deniability was a wonderful thing.
In the 21st Century, there was nothing more valuable than information, as had been aptly demonstrated by NASA’s (Teddy Sanders’s, that wimp) decision to block the information on Watney’s miraculous survival. None of the crew were dumb enough to believe NASA still wasn’t censoring their mail, but they had ways around it if they knew to ask.
Watney might have been a space pirate, but Johanssen was a space smuggler. Her contacts back home sent her constant data packages, and she was willing to help a crewmate out if they had specific requests.
Mitch was a smart guy, and chose to ignore Johanssen’s less-than-exemplary behavior. After all, she’d managed to hack the Hermes system; no one was going to call her out for a minor transgression. NASA wanted her on their side.
“Did what arrive?” Beck asked never far from Watney’s side, because even though Watney’s duties were gradually being expanded, he required constant monitoring (mainly for all the academic papers Beck was working on).
“You mean I know something about Watney that you don’t?” Johanssen asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Where would the magic be if he knew everything?” Watney asked, fluttering his lashes.
“Stop trying to distract me.” Beck said, folding his hands over his chest in an authoritative fashion. “What illicit materials are you getting?”
Watney wasn’t actually a creature without shame, despite how he acted half the time. Confessing this was going to be embarrassing, even though Beck was more familiar with every inch of his body and most of his mind than anyone else had ever been. “It’s a vanity thing,” he hedged.
“The info packets Mitch sends aren’t enough?”
“It’s addicting,” Watney said. “And Mitch doesn’t send the really good stuff.”
“Fanfic and fanart,” Johanssen chimed in (like a traitor, she was no longer Watney’s favorite and he was taking her out of the will). “Especially the Beckney stuff.”
Beck was quiet as he processed that. “People are writing stories about me and Mark? Don't you think it’s strange?”
“I dunno. I think it's kind of hot,” Johanssen said, a wicked smile curving her lips.
“It’s fun,” Watney said. “A lot of them are really creative.”
“You’re lucky my friend is only sending the best,” Johanssen said. “She’s saving you a lot of work slogging through all the badly written stuff.”
Beck just shook his head. “You know I have to add this to my evaluation of your psychological progress now.”
Watney, who had spent many of his long, boring hours in bed thinking of his future as an ongoing science experiment for the rest of his life (and beyond… there was no way NASA would let up unless he donated to his body to science), shrugged. “I have no secrets left,” he said easily, before turning to Johanssen. “So did your friend come through?”
“I transferred it to your account fifteen minutes ago, rendering this whole conversation a waste of my valuable time that I could’ve spent watching Turkish Star Trek.”
“Is that really a thing?” Beck asked.
“It is a glorious thing,” Johanssen assured him.
Watney, who had already spent way too much time subject to Johanssen’s strange taste in D-movies, decided to ignore her. Instead he settled down with his laptop (Beck grabbing the seat next to him, as always) to read through his latest guilty pleasures.
About half an hour later, he was chortling over a particularly outrageous fanfic. Watney was somewhat concerned about his characterization on some of the fanfics. He would never, ever be a whiny bottom, and the idea of “magical healing cock” made him wince, since… ow. His body was just getting over almost dying of starvation, and he hadn’t forgotten how awful he had felt, particularly with the open sores.
He wasn’t actually hate-reading (which Johanssen had informed him was a yet another ‘thing’), but the lack of actual scientific knowledge displayed by the authors was awe inspiring. Fanfic writers did not seem concerned about plausibility, never letting science get in the way of their sexual fantasies.
He was just finishing up a fic from an author named CockneyBeck when Lewis and Martinez entered the rec. Watney, resigned to becoming the subject of yet most needling (in a figurative sense, much better than the literal needling he went through regularly now), just looked up and greeted them before returning to his reading. He was less than a page from the end, and this writer obviously knew how to give a b.j.
“The latest contraband?” Lewis asked, proving her omniscience.
“Contraband?” Martinez asked, immediately interested. “Did someone slip you some porn?”
“Not exactly,” Johanssen said, speaking so Watney could wrap up his reading uninterrupted.
“It either is or it isn’t,” said Martinez.
“It’s erotica,” Watney replied after finishing the story that had a wonderful happy ending.
“I think that’s over dignifying it.” Beck stretched slowly, his fluffy sweater riding up to display… his turtleneck over his stomach. The fanfic writers always got that wrong.
“What is it?” Martinez asked, looking to Lewis. There was nothing that happened on the Hermes that Commander Melissa Lewis wasn’t aware of, and she was the source of answers to any question. It was her own personal superpower.
“The latest hot fanfic releases among our fandom.” Lewis went over to the counter to prepare herself a cup of coffee, turning her back on the conversation.
The fact that they had a fandom was still weird to all of them, although Watney and Johanssen were acclimating very well.
“So what are they writing?” Martinez asked.
“I don’t think you’re mature enough to read it,” said Johanssen. “I’ll need a permission note from Marissa before I can share.”
Martinez let loose a string of profanity that could only be learned in the military service.
“Yes, but do you know what any of that means?” Johanssen asked with fake concern.
“I don’t even know what half of this stuff means, and I’ve been reading this stuff for a couple of weeks,” Watney interjected. "This one's tagged A/B/O. What does that mean, Jo- "
Johanssen, aided by reduced gravity, launched herself across the room and grabbed Watney's laptop before he could read any further.
“That’s advanced level,” she said. “Forget you saw it. How about you look for things tagged fluff?”
Watney scowled, but the last time he’d ignored one of Johanssen’s warnings, he’d ended up with mental images that he could never remove from his mind, not even with the liberal application of a belt sander.
So instead, he retrieved his laptop and transferred the file to Martinez. He gave Martinez a thumbs up, remembering Martinez’s most recent comments about the value of botany.
It didn’t take Martinez long to open the story in question. “I’m sure it’s not worse than the fartomaniac performance we saw at the Moulin Rouge revival before…. FUCKING HELL!”
Unfortunately for Martinez, Johanssen wasn’t close enough to grab his laptop in time. Watney laughed at the inadvertent punnishness. Served Martinez (that asshole) right for calling him a florist.
Martinez’s eyes were haunted as he found himself unable to stop reading, unable to look away from the calamity before him. “The human body doesn’t work this way….”
“A lot of these stories are written by virgins who don’t care,” Johanssen explained, smirking.
“And non-virgins who don’t care,” Lewis called over her shoulder.
No one wanted to ask her how she knew that. Watney knew she was the right age to have been a Directioner as a teenager, and thinking of a teenage Lewis was downright terrifying.
It was really lucky they all shared the same horrible sense of humor.
Or not luck. NASA. Each of them had been through extensive personality testing, individually and as a group, to see how they’d function together. NASA was very, very careful since all it would take was one crazy scientist to ruin the whole mission.
Beck, God bless him, chose that moment to look up from his own laptop. "What's the fascination with coffee shops?"
Vogel sells Hermes’ secrets in big-time book deal!
BERLIN - Cornelsen Verlag, a well-known publisher of German educational material, may have landed an out of this world deal! An anonymous source has confirmed that Astronaut Alex Vogel has just sold the rights to an as-yet unnamed autobiography to Cornelsen. The manuscript, to be written in Vogel’s native German, would be due a month prior to the Ares 3 crew’s scheduled return.
“It’s not a great fit for the company, but Vogel’s book is a win and any publishing house would love to have this title,” said Houghton Mifflin Harcourt junior editor Xavier Yogtiba. “Most astronauts with a unique story publish a book. Vogel isn’t only the first German to visit Mars, but he’s also a part of the Ares 3 mission, which has overtaken Apollo 13 as the world’s favorite space story.”
Yogtiba explained that even if the book was poorly written, it would likely be rushed to print to coincide with the Hermes’s return to Earth. The timing would guarantee strong sales.
“It’s also the only way for Vogel’s story to scoop the book Mark Watney will inevitably release.”
No word yet on what Vogel’s book will contain, but it’s inevitable that the world’s most famous ‘German Bomber’ will have plenty to say about the rescue mission to Mars.
“We would, of course, be interested in acquiring the English rights,” Yogtiba added.
Laura Christa Eileen @otdrnina12
I like to think Vogel has the consent of all his crewmates. #ares3
My Porn Name is Ave Maria @whatthebeck22
I like to think Vogel will detail all the #beckney moments he’s walked in on. #ares3
Einstein Had It Right Amen @redeemedscience
I like to think you assholes will find God. #ares3 #beckney
My Porn Name is Ave Maria @whatthebeck22
I like to think you’ll learn tolerance, @redeemedscience. Or at least stay off the #ares3 and #beckney tags.
Marry Me Mark Watney @astrochick16
Mark should get to release first! Who wants to read about the German guy? #ares3 #markwatney
Everything the Patriarchy Fears @nasastemlady
I bet NASA has a release schedule planned for them. Face it, @vogelalexares3 is the one with the smallest fanbase. #ares3
My Porn Name is Ave Maria @whatthebeck22
Vogel makes it hard to think of space orgies since he’s such a doting daddy. #ares3
Lucretia Živadinov @spaceartista
@martinezrares3, @johanssenbares3, we need #beckney pics! I’m dying here! I’ll settle for group pics so I can overanalyze composition! #ares3
The crew heard about Vogel’s book deal from the news clips Mitch sent along. Vogel had mentioned nothing about his project, and they were all confused at first, but not worried about what the book might contain. Vogel had plenty of dirt, but he was a brilliant (evil) scientist. He wasn’t about to publish anything incriminating.
If Vogel wanted to publish a tell-all, he’d wait to announce it until he was safely back on earth a continent away from the rest of them. Watney would’ve paid the most to read his book of any of them, since he had no clue what Vogel could include. It was always the quiet ones that were worst. Vogel tended to let his crewmates do most of the talking, but he was always, always listening.
“Is children’s book,” Vogel said when Martinez asked him. “I want to have something special to give die affen as souvenir, but I did not have time to collect rocks.”
They all laughed at that. Everyone knew very well that “Martian samples” immediately belonged to NASA, and there was no way in hell any astronaut would be allowed to keep them. There was no way Vogel would’ve been able to give his kids martian rocks. Hell, Watney wasn’t even allowed to keep his body fluids to himself now since they were of “scientific significance.”
Vogel wasn’t supposed to be a thorn in Annie’s side. He belonged to the ESA, and she had made very specific deals on how his publicity was to be handled. Ysanne Booring, her counterpart at the ESA, was about to get an earful.
She’d call right after watching the day’s Watney Report. Mindy Park was the guest from NASA, and she’d been thoroughly briefed on what to talk about. It was Mindy’s fourth appearance, and despite her awkwardness, Annie wasn’t too concerned about it going wrong.
Almost all the tech-side NASA geeks were awkward. After meeting Rich Purnell (who would never, ever be allowed to interview with anyone if Annie had her way), Annie had learned to accept how lucky she was that people like Mindy existed. Mindy at least spoke coherently and was aware of the way the normal world operated.
Mindy wore all black, with the small exception of the NASA logo emblazoned over her heart. The makeup artist had gone with a natural look, for which Mindy was grateful since she always forgot to wash it off.
CNN has assigned Gosifechukwu Azikiwe (popularly called ‘Go Go’ by his American monolinguistic fans who wouldn’t even make an attempt to pronounce it) to host the program. Azikiwe was an ascended science reporter, landing the gig by being in the right place, right time when Watney’s survival was announced. He was one of the few reporters that Annie Montrose didn’t consider an idiot, which was another contributing factor.
Now he was CNN’s most famous and popular anchor, pulling in a multimillion dollar salary.
The reason the people at NASA were fond of him (even when he asked pressing questions), was that he was genuinely interested in the science. He also had the rare gift of translating technobabble into English without sounding like he was correcting his guests.
Mindy sat in the guest’s chair, wishing she hadn’t lost that bet with Brendan Hatch. Each of the NASA divisions was forced to offer guests (victims) up for Annie’s approval on a regular basis.
Since the Ares 3 crew was in the middle of returning and there wasn’t (and hopefully wouldn’t be) any breaking news, a lot of NASA personnel were being sacrificed on the name of entertainment. There were still over 200 days left before the Hermes would make it back to earth’s orbit, which was a lot of show hours to fill.
NASA personnel had become very good at avoiding being the tribute to the news gods. Mindy had stayed out of the spotlight ever since Watney’s recovery, but her luck had failed due to the latest Giants/Astros matchup. She was so disappointed that her Giants had let her down.
Mindy watched from the side as Azikiwe ran through a brief summary of the crew’s day, noting that Watney had, at long last, repaired the ventilation problem that forced him and Martinez to share quarters with other crew members. With the fix complete, Watney would finally be discharged from sickbay.
After the second commercial break, the crew rearranged the set quickly so she joined Azikiwe at his desk. They turned her mic on and did a quick check before the countdown began.
“Today I am joined by Mindy Park, one of my favorite guests from NASA,” Azikiwe said in a smooth voice. “As I’m sure all of you recall, Mindy is the sat com officer who first spotted changes to the Ares 3 landing site, discovering that Mark Watney had survived. Welcome, Mindy.”
“Thanks,” she said, reminding herself not to fidget. After her first appearance, one of Annie’s assistants had sat down with her to review the clip more than a dozen times to see where she could improve. She had a tendency to gesture, which pulled focus.
Or so the assistant told her. Repeatedly. And then subjected her to the same de-briefing after each of her subsequent spots on the show.
Used to the monosyllabic nature of NASA personnel, Azikiwe smoothly transitioned into asking her what she was doing now that she was no longer watching Mark Watney.
She explained about setting up the satellites to monitor the path Watney had trod to see if there were any discernible changes caused by his passage. Thus far, there didn’t seem to be any change, but NASA would not forget that introducing human life onto a foreign planet might have unexpected consequences.
“We’re making sure there’s no butterfly effect we hadn’t considered,” Mindy concluded. “So far, nothing, but it needs to be monitored. The very lack of change is worthy of further study.”
“Speaking of further study, have you had any contact with Mark Watney since he was rescued?”
“No, why would I?” Mindy asked.
“You were the one who found out that he’d arrived. The last time you were on, your duties were monitoring Mark’s every movement.”
“That was my assignment? I mean, sure, I was part of the team helping Mark get to Schiaparelli, but I was just one of many. I didn’t even get to talk to him directly before he blew up the Pathfinder…”
Mindy realized as soon as the words were out of her mouth that she’d brought up a topic on the “don’t go there” list. While it was no secret that Watney had inadvertently destroyed his means of communicating with Earth, NASA didn’t like reminding people of it. It messed with the hero’s mystique they were carefully weaving to keep people supporting NASA’s mission. The last thing she wanted was to spark another hate site like watch-mark-watney-die.com.
Azikiwe proved himself a friend and didn’t exploit the slip for a minute or two of ridiculous drama at her expense. “So you’ve never met?”
“No. NASA’s a big organization.”
“Are you hoping to?”
“Of course. I mean, who wouldn’t want to meet Mark? He’s a really awesome guy.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged. Maybe even on this show….”
Mindy felt sick as she mumbled something noncommittal.
Azikiwe thankfully turned the topic back to her satellites and didn’t raise the topic of Watney until the next commercial break.
Mindy knew she’d fucked up, although she wasn’t sure exactly how.
That had not gone well. That had not gone well at all.
Hermione Potter-Watney @shipharmonyfrvr
I think it’s so romantic how she saved his life and won’t take any credit! #ares3 #markwatney #mindypark
Lucretia Živadinov @spaceartista
Chris literally saved him! Many times! Mindy said they’ve never even met! #beckney #ares3 #iwillgodownwiththisship
Everything the Patriarchy Fears @nasastemlady
That’s never stopped fandom. #ares3
Marry Me Mark Watney @astrochick16
Can’t we just polyship so everyone’s happy? #ares3
My Porn Name is Ave Maria @whatthebeck22
I don’t like tits and pussy messing with my happy fun cock fantasies. #beckney #ares3
Everything the Patriarchy Fears @nasastemlady
It’s a time honored fandom tradition to have ship wars. We were overdue. #ares3
Hermione Potter-Watney @shipharmonyfrvr
The shipname should be Eggship! Mork&Mindy reference FTW! #ares3 #eggship
My Porn Name is Ave Maria @whatthebeck22
@shipharmonyfrvr Obscure reference for tv show that aired before any of us was alive FTL, asshole. #ares3 #beckney #iwillgodownwiththisship
Everything the Patriarchy Fears @nasastemlady
Beckney is canon. You will never convince me they are not canon and that they’re not being forced to stay in the closet. #ares3 #beckney 1/2
Everything the Patriarchy Fears @nasastemlady
The industrial space complex that is NASA won’t admit to any openly gay astronauts. #ares3 #beckney 2/2
Happily Shipping for Two Decades! @slashfangrl2010
@nasastemlady I think they’re canon, too, but they’re keeping quiet because of regs. NASA doesn’t send couples on missions together. #ares3 #beckney
Hermione Potter-Watney @shipharmonyfrvr
I still think Mark&Mindy would make really cute babies! #ares3 #eggship
Marry Me Mark Watney @astrochick16
Mindy would a great surrogate for #beckney babies. I want Mindy/Johanssen fic with both of them pregnant with Beckney children! #ares3
Happily Shipping for Two Decades! @slashfangrl2010
@astrochick16 Working on it! #parkbethhere #beckney #ares3
J.J. was definitely Annie’s favorite. She’d done a wonderful job of keeping social media under relative control, and out of Annie’s hair. Annie hadn’t realized how well J.J. had done until her 2IC was hospitalized with pneumonia. Annie hadn’t realized that was a possibility nowadays. Damn drug resistant bacteria.
Without J.J., Annie had taken on monitoring social media since no one else knew what to look for. Above all, she was going to make sure she didn’t feed the hydra fandom was turning into (why oh why hadn’t it evolved into something like a jigglypuff?).
It was only for a couple of days, she told herself.
Unfortunately, the day of J.J.’s admission happened to coincide with Mindy Park’s appearance on The Watney Report. Annie could only blame herself for jinxing herself by thinking Mindy wouldn’t cause problems. Accidents happened, and Mindy’s innocent remarks had stoked the until-now quiescent rule that all fandoms had to have ship wars.
After spending hours scrolling through NASA’s multiple social media accounts, Annie decided to send J.J. the biggest fruit basket known to mankind. The wank between the Eggshippers, Beckney stans and polyshippers was approaching epic proportions, and she had no clue where the ParkBethHere fans were coming from since Johanssen had no connection to Mindy at all.
The only thing she could do was pretend none of it existed. Tomorrow she’d send out a press release highlighting Watney’s return to regular duties; maybe that would distract them.
Or not. She had the feeling that this mess wouldn’t die down until the Ares 3 crew was safely back on earth.
She would survive until then. Fandoms never truly died, but once Ares 3 was out of the news cycle, people would move onto brighter and shinier things. The crew would disperse to their lives across the United States, and all this nonsense would go away without new fuel being constantly added to the fire. Once the source material was complete, it wouldn’t be Annie’s problem anymore.
Until then, her staff would have to keep reading to make sure complete chaos didn’t erupt. Annie would have to throw the party to end all parties, with J.J. as guest of honor, once Watney was safely back in Ohio.
A couple of days after moving back into his quarters to enjoy his “privacy” (left handed, right handed, and double fisting, oh yeah!), Martinez decided it was time to play a prank on Watney. Watney was fully functional once again, and it was time to resume their ongoing war.
Beck and Dr. Shields were always talking about how important it was to reinforce Watney’s sense of normalcy, and normal for them was doing annoying things like reprogramming Watney’s computer to say “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that, Mark” whenever he saved a file. Watney had had to ask to have Johanssen fix it, and Martinez’s bribe for her to stall by offering to take her next three turns cleaning the head had led to a glorious week of fun. Good times, good times.
Or, and this was an oldie but goodie, putting shaving cream on Watney’s right hand and tickling his face. Martinez (still an asshole) had his camera at the ready, and was already thinking of the joy the pictures would invoke in their fans back on earth. He had a fanbase to appease.
Watney’s condition had improved a lot, but he still required more sleep than the rest of them. Martinez waited until about an hour after Watney had sacked out before heading to Watney’s room. There were no locks on the doors (bad idea in case of emergency), so he slid it open to begin his nefarious plot.
Watney wasn’t there.
“What the hell?” He would’ve seen Watney in the rec or the labs, and he still wasn’t allowed in the gym on his own.
The only place he could be was in crew quarters. Suddenly concerned, Martinez headed to Beck’s room, wondering if Watney had yet another health emergency. Martinez should’ve knocked before sliding open the door, but his worry made him forget his manners.
They were wide awake, and Watney was leaning against Beck’s shoulder as he looked at his laptop, with Beck’s hand resting on Watney’s hipbone. It looked like they were sharing the laptop, something that all of them did from time to time, but Martinez knew what intimacy looked like. Watney and Beck were cuddling.
This was decidedly unplatonic.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered to himself.
Neither of them looked guilty or startled, or made any movement to pull apart. “Learn to knock, Martinez,” Watney said.
“Oh, shit… oh shit,” Martinez repeated, trying to decide what to do. This was outside of regs, and NASA would throw a fit. There were reasons astronauts were not supposed to have romantic relationships with each other, and the fact that Beck was Watney’s doctor made the conflict even worse.
“NASA shouldn’t have approved you sleeping together if they didn’t want an inappropriate doctor-patient relationship to develop,” Martinez said lamely, knowing his stab at humor was falling far short.
Watney, who was also an asshole most of the time, couldn’t let the moment slide. “We were taking part in a study about the health benefits of astronauts having regular sex,” Watney started, only for Beck to lightly cuff him on the head to make him shut up.
"It was improper long before he became my patient,” Beck said easily, tapping a button on the laptop. Whatever they were looking at, it wasn’t a film since they both chuckled in unison.
Martinez felt the most conflicted he’d felt since finding out that Watney had survived. He wasn’t the type to rat out his crewmates, but if Lewis found out about them, and then found out that he’d known and not told her...
“You’ll need to speak with Lewis,” he said, deciding on the middle ground. “I mean, man, I’d keep your secret until death, but Lewis needs to know.”
“Lewis knows,” a voice said from behind him. Glancing back, he saw Lewis standing there with an eyebrow cocked. “So do Vogel and Johanssen. Congrats, Martinez, for being the last to find out.”
“But…” Martinez protested.
“Yeah, zero for one hundred on your observational skills test,” Watney agreed. “How did you pass your pilot’s exam?”
Martinez would’ve let loose a cutting rejoinder, but Lewis put her hand on his shoulder, instantly cooling his temper.
“Let’s go have some nice, soothing tea, and let the lovebirds have their peace and quiet.” The way she stressed the final word made him grateful that he preferred to sleep with earplugs in.
After the door slid closed, Watney finally gave into the laughter that he’d been holding back. “Looks like you win the bet,” he said. “I still thought he’d be surprised when we announced the engagement.”
“Which is proof why you should never bet against me. The wedding is now officially taking place in West Simsbury,” Beck replied, pleased at his winnings. Chicago was… Chicago, and Beck greatly preferred the classic New England vibe of his hometown in Connecticut to Chicago’s Chicago-ness.
“I’d accuse you of deliberately dropping hints, but Martinez just got lucky.” Watney turned his head so he could look into his significant other’s pretty eyes. “Speaking of getting lucky….”
“You need to have another month of normalized blood pressure first,” Beck told him.
Watney frowned, but didn’t object. He wasn’t stupid enough to risk his recovery because he was thirsty.
“Guess we’ll just have to content ourselves with the fanart. The photo manips are actually pretty stellar,” Watney said, studying the latest contraband Johanssen had supplied. The screen showed an idealized naked image of the two of them, reaching across a starry background with Mars looming far below. Watney was giving the artist, Space Artista, points for anatomical correctness, but his science-oriented brain kept thinking of the consequences of being in the vacuum of space without a suit.
Beck groaned. “I thought we were done with the space puns after the first three weeks.”
“My pun allowance reset since I had to reboard the ship,” Watney countered.
It was a very good thing Martinez wasn’t around to capture the moment for posterity, because the look of sheer horror on Beck’s face would’ve launched one thousand fanfics.