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Chapter Text

I’m dying. I am dying, and against all odds, I am going to heaven. I can see it, the light at the end of the tunnel, a gleaming spaceship, a beautiful statue spinning and swirling. Or maybe that’s my vision spinning and swirling. It’s hard to tell over the excruciating pain splitting my chest apart. But it’s okay, there is an angel by my side, spacesuit instead of halo and harp, but he is taking me to rest. Finally. 549 sols of hell, a punishment for… what? I’m not sure, but I guess my punishment is finally up and the pearly gates have been opened for my wretched soul. In this case it’s the airlock door that I am being pulled through, but hey, I once heard heaven is different for everyone. I guess my version of heaven is being rescued by my crew at long last and being redelivered to Hermes. I am screaming and maybe vomiting into my spacesuit helmet, and I have never been gladder for the reflective helmet and the darkness of space, because the angels can’t see my wretched face. The airlock (gate?) approaches and I am brought into the heavenly light, bright clean light that isn’t marred by orange dust on every surface. This is how I know I am in heaven, that and the other angels slowly filtering in, numbering the same as my crew, their voices in my ears sounding better than any angelic harmony I had ever imagined. I feel the grip the angel by my side (Beck?) has on me shift, and the final stab of pain is enough for me to finally let go, falling into a blissfully dark unconciousness. I spare a passing wish that I could have said one last thing to the angels surrounding me, but it would have been the wretched mumblings of a dead man. I feel at peace, and my body goes limp, fully relaxing for the first time in 549 sols. Thank God or something.

Chapter Text

Beck was crying, water leaking down his face and collecting in globs interferring in his vision as he floated into the airlock with Mark secured in his grip. He grabbed a handhold, as Vogel shut the airlock, the hiss and clunking the sound of a horrible chapter of his life finally ending. He was still crying as he wrenched his helmet off, Vogel doing much the same. Even the usually stoic German had a cloud of tears gathering by his face, nose red. Mark, because fuck formality, it was Mark now, not Watney. Sniffing, Beck tried to bring back even the vestiges of professionalism to grab Mark by the armpits, and gently tow him to the infirmary, the astronauts body already limp and pliant. Vogel followed close behind, after murmuring into the ships intercom, and Beck tried to ignore the globs of water following them everywhere.

Vogel followed him into Beck’s quarters, which the doctor had already transformed into an infirmary in advance. Beck lowered Mark onto the bed (disassembled half of a bunk, thanks to Martinez’s help), and engaging a couple of straps to keep him secured. The doctor gulped in preparation for taking off the EVA helmet, preparation for the brutal reality of what he had subjected Mark too. He had made the final call, he had told the crew Mark was dead . From behind him, he could hear Vogel’s anxious shifting, and so with a deep breath, he called upon every once of doctorly professionalism he had, letting it coalesce into a steel mask. Reaching forward, hands still shaking slightly, he gingerly unlatched the helmet. He instantly regretted taking those precious few seconds to collect himself, as a blob of vomit and water (tears?) squeezed itself out from the gap. Letting out a string of curses that made even Vogel’s mouth gape open in suprise, Beck rushed to suction the blob of fluid up before it could interfere with anything. The hiss of the suction tube was enough to bring his training to the forefront, and he quickly began a triage examination.

Vogel stayed by the wall, face a pale mask of fear as Beck grabbed his tools which he thanked his past self for laying out neatly. Gritting his teeth, he remembered why doctor’s couldn’t treat their loved ones. Emotions had no place in patient care, at least according to his old mentor. Swallowing hard, he looked at Mark’s pale, strained face lined with dirt and hair hidden by the EVA headcap. He was no longer Mark, he was just another patient in his ER. Sighing, he bent over and got to work. Patient’s airway was blocked by fluid, which thankfully Beck was able to quickly suction out, helped along by the 0 gravity. With that out of the way, the patient began to cough and sputter, eyes rolling around behind closed eyelids. Breathing, check, though once the sputtering was over, it resumed to a fast and shallow wheeze, which was in so many ways not ideal. Jamming his fingers between the junction of the EVA suit and the patient’s skin, he checked for a pulse. Fast and thready, equally as unideal, and the skin was cool and clammy.

Lifting the patient’s lips, wincing internally at the discoloration of teeth which had not been properly cared for in a very long time, Beck pressed a now gloved finger against his gums. They were pale, but showed some capillary refill, enough to show blood was flowing where it should. The slowness to refill did indicate dehydration though, and he resolved to get fluids in him ASAP. Taking a quick breath, Beck lifted the patient’s eyelids, checking pupil response. Pupils were responsive, but slow to react. Putting down his penlight, Beck began the gather the wires and supplies he would need to create a space hospital room for his patient. Vogel was still fidgeting by the door, and so Beck waved him over and handed the man some scissors, their metal blade covered in a soft sheath to prevent injury. “Remove his EVA suit. I need to assess his body condition and start attaching monitors.”

Vogel nodded, and took the scissors with shakey hands. Glancing as Vogel bent low over their patient, keeping everything close to the suit to prevent any injuries, Beck returned to gathering his supplies. He had everything organised, but it was still wrapped up to stay as sterile for as long as possible. As he was in the middle of unwrapping an IV port, a gasp split the room. A choking sound quickly followed, and Beck whirled around to see Vogel covering his mouth and throwing himself out of the infirmary door. Brow furrowed, pulling himself over to the patients bed, his EVA suit cut down the middle, as well as the underlying shirt. At first, he thought it was due to the smell emanating from the man, which was rancid . However, looking closer, and relying on his ability to block out even the worst smells, Beck saw the damage lying underneath layers of fabric. The site underneath near made Beck vomit as well, and completely shattered his doctor mask.

Mark looked horrible. Oh, Beck had seen malnourished patients before, he had seen patients with their guts half spilling out of them, and patients with bones sticking inches out of their skin, the glaring white an unholy sight. But none of it compared to seeing his best friend, his crew member, the man he had abandoned for a year and a half laying on that hospital bed. Beck had been warned that Mark would probably be suffering at least the effects of malnutrition, if not starvation. Beck had also been warned that his friend had survived many nearly life ending situations, but he hadn’t been fully briefed, partially due to Mark himself being unforthcoming with NASA, and partially due to NASA being unforthcoming with Beck. Still, it was nothing compared to see the evidence splayed across his friend’s skin like some horrific patchwork. His friend was so thin that it looked more like a topography map of mountains and valleys than a human body. Hands shaking, Beck peeled back the suit and underlayer, each inch exposed showing a landscape of dirt and thin, feathery scars and abrasions, some only half healed.

Mark used to have a 6 pack of abs, which he was very proud of, and which was also completely gone now. There was a cavern below his ribcage, marred by an ugly, scarred crater right above the heavily pronounced pelvic bone. Looking at the scar from where the antenna had pierced Mark’s body, Beck could only thank every single deity he knew of that his friend was still alive. It was perfectly placed to have not pierced any of Mark’s organs, especially his intestines which Beck knew would have been a long, slow and absolutely agonising death. Though, mind racing through plotted foreign object entry points and the effects of gravity and malnutrition on bone health, it was possible the underlying bone was damaged. His friend’s muscle mass had probably helped him as well, the thick layer of muscle in that area would have halted the projectile. As a bonus the body would have been able to break that muscle down for energy long after the fat reserves were gone. Cursing, he finished peeling off the EVA suit and took a hard glare at what was uncovered. Mark’s hair was cut in some awful razor cut, which would probably have to be shaved off eventually. His mouth was chapped and dry, blisters peeling off his lips. There was a large scar across his hairline and eyebrow, and a few smaller scars dotting his face. Those were most likely from the airlock explosion, but it was hard to know. There was another scar faintly crossing his nose and underneath his chin, perhaps chafing? His eyes were sunken and bruised in a watercolor explosion of purple and yellows, standing out against his pale skin.

What looked like chafing scars were present at nearly every joint on further inspection, as well speckles of bruising. This was joined with blisters and lesions from a mix of malnutrition and probably from wearing the suits for far longer than they had ever been used. As Beck clipped monitors onto Mark’s hands, which were so thin and spindly, he noted the nails were chipped and warped, and even missing on some fingers. His hands were also covered with scars, some big and some thin as a papercut. His wrists were no bigger than a child’s. The scarring and missing fingernails were probably from the sheer amount of manual labour he had done, which NASA had summed up in clinical words as “Farming and Hard Labour strain to be expected on arrival. ” Like what was that supposed to tell him?? Continuing down Mark’s body, he noticed a dip in the ribcage, which on palpitations moved unsettling beneath his fingers. Crap, broken ribs, probably from the insane G’s he pulled. Bruising was just beginning to show, which would probably turn a real nasty shade soon. Beck turned and grabbed a bunch of bandages for later, as well as a damp sponge he had prepared previously. Oddly enough, Mark wasn’t as dirty as he expected, there was a rank stench for sure, but in terms of physical dirt it wasn’t too bad.

Furrowing his brows, Beck realised he would have to ask about that. He began to wipe Mark down, the sponge coming away marred in dust, but Beck had to be supremely gentle. partially too to avoid squeezing water out of the damp sponge, but also to avoid tearing the extremely fragile skin present. That was going to make inserting an IV port hard, but he had been known for being able to work with EDS patients before being sent on the Ares III mission, so he should be okay. He never thought having to work with people whose joint’s couldn’t stay in place and who’s skin tore at even brief injury would be useful in space other than vaguely familiarising him with unique conditions that could present from prolonged time in space, but it seems to shaping up to be a very useful experience. He knew that Mark had rationed out protein heavy food packets, and had multivitamins on hand, but it was likely he would be deficient in fat-soluble vitamins. Potatoes didn’t have much fat after all, and any fat reserves on Mark’s body, which wasn’t much given the peak health requirements an astronaut had, would have been diminished fast. This meant he could have any number of complications, let alone the ones caused by general malnutrition and the so far unstudied impacts of Mars gravity on humans.

Shit on one hand he was going to be the first doctor to ever study a human exposed to Mar’s gravity for so long, on the other hand, the “human” was his FRIEND. This was an absolute shit show, and he would need every scrap of expertise he had. It didn’t feel like enough, none of it felt like enough. Biting back tears, he finished the sponge bath and began to prepare for X-Rays. Thank god for NASA advancements resulting in medical equipment being space stable. The rush of the door opening behind him made Back turn around, acerbic words on the tip of his tongue, when he saw Martinez’s grey face. Beck had covered Mark’s privates with a medical towel, but it left the rest of his body exposed to the harsh light of reality. Beck could see Martinez fighting for words to say, fighting between wanting to flee and to stay. Taking pity on the poor man, Beck gathered the EVA suit together and handed it to the pilot, mentally reminding himself to sanitise his hands… again. “ Could you… take care of this?” NASA would probably want the suit for research purposes but… Martinez nodded and whirled out of the room, frantic to escape the reality of what had happened. Sighing, Beck turned back around, unable to escape the reality. He desperately wished for a team of nurses, other trained doctors, a whole hospital full of specialised equipment. But no. It was just him, NASA far too long away in communication time to be helpful in emergencies, him and this sterile white room. Alone with his paltry instruments and the consequences to his actions. Fuck. He stopped moping and got to work, starting his computer to begin a running log of what would probably be one of the most influential medical case study in decades.

Chapter Text

Heaven sucks. It seriously sucks. This is the first coherent thought on my mind when I woke up. The first thought’s I think are more along the lines of “ow ow ow ouch, owie, yikes, wow, ouch. But you know, who wouldn’t think like that when they wake up feeling like they were stretched over burning hot coals by like… those crazy waterbed stretchers I read about once in Percy Jackson. I know, those books are ancient history, but what, can you blame a guy for being a nerd? Ugh. Anyway, blinking slowly to conciousness, I was met with.. yup looks like Heaven’s light to me. A clean and bright light, free from miniscule orange dust particles coating every fucking surface. Actually, wow those lights kind of hurt my eyes, does heaven need to be so frickin bright ? Apparently the angels heard my complaint, because the lights dimmed to an acceptable level. Thank god for angels amiright? Blinking some more, flexing my fingers and trying to bring together some form of movement, I quickly noted the amount of tubes and wires coming out of me. Most of my body was covered by a wonderfully soft blanket, secured with some straps that were loose enough for me to not feel, but tight enough to keep me secured. My face was covered in an overly familiar contraption, an oxygen mask, and from what little I could lift my hands to see, they were covered in what have must have been 20 monitors and IV’s. What the fuck?

As my brain booted online, it noted a veritable space opera of machinery beeps, a quiet symphony of sound that I was familiar with from all my time on Mars, or should I say, Hell. Obviously those symphonies more often tended to be screaming alarms saying “ YOU WILL DIE IMMINENTLY!!” I had the feeling these beeps were saying more like “You aren’t dying right now!” Which honestly, I much prefer. A strange rustling emanated from beside me, and I turned my head slowly to see… Yep definitely heaven. Beck! At least I think it was the ships doctor. My memory has gotten… fuzzy, but some neurons at the back of my head seemed to excitedly clap and be like “I know that guy!”… plus I was familiar enough with my hallucinations that I was willing to accept the neuron clapping. He was in a chair beside me, surrounded by about 10 clipboards, and a pen was floating past his ear as he stared at me in shock. I would have put it down to one of the hallucinations I’ve been having recently, or heck even a dream, but I quickly reminded myself, hey this is Heaven! Which… brings the question of whether Heaven is a reality? I digress. I think I was staring with a bit too much of a ‘shocked martian owl realises he’s in heaven’ look, because Beck, or my heaven construction of Beck? Or an angel that looks like Beck? Lets just call him Beck and STOP THINKING ABOUT HOW HEAVEN WORKS!!!

Anyway, Beck startled upwards, amusingly enough drifting too far up in the 0 gravity, his dark brown hair floating like a halo around his head. He quickly righted himself and began to talk, almost too fast for me to understand. “ -You’re awake! Oh my god I didn’t think you would wake up… You’ve been asleep for 38 hours, I think it was the adrenaline crash? Lewis!” Beck rushed over to the ships intercom and began babbling into it. I just blinked sluggishly and tried hauling myself into a sitting position. 38 hours of sleep wasn’t that bad, I once accidentally slept for 45 in the HAB. I think it was after I learnt about the IRIS crash, and boy howdy did it send the NASA worrywarts for a spin. But I woke up this time feeling far worse than I did even then. My muscles, or what few are left, feel like someone took the time to individually beat the shit out of every single fiber like a Persian carpet. I got to maybe a third of the way up into a sitting position before my broken ribs and fucked up back decided to scream in agony simultaneously leading me to let out an aborted groan and collapse back onto the bed.

As I lay panting, Beck rushed back into my line of vision, face pale and warm brown eyes filled with concern. “ Shit- are you okay? I should have told you not to move right now. Your body is coming off a massive adrenaline crash, and the effects of 12 G space travel. You aren’t going to be able to move much for a while. Though honestly I’m suprised you were able to stay moving for as long as you did even before the launch. I mean your body is shambles- Oh and your ribs are broken, which-” He was thankfully interrupted by the woosh of the infirmary doors opening and… HOLY SHIT! It was Martinez in all of his glory. Regardless of whether it was a dream, or a hallucination, or some fucked up transitory purgatory state, or even… real, the stunt that the pilot had pulled off would go down in history . The pilot’s usually tan face was pale, and I could have sworn he had less wrinkles the last time I saw him, but hey, memory kinda goes down the drain when you spend 1 and a half years on Mars all by your lonesome.

I think I tried to mumble something like “ Holy shit Martinez! It’s so good to see you, and hey you’re going to be famous now! Yay!” but it came out more as a long drawn out groan muffled by the oxygen mask. Martinez seemed to take it as some sort of death wheeze, because he pulled himself over and grabbed the bar of my hospital cot, eyes just about bubbling over with tears. “Holy shit man, it’s so good to see you- I’m so sorry… I-” Those tears did bubble over, floating up in globs, and his nose began to turn red. I tried to move my arm to comfortingly pat his shoulder, but my fucked up arm wouldn’t even do that. Instead I settled for letting out a (hopefully comforting) mumble. I would have wrenched off my oxygen mask , but some primal part of my brain was screaming at me not too, physical condition aside. That primal monkey part of my brain had managed to get me this far so I decided to let it be. Martinez escalated into full on sobbing, which Beck apparently decided was enough, and ushered him out of the room.

When the doctor returned, he looked calmer which was good. Seeing me still concious, he did flicker into a suprised look, but busied himself with checking my monitors with furrowed brows. “You can go back to sleep if you need too okay? I’m sorry about Martinez, we are all just really glad to see you back. It’s going to be a long recovery process, but it’s a long way back to Earth…” His face reappeared in my line of vision, a small and cautious grin stretching his lips. “It’s going to be okay ----” Apparently my brain decided to take that as a signal to pass the fuck out again, because Beck’s last words were lost to a haze of darkness and static. This is one weird heaven, but I’ll take it.

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Beck sighed and stared down at Mark’s lax face. He had finally surfaced from conciousness for more than a second or two, but it hadn’t lasted long. In one way he was glad, it gave his body more time to fully relax and heal, which it desparately needed, but he was upset that he didn’t have more time to examine Mark’s mental state. He seemed to be able to track their movements, and was able to respond to Martinez. He was too tired to do more than groan, so Beck couldn’t examine speech either. Based on the fact he wasn’t able to raise himself more than a few inches off the bed, it was likely he was in a lot of pain, which was to be expected. Still… this was better than anything he or NASA had predicted. NASA had even brought up the possibility of Mark being stuck in a comatose state, or having to be sent into a medically induced coma to heal on the journey back to Earth. So all things considered this was good . Now to believe that.

Rubbing his hand roughly down his face, he decided that Mark was stable for the second, and turned to go inform the crew of the update. It was likely that Martinez was already blubbering and making everyone far more worried than was helpful. Dragging himself through the 0 g sections of the ship, he made his way to the break room which was set at a higher gravitational force to allow for astronauts to sit without harnesses. Thank God for modern science, allowing for small portions of the ship to have an artificial gravity field. Mark was still being kept at 0 g for right now, even though it made fine medical work difficult, Beck didn’t dare test adding more gravity to Mark’s already stressed beyond the breaking point joints and muscles. He had put some compression items on Mark’s limbs to hopefully mantain blood flow, but that was all he dared do. Sliding into the break room, he made his way over to a chair and half collapsed into it. God he was tired. He had spent most of the 38 hours Mark was asleep, frantically noting everything he could about the man’s condition, and making hypothesises and potential treatment plans.

He was so out of his depth it wasn’t even funny, and even the NASA scientists were little help. Martinez had interrupted his planning about 10 hours in, with shaking hands, and had handed over the datastick he and Vogel had found when going through Mark’s EVA suit. There was actually multiple datasticks, copies of each other, sewn or glued into various spots in the EVA. Some of them had been destroyed in the launch process, but two had survived. When Johanssen had copied it over to the ship’s computer, they found scientific logs written by Mark, in case he died. They covered everything from botany (obviously) to chemistry, to even psychology. The psychology logs were mostly comments on his mental and physical state, that were honestly unintelligble. In fact they only realised they were psychology logs because they were entitled as such. But unlike the scientific writing, they quickly deteriorated in quality. Some were simply blank pages, others were veritable key smashes, others were more thoughtful philosophical, and others boiled down to “I’m sad”. A+ for effort all things considered, but one log in particular labelled “Psychology, Sol IDFK” was the word “help” written again and again. Lewis had seen it and privately gone to a quiet room, probably to throw up given the pasty expressions on the other crew members faces.

For right now, they decided to keep all the logs private, unless and until Mark gave them explicit consent to release them, or as the first log stated “In case I die.” A shuffling behind him roused him from his thoughts, and he turned to see Lewis standing behind him, uncharacteristically cautious. “How… How is he?” Beck blinked and tried to formulate a response, glancing over at Martinez, who’s nose was still a touch red from crying. Glancing back at Lewis’s steely blue eyes, he settled on a frank version of the truth. “He’s doing better than expected. He regained conciousness, and though he seems to be in pain, he also seems to be concious of us, and made some attempts to speak. However, until his body has recovered a bit more, we won’t be able to know much about his mental state.” Lewis winced, but seemed to accept the truth. “You said he’s in pain? Is he not on pain meds?” Beck swallowed and looked down at his twisting hands. “Well… NASA sent a supply of pain meds in preparation for his arrival, and we also still had a decent stockpile… but I’m trying to ration them. We simply don’t know if he’s going to have a chronic pain condition from the strain he’s been under, and if he will, how severe and how long lasting. The medicine needs to theoretically last until our arrival on Earth. And then there are issues of dependency… In other words, I am being cautious with it, but will give him pain meds if he indicates signs of suffering. I gave him some just after he fell back asleep, since he seemed to be in a lot of discomfort.”

Lewis nodded at the end of his monologue, and glacing up, Beck could see Vogel and Martinez not so subtly listening in. Johanssen had her back turned, going through the logs, but Beck could tell from the set of her shoulders that she had heard. Suddenly, she jumped up from the chair, a loud exclamation echoing through the room. Lewis spun around, question on her lips, before Johanssen spun around, wildness in her eyes. “HE USED FUCKING ROCKET FUEL TO MAKE WATER?!” Crushing silence, and then a weak “…What?” from Vogel. Johanssen gestured wildly at the screen, and the crew crowded around to stare at the small words on the screen. Beck could feel the blood leaving his body. “How… how is he alive?” That was the 3 million dollar question on the tip of everyone’s tongue.

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Okay maybe heaven wasn’t so bad, even if it still was weird and kinda sucked. I mean why couldn’t I just have gotten some bandages for my broken ribs, had a few laughs and then popped into the showers? Because the universe hates me, I’m stuck in a hospital cot, agony racing through my veins every time I so much as twitched my pinkie finger. Still it wasn’t so bad? Want to know why? There was no disco music when I woke up. I mean hell, I didn’t really mind disco music, but YOU try listening to it as your daily soundtrack for the better part of a year, especially when you forget to turn it off before slipping to sleep. I highly do not recommend waking up to Donna Summer singing about cake in the rain. All respect to Lewis, but if disco ever turns up in this weird fucked up heaven, I’m throwing myself out of the airlock.

Anyway, at least the pain wasn’t as bad this time. The oxygen mask was still firmly affixed, but I could feel my tongue against my teeth which was something and boded well for the potential of speech. The only thing that made me wary, was that I was alone. I had woken up a couple of different times, but Beck had always been floating around somewhere if I looked hard enough, more stress on his face everytime. Given this was the first time I felt capable of more than a couple of muttered groans, I was hoping to seem him, but nada. Just as I was about to let panic consume me, my heart monitor beeping a harsh litany in my ears, Beck rushed into the room and met my wild eyes. He was panting slightly, eyebags purpling under his eyes, clothes rumpled, the poor guy had probably been sleeping. I don’t know how he knew to come-oh wait heaven nevermind- but I was sure glad to see him.

I managed to twitch my face into a smile which was probably more of a grimace, and focused my miniscule brain power on forming words with my brick like tongue. “Hey. Beck. It’s good to see you.” It probably still came out a slurred and muffled mess, but the message seemed to get across, because the doctor broke into a giant smile and rushed across the room to my cotside. “Hey ---- It’s good to see you too! How are you feeling?” One of those words my brain didn’t seem to recognise, but regardless, I understood the gist enough to reply. “Shit.” Beck grinned and nodded, turning to fiddle with one of the IV bags. “I bet! I’m giving you a little bit of painkiller, it’s good to see you coherent! Hopefully you can stay awake for a little while this time. Obviously, go back to sleep if you need too, but it’s been nearly a week, so I’m hoping your body can stabilise a bit more soon.” Beck’s doctorly babble was soothing, and I almost forgot to respond, until I felt a soothing sensation in my muscles.

With this came a little more speech control, enough for me to say, “That’s the good stuff huh?” Beck nodded, smiling still. I bet he was having a good time, my fucked up self was as much of a first for him as all the firsts I had on Mars. I guess in some odd way this would be his sense of heaven? Ugh I need to stop thinking about how it works. I hope the rest of my crew isn’t dead as well, that would suck bunches. I considered asking, but to be honest, I didn’t want to know the answer. Beck furrowed his brows and reached over me, touching my arm, “You okay?” The gentle touch on my arm felt like it was burning , and with as much strength as I could muster, I wrenched my arm away from his touch. Really it was more of a shuffling my arm closer to my side, a grimace of pain flitting across my face, but it was enough for Beck to retreat, confusion apparent.

Ferreting that weird sensation away, perhaps the doctor had accidentally pressed a bruise or cut or something, I was quick to reassure him. “I’m fine. How- How are the crew?” Beck had become an expert at deciphering my oxygen mask mumbles, and he flitted his eyes away from me, trying to hide something maybe? Still looking away he mumbled a response, “ They are… happy to have you back. Do… do you want to see them?” A bolt of excitement shit through my veins, I had only seen Martinez and Beck so far, and it was really sending the anxious vestiges of my brain for spin. I knew this was heaven and all, but it made me excited to think I could see my crew again. My excitement must have shown on my face, because Beck grinned back and headed to the intercom, mumbling through it. My hearing wasn’t so good anymore, not since the various explosions I had been through, but I hadn’t told Beck yet. Weird how fucked up my body is… My thoughts were interrupted by the swoosh of the infirmary doors sliding open. In filtered Vogel, face pasty and beard looking worse for wear, face filled with anxiety. Past him was Johanssen, peaking nervously past Vogel’s shoulder, hair tucked into a messy half up hair do, and at the very back was Lewis, in all of her statusque glory, though she looked green around the gills so to speak. She had her eyes firmly affixed to her feet, or wherever feet would be in 0 g. Beck hovered by my shoulders, and then a thought occured to him, and he lifted my head up, taking off my oxygen mask. “Just temporarily, okay?” I nodded and cleared my throat, the sound shattering the tense air of the infirmary.

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Lewis had heard Beck telling the crew that Watney was ready for visitors, and part of her really didn’t want to go. She was the only one who hadn’t laid eyes on him yet, even Johanssen had laid eyes on him, and her face had been pale when she returned. Vogel hadn’t dared return since Watney’s arrival, and he had spent several minutes vomiting up his guts into the closest safe bag to do so. But here they were, being called to the infirmary. Beck said it would be good for Watney to see their faces, help ground him or something. NASA had sent some information over about the effects of isolation, and their scientists had been in contact with Beck, but in essence it was all about as useful and applicable to their situation as a book about bricks.

Quite frankly, no one knew how Watney would adapt, and worse, everyone wanted to know how Watney would adapt. Mitch had advised them that every single report Beck had sent over was being mercilessly picked apart by a team of hundreds of the best scientists in the world. Even the other crew member’s reports were being picked over, for they were also first people in history to spend so much time in space. Their every word and action was being picked over, analyzed a thousand times over…in other words, “History has its eyes on you.” Apparently Robert’s obsession with musicals had transferred over to her. Sighing, Lewis hauled herself out of the commander’s chair and began to make her way to infirmary, following the backs of Johannsenn and Vogel. This was such a shit idea, Watney probably hated her guts, even if he said otherwise in his logs. But she had a duty, and that duty right now included showing up for her crewmate.

Ahead of her, the door for infirmary slide open, the transition to 0 g not helping the sickness in her stomach. ‘Put your big girl panties on Lewis. Watney, no, Mark was abandoned by you for over a year and a half in an inhospitable hell planet, the least you can fucking do is put a smile on your face and say hello.’ She flicked herself through into the room, the small space cluttered with medical instruments, a symphony of beeps and chimes filling the air. She didn’t dare look at Mark, instead affixing her gaze to the ground. There was a rustle and then a rusty sound filled her ears. Glancing up, she realised that Beck had removed Mark’s oxygen mask, and was hanging it up on a hook. Mark had cleared his throat, the sound resembling something like a sick chainsaw, but she would take the sign of life. None of the crew said anything, simply floated and drunk in the sight of him, draped in about ten kinds of fabric and wires and tubes coming out of him like some sort of automana, face thin and tired, but alive .

Apparently, sick of the silence, an awkward grimace split Mark’s face, which Lewis realised with a start was supposed to be a grin, and he broke the silence himself. “Hey guys!” God his voice was creaky and sounded like it had been put through a blender, but Lewis had to fight back tears at the fact that they could even hear his voice. Unsure of what to say in response, she was grateful for Johannsenn floating forward closer to his cot, a grin splitting her face. “Hey you! You sir- You have a lot to answer too ya know? You blew up rocket fuel !?” Mark made a creaky noise which seemed to be laughter, “Ow don’t make me laugh, my ribs hurt. And yes-but it worked…” The tension broke, and Lewis floated closer, an awkward smile on her face. "Seriously Mark... Rocket Fuel? What happened to simple old botany?" Mark's eyes lit up and he laughed again. "Heyy, don't knock the botany! It worked out great for me in the end."

Lewis hid her wince at the reminder of all he had to do. But still this wasn't the time for guilt and sel flagellation. Vogel stepped forward, a witty remark on his tongue, and the room devolved into a gentle chatter.