Chapter Text
Sol 6:
Steve Rogers put his hands on his hips and let out a long sigh. Mars was gorgeous. An endless sea of red rock and sand. So very different from Earth, but as the geologist (and captain) of the Ares 3 crew, any opportunity to explore the soils of the Red Planet was beyond exciting.
“You gonna help me dig, Stevie, or just stand there and look at all the rocks?” James Barnes smirked at the Captain, quirking an eyebrow. The effect was lost on Steve, as they were both wearing their EVA suits, the reflective face shields meaning they were unable to see each other’s expressions.
“I’m coming. I’m coming,” Steve responded good-naturedly. “What did you need? This EVA is all for your chemical analysis, right?”
“Yeah. I need at least 20 samples. Tony’s doing a grid 20 meters north of here. Dig down 30 centimeters and make sure you get at least 100 grams per sample.”
“Gotcha.” Steve crouched down, clumsy in his EVA suit, using a hand to balance himself as he began to dig.
“The 30 centimeters is important. Make sure it’s 30 centimeters down.”
“I heard you the first time, Buck.”
“Just reiterating, punk. I know you geologists are fascinated by all the pretty dirt. I need mine 30 centimeters deep.”
Steve reached out and pushed James lightly, barely causing the other man to sway. “Jerk.”
“Hey Stark,” a third voice echoed through their comms, “how’s it going over there?”
“You’ll be happy to know, Barton,” Tony responded cheerfully, “in Grid Section 14-23 the particles were predominantly coarse, but in 14-24, they’re much finer, and should be ideal for chem analysis.”
“Hear that, guys?” Clint laughed. “Tony’s found dirt. Should we alert the media?”
“I’m sorry, Barton, what are you doing today? Making sure the MAV is still upright?”
“Well, I’ll have you know that visual inspection of the equipment is imperative to mission success, seeing as the MAV is the only way all of us are getting off this god-forsaken planet. I’d also like to report: the MAV is still upright.”
Steve sighed. “Tony, you keep leaving your channel open, which leads to Clint asking you questions, and you responding, which leads to all of us having to listen, which leads to me being annoyed.”
“Noted, Captain. Did you hear that, Clint? Cap would like for you to shut your smart mouth.”
“We’d like you to use a different adjective to describe Clint’s mouth,” Bruce Banner muttered over the comms from where he sat at the kitchen table inside the Hab. Natasha Romanov, sitting across the table from him while she monitored the other’s conditions on her computer, shot him a smile.
“Was that Banner insulting me?” Clint squawked.
“Captain, I can shut off their comms from here,” Natasha offered.
Tony tutted. “Romanov, I think we all know that the most important aspect of any successful team is constant communication at—”
“Shut them off,” Steve interrupted.
Natasha punched the corresponding command into her computer. 20 meters away from Steve, well in his line of sight, Tony stood from his work, raising his arms in a ‘what gives’ gesture. Steve watched him shake his fists for a few moments, smiling to himself.
An alarm blared on Natasha’s computer. “Mission update,” she told Bruce. “Captain, you’re going to want to come inside.”
“What is it?”
“Storm warning.”
Steve nodded, despite knowing she couldn’t see him. “I saw that in the briefing this morning. We planned around it, so we’ll be done and inside before it hits.”
“They upgraded their estimate,” she responded. Bruce stood and came around the table, leaning in behind her to get a better look at the screen. “The storm’s going to be a lot worse than they thought.”
All four crew members outside looked up. Steve stood, searching the sky in the direction the storm would be coming from, catching sight of it almost immediately. The others followed his gaze, catching sight of the dark mass in the distance. “Back to base,” Steve ordered. Everyone immediately dropped their work, collecting their tools and completed samples and returning to the Hab.
When they were all inside, Steve stood against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. Natasha was reading key points from the storm report aloud. “It’ll be here in 15 minutes. Currently sustained winds of 100 kph, but it’s gusting at 125.”
“Christ.” Tony shared a worried look with James. “Any idea on predictions?”
Natasha pursed her lips. “We’re on the edge. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
“What’s the abort windspeed?” Bruce asked, as the Hab canvas rippled violently with another gust of wind.
“150 kph, technically. The Hab could withstand significantly more, but the MAV would be in danger of tipping at 150.”
“Prepare for abort,” Steve decided. “We can go to the MAV and wait it out. If it becomes a danger of tipping, we take off.”
They went through the Airlock in pairs. Clint and Steve first, the pilot and the captain. Bruce and Natasha went next. James and Tony filed out last.
“Visibility is next to nothing out here,” Steve warned as they grouped up at the airlock door. They were battered with sand as the wind tried to push them off their feet, but they managed to stay upright. “If you get lost, home in on my suit. The wind will get worse away from the Hab, so be prepared.”
He turned and stumbled away, Clint at his side. They followed in orderly pairings, though Tony and Natasha were both being pushed around more roughly. Tony began to fall a few paces behind James when an idea struck him. “Captain,” he called through the comms, “I have an idea for how we can make the MAV more stable, keep it from tipping.”
“How?” Steve grunted back.
“We can use cables from the solar cells to shore it up, acting like guy lines.” Tony had stopped walking, looking around. “The rovers could be the anchors,” he panted. “The real trick would be getting—”
A horrible sound, like metal tearing, cut him off. The next second, a piece of flying debris slammed into Tony, carrying him off away from the rest of the crew.
“Tony!” James cried, whipping around.
“What happened?”
“Something hit him!” James reported. “I can’t see him anymore.”
“Stark, report,” Steve snapped, turning around but waving Clint on to the MAV. No reply came. “Stark, report,” Steve repeated. Silence.
“I can’t find him,” came Natasha’s frantic voice as she attempted to home in on his suit’s telemetry. “He’s offline!”
“Captain,” Bruce chimed in, “before we lost telemetry, his decompression alarm went off.”
“Shit,” Steve cursed. “Buck, where did you last see him?”
“He was three steps behind me, then he was gone,” James replied. “He flew off to the west.”
“Clint, get to the MAV and prepare for takeoff. Everyone else, home in on Barnes. Line up and walk west.”
“Doctor Banner, how long can a person survive decompression?” Natasha asked, voice shaking as she stumbled through the storm.
“Less than a minute,” was Bruce’s choked off reply.
“I can’t see anything,” James said as the crew reached him.
“Start walking. Small steps, he could be prone; I don’t want us to step over him,” Steve commanded. They began to shuffle through the storm.
Clint reached the MAV, forcing the airlock closed against the wind. When it pressurized, he shed his suit and climbed to the crew compartment, sliding into his pilot’s chair. “Captain,” he warned as the system came online, “the MAV’s at a 7-degree tilt. We’ll tip at 12.3.” He rechecked his processes on the emergency launch checklist in one hand, noting he’d followed the procedure correctly on memory.
“Copy,” Steve responded.
“Nat,” James called, poking at his arm computer, “Tony’s bio-monitor sent something before he went offline, but I can’t get it open. It just says, ‘Bad Packet’.”
“It got cut off before it could finish transmitting,” she responded, looking at her own computer. “There’s some data missing, but I should be able to figure out what was sent. Give me a minute.”
“Stark doesn’t have a minute,” Clint offered unhelpfully from the MAV. “Message from Houston, Captain. They scrubbed the mission.”
“Copy,” Steve repeated.
“They called it four minutes ago, Cap. From satellite data they got ten minutes ago.”
“Understood. Continue preparing for launch.”
“I’ve got the raw text,” Natasha cut in. “It just reads BP 0, PR 0, TR 36.2. Banner?”
“Pulse and blood pressure zero,” Banner translated. “Temperature normal.”
They all fell silent for a few seconds. “Temperature normal?” Steve repeated, a note of hope in his voice.
“It takes a while for the—” Bruce let out a muffled choking noise. “It takes a while to cool off.”
“Everyone home in on Clint,” Steve ordered, tone devoid of emotion. “I’m going to look for another minute.”
“Captain, we’re at eleven degrees now.”
“Copy,” Steve grunted. “Are you at pilot-release?”
“I can launch whenever,” Clint confirmed.
“If you start to tip, take off.”
“And leave you behind? No way, Cap.”
“It’s an order, Clint.” Steve blinked away the moisture gathering in his eyes as he shuffled across the ground. The others’ headlamps had already disappeared into the storm. “Nat, could the rover’s infrared find him?”
“Negative,” she responded. “IR can’t get through this dust any better than visible light could.”
“What about proximity radar?”
“That’s meant to see the Avenger from orbit,” Clint argued, “not a tiny space suit through a sandstorm.”
“Try it anyway.”
“What’s he doing?” Natasha asked Bruce and James as they ascended the ladder into the crew compartment.
“He’s desperate,” Bruce said. “He’s grasping at straws.”
“Negative on the proximity radar,” Clint called as they took their seats. “I can barely even see the Hab.”
“Captain, I know you don’t want to admit it, but… Tony’s dead.” Bruce stared straight ahead while Steve refused to respond. “Captain,” he said more firmly.
“Hey,” James hissed, turning as far as he was able to look at Bruce. “What the hell is wrong with you, man?”
“I just lost my best friend,” Bruce replied through the knot in his throat. “I don’t want to lose my captain, too.”
“Shit!” Clint yelled. “12.5, Captain, we’re tipping.”
“Launch,” Steve commanded, turning to look at the MAV.
“I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve, then I’m following orders,” Clint returned stonily. “Get your ass to the MAV.” He brough the Orbital Maneuvering System online and fired it, and a roaring sound echoed through the hull as the MAV began to straighten.
“You’re firing the OMS?” Natasha asked. “The aerodynamic caps will automatically eject, leaving three holes in the side of the ship. That’ll make for a bumpy ascent.”
“Well, I’m not leaving Steve, and a bumpy ascent it better than 32 metric tons hitting the ground.” He watched the numbers on his screen slowly revert, finally reaching 11.8. “Captain, get up here.”
Steve cast one last glance at the sandstorm from the airlock of the MAV, pulling it shut as a part of his brain screamed for him to run out and find Tony, damn the consequences. But he had a crew to think about. He ascended the ladder, strapping into his couch.
“I’m at pilot release,” Clint informed him. “Ready to launch.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry Captain, but I need you to verbal—”
“Launch,” Steve said, almost too quietly to be heard. Clint activated the sequence, and the MAV lurched upward.
As they rose in the air, falling slightly off course before the computer fixed their trajectory, they gained speed. As it lost the weight of the fuel, the ship reached maximum velocity, determined by the stress the bodies of the crew could handle rather than the ship’s capabilities. The first stage of the ascent completed, they momentarily felt weightless as the force stopped and the first stage of the MAV fell away to crash into an unknown part of the planet below. The second stage took them into low orbit where the engines cut off.
“Main engine shutdown,” Clint confirmed. “Time after launch: 8 minutes, 14 seconds. On course to intercept with the Avenger.”
It had been a smooth launch, normally a cause for celebration. This time, the silence was broken only by the muffled sobs coming from Bruce. Clint looked over at the empty seat beside him, where their engineer and his navigator would usually sit. Steve stared straight ahead, ignoring James’ hand on his arm and the tears streaming down his cheeks. James clutched at his best friend’s arm, unable to stop the shaking in his own body. Natasha grasped Bruce’s hand, feeling bereft.
No one spoke as they docked with the Avenger and unloaded.
◊◊◊
In Houston, the Director of NASA was giving a speech at an emergency press conference called at the Johnson Space Center. Nick Fury stood in front of a room of press, his Public Relations Director—Hope van Dyne— the Director of the Mars Missions—Maria Hill—and the Avenger Flight Commander—James Rhodes—standing behind him. He glared the room into silence. Despite only having one eye, he managed to do it faster than anyone else who stood up here. Maybe it was his surly demeanor. Maybe it was his title. The world would never know.
“At 4:30 AM Central Standard Time, our team detected a storm approaching the Ares 3 mission site on our satellites. We warned Captain Rogers of the storm, and at 6:45 AM, the storm escalated until we classified it as severe and aborted the mission. Due to Captain Rogers’ quick actions, astronauts Barnes, Banner, Romanov, and Barton were all able to reach the Mars Ascent Vehicle safely and perform an emergency launch, which completed at 7:28 AM.” Fury looked down at the cards in his hands. “Unfortunately, Tony Stark was struck by some debris and killed during the walk to the ascent vehicle. The Captain and four of the crew have connected with the Avenger and are headed home. Tony Stark, however, has died on Mars.” The room erupted, but Fury took no questions, exiting the stage.
◊◊◊
In a mansion in Malibu, three robots beeped at each other, fighting over the tennis ball they were chasing around a lab belonging to one Tony Stark.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” a British accented voice interrupted, causing all three bots to look up at a camera in the corner of the lab. “I am afraid NASA has just announced mission abort for Sir’s trip to Mars.” The bots beeped excitedly, one (with Butterfingers lettered down his strut) spun in circles. Their father was coming home. “It is not good news,” the voice calmed them, having far too much emotion for an AI. JARVIS cleared a throat he didn’t have. “It would seem that, during the evacuation, Sir was hit by some debris. He won’t be coming home.” The bots continued to stare at the camera. “Sir has died on Mars.”
It took several moments for any of the bots to respond. Finally, the one called DUM-E let out a high-pitched whine that sounded eerily similar to a wail. The one called U wheeled slowly over to the lab table that was the most cluttered with random papers and mechanical parts, laying his claw against the workbench. Butterfingers beeped forlornly, rolling to the door to the lab and looking out, frozen.
Several hours later, there was a noise as the front door of the house opened. Peter Parker, a satellite communications engineer who worked in SatCom at NASA, had been on duty in Houston when the report from the Avenger had come in. When he had gotten off, Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries and consultant to NASA since Mr. Stark’s involvement in their space program, had offered him use of the private jet to go to Mr. Stark’s Malibu mansion.
Peter had been an eighteen-year-old engineering student one year from graduation at MIT when he’d first met Mr. Stark, who had granted him a scholarship to complete his school, and the name of a mission director at NASA. Six months later, Peter had been sitting in an interview room when the Director of NASA had walked in, taken one look at his resume, and hired him on the spot to work with their satellites circling Mars.
Despite the rigorous training Mr. Stark had gone through before his mission, he’d kept in touch with Peter constantly, even inviting him to his mansion to meet his robots and AI a few times and work in his lab. Shuffling into the mansion now, knowing Mr. Stark would never come home again, Peter couldn’t see through his tears.
He slouched into the lab, and was immediately accosted by Butterfingers, who he calmed with a hand on the longest strut. “Mr. Stark—he—I can’t—”
“It is okay, Mr. Parker,” JARVIS said softly, causing Peter to look at the ceiling. He still hadn’t broken the habit, no matter how many times Mr. Stark had reminded him JARVIS didn’t actually live there. “I told them already.”
Peter’s knees went weak, legs giving out. Only Butterfingers’ strut beneath him and DUM-E grabbing the back of his sweatshirt kept him from hitting the floor. They rolled over to the couch, dragging him with them. When he settled, all three bots wheeled close enough to be touching him. “I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t even—I don’t know. I was there when they saw the storm, but we didn’t even know it was bad enough to—to do that until—until they were already launching.” He swiped at his eyes. “If I had been a different kind of engineer, if I had been able to work on the stuff they were sending over there, I don’t know.”
“There’s nothing you could have done,” JARVIS interrupted carefully. “This was not your fault, Mr. Parker.”
“I know,” Peter sobbed. “In my head, I know that. But—but in my heart,” he clutched at his chest, feeling like he couldn’t breathe, “in my heart, I feel like I disappointed him. Like he never—he never—”
A light flickered, and then the far wall of the lab was covered in a projected video. It was Mr. Stark.
“Hey, J, have you seen this photo?” He was staring at his computer screen.
“The satellite photograph on the NASA website?”
“Yeah, that one. Did you know Pete was the one who captured it? I mean, I know the satellites do the whole picture thing by themselves, but he controls where they go. He got that picture. It’s so—” he waved his hands in the air to express something he couldn’t put into words.
“It is a lovely photograph, Sir,” JARVIS responded.
“He did photography in high school, did you know?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“That kid is the best thing to have ever happened to me.” His voice was softer, like the look in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have made the Ares 3 mission without him, and I’m not sure I would still be sober without that program.”
“He is very good for your mental and emotional health,” JARVIS noted.
“Send him a text for me? Ask if he wants to come out to the mansion on his days off this week. We’ll go to the beach and a few bars, and I’ll see if I can finally get him a date.”
The video froze on a picture of Tony smiling at his computer, eyes shining. Tears were now streaming nonstop down Peter’s face as he took in the image. “He stayed sober for Ares?”
“He stayed sober for you,” JARVIS corrected. “It is not an over-exaggeration to say that, without your influence in his life, Mr. Stark may well have never gotten to go to Mars. There is a good chance he would have died right here, too drunk or high to work his heavy machinery properly.” Peter let out a sob, clinging to the bots as they beeped concernedly at him. “At least he got to see the stars,” JARVIS said so softly it sounded like a sigh. “Sir has always belonged among them.”
◊◊◊
Sol 7:
Tony woke to the shrill beeping of the oxygen toxicity alarm of his EVA suit. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, noting with a detached manner the sharp pain in his abdomen. Shaking the sand off his face shield, he looked around the barren expanse of Mars, locating the Hab in the distance, near enough that it would be an easy walk. Glancing around even more, he realized what he wasn’t seeing—the MAV. He looked up, realizing what that meant. The crew had gotten to the MAV, thinking he was dead, and had taken off to meet the Avenger and return home. He was stranded on Mars. Alone.
“I am so fucked.”