Work Text:
Watney grins broadly when the commercial airs.
Martinez flicks a corn chip at his head. “Really, man? Really?”
Watney’s grin is unrepentant. “They obviously agree that botanists are super sexy,” he says.
Johanssen rolls her eyes. “Beck jumps out of planes!” she says. “Hell, Lewis and Martinez are military!”
“I’m sorry, is being a fucking astronaut not athletic enough for you?” Watney challenges. “You remember training, right?”
“The training we all did?” Beck asks lightly.
“It’s obvious they wanted him for the name,” Vogel interjects. “Leave your Mark. It’s a clever play on words.”
Martinez smirks. “Tough break,” he says. “Only be wanted for your name.”
Watney throws the corn chip back. “Shut up,” he mumbles.
Lewis rolls her eyes. “He had the best availability for Under Armor’s schedule,” she announces. “The name thing was just a bonus. Watney, you made Montrose happy. Now we can get back to real work.”
Martinez snorts. “Hey Watney, gonna leave your mark on Mars?”
Watney throws another chip at him.
No one thinks about the dumb commercial after that, too busy focusing on their mission and everything that comes after.
Th rest of the world doesn’t forget though. First it’s for the attractive astronaut. Then it’s for the blistering, black irony of it.
Leave your Mark.
It becomes a meme, black humor used in face of such an impossible situation.
The first time Johanssen sees it, she nearly throws up. Then she nearly throws up again, thinking about that day so long ago, when they mocked Watney for the ad.
It doesn’t matter if they have Watney back, safe and sound, or mostly so, anyways. None of it matters. As far as Johanssen is concerned, the damn commercial can go straight to hell.