Archive of Our Own

The kitchen is quiet, the only noise that of the crew's halting breath. They eat slowly, methodically, not because they're hungry but because they know they should be. They sit at the kitchen table, in seats they'd unofficially assigned themselves at the start of the mission, Lewis next to Beck next to Johanssen next to Vogel next to Martinez next to Watney. Except Watney's gone now and his chair is empty, and between Lewis and Martinez there's a void right where Watney used to be.

They keep eating. Beck's fork dings against his metal tray, penetrating the quiet, and he grimaces. "Sorry," he says, voice cracking.

They all look at him. Martinez shakes his head but he's chewing so he can't say anything. Johanssen says, "It's okay."

Beck nods and looks down at his tray, more than half of it left uneaten. He pushes it away from himself and looks around, tries to smile. "I'm, uh, done. Anyone want the rest?"

Lewis tries to smile, too, but her lips contort into a pained grimace and she looks as though she's moments away from throwing up. "I don't think any of us have much of an appetite."

Quiet. Martinez keeps opening his mouth, to say something, then closing it. He looks at the chair beside him, empty and void and lifeless. With a sudden anger, sudden like the way the cold creeps in in winter, slow at first then all at once, he stands and pounds his fist against the table's edge.

Johanssen drops her spoon and Vogel makes a startled noise. Beck looks only the slightest bit surprised, and Lewis sits up straight. Martinez is breathing hard, eyes glazed over with a thick layer of tears.

Martinez opens his mouth and this time he doesn't close it, he says, voice damp with a deep, unfamiliar sadness, "It's been what, eight hours? Why isn't anyone saying anything?"

Nobody moves, nobody says a thing. Even their breathing seems to have quieted. Martinez clenches a fist and bounces it against his side, something he's always done in times of great frustration or stress. He gestures to the chair. "Great. I'll start. Does anyone remember why Mark chose this chair?"

Johanssen looks from Beck to Vogel to Lewis, and they all seem like they aren't planning on speaking up any time soon. She coughs, adjusts herself so that she's sitting cross-legged. Sitting that way makes her feel smaller, and that's all she wants right now. To feel small, to not exist, to be back before she'd signed on to train for a NASA mission, before she got excited, so excited, about going to Mars, before she met five of her favorite people in the whole world, five of her favorite people who understood her more than anyone else ever had, and before she lost one of them and her mission all in the span of a day. She looks towards Martinez and finds he's already looking at her, knowing she'd answer first, because that's just who she is. She nods. "He... um, he picked that chair because of- of the window. That chair had the best view of the window. He liked to look out into space. That's why."

Martinez wipes at his eyes. "Yeah. That's why. I'm not trying to be an asshole, here, but we can't just not- we can't just not talk about him! He was our friend, guys, and he's dead, but we can't just ignore what happened! His stuff is all around here. His chair, his laptop, his room, his clothes, his pictures, all of it. Are we just going to skirt around his stuff forever, and never talk about him again? Is that how this is gonna-"

"Martinez," Lewis whispers. "Martinez, it's okay. We don't think you're being an asshole."

Martinez says, "Okay. Okay." and he shrinks down in his seat.

"It's hasn't even been a day, so... it's just hard."

"I know. I-I understand, but I want to talk. I hate... not talking."

"Do you want us to tell stories, or something?"

Martinez shrugs and looks down at his hands. "I don't know. I just don't wanna not talk about him. I know, I know, it's only been a day, but you guys- you haven't even said his name."

"I have something to say... about Mark," Lewis says, looking pointedly at Martinez. Everyone turns their attention towards her. Beck's just barely holding it together and Johanssen's fidgeting with the table cloth and Vogel's shaking, slightly. "It's a story. Um. On sol 1, we were outside and I asked him how he was feeling. He looked so ridiculously happy and I can't quite describe it but you guys know how he got about space. He told me he'd never been happier. I don't think I'll ever forget how happy he-" She cuts herself off, eyes squeezed tight, breathing hard. She's trying not to cry.

Vogel pats her arm and she just shakes her head.

Beck raises his hand. "Can I say something?" he says. He takes a breath and he smiles and this time it's not fake or broken. "I- I met Mark about four years ago. That was before they'd decided on the entirety of our crew. At the time, it was just Lewis, Watney and me. They called me in to meet him and I got there early and the NASA reps weren't there yet, it was just me and him. He, uh, he told me his name was Dr. Plants. And they hadn't told me his name so he had me going for a little while. I genuinely thought he was named Dr. Plants and that it was just a coincidence that he'd become a botanist. When the reps came in and asked me if I'd met Watney, that's when I realized. He never let that go, not ever. I mean, he changed his contact name in my phone to Dr. Plants."

Johanssen covers her mouth with her hand, laughing. "You really thought his name was Dr. Plants?"

"I really did."

They grow quiet, and as the night wears on they remember, but they don't talk, very much. They decide it's time to turn in around midnight. They toss their uneaten food in the trash (they don't need to worry about keeping leftovers. They have a whole extra person's worth of food) and they slowly make their way back to their quarters. Martinez doesn't say anything but he drapes something over Watney's chair so it doesn't look as empty. When he passes Mark's room, he notices the door hangs open. Watney must've been in one hell of a hurry to get down to Mars, to just forget to close his door. Martinez closes Mark's door for him, tears brimming, hands shaking. He finds his own room and curls up in bed and he doesn't fall asleep for a long time.

Johanssen can't sleep either, so she climbs down from her bed and heads for the break room, where she looks out the window and as the ship spins Mars comes into view. She remembers when Mars first came into view outside and Mark stayed up late just to see it, and when he did he woke them all up and they crept from their beds and stood where she stands now and looked in awe at the big, red planet.

She puts her hands on the window, and before she knows it Mars is gone, gone as fast and sudden as Watney was. She saw him fly backwards, saw the antennae hit him hard in the stomach. She could've reached back, could've grabbed him. There were so many things she could've done. She swallows her guilt, swallows the bad feelings because bad feelings will get her nowhere, she knows that.

"Bye, Mark," she whispers. Her breath fogs the window. She turns and goes back to bed.

----

The next day, the crew is quieter than they've ever been. They don't linger at the table after they finish breakfast like they used to. They don't talk, don't so much as look at each other. They get right to work in separate parts of the ship. There are no voices coming in over their headsets, today.

There's a data dump, early in the morning. Johanssen forwards the personals to their laptops. Martinez and Vogel sit in the kitchen, eating breakfast, and Martinez has his laptop out on the table. His screen lights up, notifying him he's gotten an email from NASA, and he clicks on it. They've assigned Mark's duties to Martinez. Martinez sighs and Vogel looks up from his tray, curious. Martinez decides to talk, because it's good and important and because not talking only makes him feel more empty. "They're giving Mark's duties to me. At least for today. So I guess I have to manage media relations, now?"

Vogel laughs. "Do not forget, you also have to take care of plants."

Martinez makes a face. "Shut up, Vogel."

"What, plants are not interesting enough for you?"

Martinez walks away, flipping Vogel the bird behind his back. Once he's in his room, he sits down at his desk, opens his laptop. He rubs a hand down his face and resists the urge to punch his hand through the wall (something he couldn't do anyway, not with the walls as thick and metallic as they are). He logs onto the Ares III twitter. "Shit," he whispers. "This is... way harder than it should be." He types, "We, on the Hermes, are very saddened by Watney's death. We wish the best for his family and his friends down on Earth. He was a great crewmate and a wonderful friend. He will be missed. #RIPMarkWatney" then sets the computer aside and leans back and laughs. Mark would've said it better.

Their families call them, one by one. They've got questions. They ask if they're doing okay and they all say they're fine but that couldn't be farther from the truth.

Lewis stays cooped up in her room, for most of the day. She answers emails and does whatever assignments NASA has for her from the comfort of her own bed. When she first opens her laptop, her screensaver's a picture of the six of them. They're all smiling, and Watney's holding up bunny ears behind Beck's head. She can't help the tears that fall from her eyes and glide down her cheeks, can't help the weight that presses down hard on her chest. She scrambles to change her screensaver, scrambles to find a picture on her drive that Watney isn't in. She changes it to a picture of her dog, Dixie, and then she gets to work.

Vogel spends most of his day looking out into space. He gets some work done but he's too distracted. He's stuck in the past, reliving the moment Mark disappeared, reliving Johanssen's frantic noise as his body flew off into the storm. He couldn't have done anything. He was too far ahead. But still, he feels guilty. And he misses Mark. Really misses him.

Johanssen just works. She works until her hands are cramped and her body aches and she could stop, she has plenty of time to get these particular assignments done later on, but she doesn't. She keeps working.

Beck clears Mark's biomonitor readings from the computer, making sure to copy over the most important ones to forward to NASA. They need storage space, and Mark's dead, so it's an easy solution. Easy in the sense that it doesn't take much work, but not easy for Beck, who stares at the box on the screen that reads "Are you sure you want to delete biomonitor readings from Astronaut Mark Watney?" for so long his eyes hurt. He knows Mark's dead (and even if he weren't, those old readings wouldn't matter anyway) but he can't bring himself to do it. He feels like he's killing him, like he's erasing Watney, permanently. He takes a breath and clicks "yes, I'm sure" and Mark's stats fade away.

He sends a quick email to NASA and attaches the file of Mark's stats in the hours just before what they've been calling "The Incident" (the ones he'd copied over before deletion). He wipes sweat from his brow and looks at the biomonitor screen. There used to be six squares, six green squares, and now there are only five. He's gone. He rolls his chair over to the counter, just as Martinez walks in. Martinez goes over to the sink and washes his hands and turns to Beck, who's scribbling something down on a clipboard. "Do you know where Mark's stuff is?"

Beck spins in his chair and points his pen towards the opposite wall. "Third cabinet, I think. No, the next one." Martinez opens it and, sure enough, he finds what he's looking for. Beck cocks his head and kicks his feet against the wall to propel himself over to Martinez. "What're they asking you to do?"

"Not sure. They used a lot of big science-y words. It all seemed very complicated. I always thought Watney came in here and just, y'know, played with plants."

"Ha. Yeah, botany's a bit more complicated than that."

"Evidently," Martinez mutters, going through one of Watney's boxes. "I don't know why they've got us working so hard, today of all days."

Beck tucks his pen behind his ear. "Distraction."

"Well," Martinez breathes. He takes out a vial of something and squints at the label. "If they wanted to distract me maybe they shouldn't have sent me in here to do Watney's work. Just a thought."

"Their logic is pretty flawed. Good luck with... whatever it is that you're doing. They've got me doing busy work. 'Honing my skills' they said. Bullshit."

Martinez nods. "Bullshit."

They go to opposite ends of the room and they work, Beck scribbling on his clipboard, Martinez in the back, trying to decipher Watney's notes. His handwriting was atrocious, and the words he used (the ones Martinez can actually read) are long and make no sense to Martinez, who has never worked with plants a day in his life.

By the time they go to bed that night, they're tired and sore and if NASA meant for the work they assigned to be a distraction, they failed. Horribly. If anything, the crew feels worse than they did before.

---

Mark's dead.

Mark's dead.

Mark's dead.

No matter how many times she hears those words, she doesn't fully believe them. Can't fully believe them. It's late at night and she's tossing and turning, her blankets thrown haphazardly to the floor. She hasn't slept in four days. She can't get the image of him flying backwards out of her head. Can't help but imagine what might've happened if she'd reached out and grabbed him, can't help but think about all the things she could've done.

She's been dealing okay. During the daytime she works and works herself so hard that her drive overshadows her guilt. But at night, the thoughts come back, big swirling clouds of guilt and sorrow, opening up and raining down upon her undistracted brain, and she just can't sleep. Not when she feels like she's the only one who could've done something.

And that's not rational. If she'd grabbed him, she'd likely have flown backwards too. They'd both be dead. And she really wasn't close enough to just turn around and grab him, anyway, especially when she didn't see the antenna flying towards him in the first place. But still, she can't help but feel guilty.

She sits up and blinks back tears. She's exhausted and conflicted and guilty and it's nighttime and she doesn't know what to do. She looks at her bedside table, at the framed picture of the six of them resting up against the lamp. She grabs it and says, "I'm sorry," to Mark mostly, but also to the rest of them.

Her hands start shaking and she drops the picture and stands up, legs wobbly. She wipes at her eyes and tries to take deep breaths, tries to calm herself down, but her exhaustion's magnifying her emotions tenfold and she just can't. "You're fine, it's fine," she says to herself, but she chokes on her own words. "It's just survivor's guilt, it's not actually your fault," she says, but her thoughts cloud her words, tell her, it is your fault, you were closest, you could've saved him.

She steps out into the hall. She looks from room to room, trying to decide what to do. She wants to talk to someone, but she's embarrassed and she's anxious and she wants to keep internalizing everything because she can manage, she'll be just fine (but some part of her knows she won't). She can't go to Lewis: Lewis already feels guilty as all hell. She can't go to Martinez because she knows he doesn't handle emotions very well and she doesn't want him to know something about her that everyone else doesn't. Vogel's off limits too. She loves the guy, but he's still learning english and he's a little bit awkward and she wouldn't really consider herself close enough to him to tell him anything this serious. She whispers, "Beck," and she sniffles and half-runs half-stumbles down the hall to his door. She knocks. He doesn't answer. She begins to regret her decision. She doesn't want him seeing her like this, doesn't want anyone seeing her like this.

She knocks again and when she hears him moving around inside she considers running and hiding back in her room, and he'd never know it was her. But her feet feel glued to the floor and she's trembling and crying and she's trying to get herself together but she can't.

"Beck," she murmurs, voice wet with tears.

"Johanssen?" He's very close to the door, she can tell. The door swings open and she gives him a smile and creeps inside. Beck looks her over and she wonders what he thinks of the the dark circles forming under her eyes, the redness of her cheeks. He pats the bed and she sits down and he says, "What's wrong?"

She shakes her head and sits with her knees drawn to her chin, arms wrapped around herself. She takes a few deep breaths, and she's red all over and fidgety and embarrassed, so embarrassed. "Sorry. I- I figured I could come to you, because I... I don't know. I don't know. I-"

"Beth, what's wrong?"

She shakes her head again and again and she keeps clenching and unclenching her fists. "It's my fault," she says, and her voice is small and a single tear carves a path along the rugged red of her cheeks. It stops once it reaches her neck. She doesn't seem to know what to do with herself, she keeps moving her hands, from clenched to wrapped around her calves to the back of her neck, where she uses them to pull her head down even further. "I was closest, I could've-"

Beck gets down on his knees in front of her and pries her hands from the back of her neck. "No, no," he says, and she shakes her head and she's crying hard, now. She won't look him in the eye. She feels vulnerable and guilty and sad and she wonders what Mark would do if he saw her like this. He would tell her it wasn't her fault, she knows he would, and he would hug her and tell her it was fine but he'd be lying, because it was her fault. She could've done something, and the reason he's not here with them, joking and laughing and Mark Watney-ing around is because she didn't grab him. Didn't even try. She just stood there dumbfounded and watched him disappear into the dark and she didn't do a thing. "It's not your fault."

"I know, I know it's not my fault but I-" she shakes her head. "He's dead, and I miss him, and he's dead and-

As the words 'he's dead' leave her lips, it hits her hard just how dead he is. She hasn't said those words before. She knows as she says them that because he's dead, a piece of each of them is dead too. Down there with him on that fucking planet that took him away. Took him away far too soon.

"Beth, hey. Look at me."

She looks at him, wipes her eyes. He's crying, too, trying hard to compose himself for her sake but but crying pretty hard all the same. He pulls her close and hugs her and she cries into his shoulder while he cries into hers. "Shhh. Shhh. It's not your fault," he says, "It was just shit luck, okay? That's all it was."

She nods, keeps crying. After a while she pulls back and wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come in here, I can- I can handle this myself."

"It's fine. Don't apologize. I'm here for you, whenever you need me," Beck says. He pats her arm and she's flushed with gratitude, because she knows he's dealing with similar things. They all are. They all feel guilty. They all think they could've done something, but in reality, there wasn't all that much they could've done. Sometimes things just happen, people just die, and the survivors left behind have no choice but to blame themselves. Placing blame is human nature. Blaming yourself is what you do when there's no one else to blame. You tear yourself to pieces over something you did or didn't do, all because it's a lot easier to blame yourself than it is to blame those you love.

She shakes her head and sniffles and she slumps down on the bed. Then quietly, she adds, an afterthought, "I, uh, I haven't slept in four days."

"Four days?" Beck asks, eyes wide.

She nods. Breathes in sharply through her nose to keep it from running. He goes off to get her a tissue, and she can't help it. Her eyelids are heavy and her body feels like lead and after a moment she's curled up, drifting slowly off.

When she wakes up, Beck's nowhere to be found. He's clearly been back, though, because he's given her an extra blanket and a pillow. She writes a note that reads 'thank you' and she leaves it on his desk.

She gets breakfast and today, she doesn't work herself quite as hard.

---

"Hey, honey."

"Hi. How you doing?"

Martinez grips the arms of his seat and tries his best to flash his wife a smile. "Could be better."

"Yeah. Well, our kid's right here, and he's pretty anxious to talk to you."

"Put 'im on."

She swivels the camera and his son comes into focus. He perks up and says, "Hi, daddy!"

"Hey, kiddo," he says.

He cocks his head and says, "Is Uncle Mark there? Mommy said Uncle Mark is gone, but that's not true... is it? He can't be gone! He's Uncle Mark!"

Martinez bites the inside of his cheek and blinks back tears. "She was right, kiddo. He's gone."

 "What do you mean by gone, daddy?"

"He's... he's still on Mars."

His son squints at him and says, "Why'd you leave him on Mars?"

"We didn't- we didn't- we didn't do it on purpose. He... chose to stay there."

His son blinks, looking wary. "Oh, daddy, you're joking! He has to be there! Just please tell him to come out, I wanna talk to him."

Martinez looks down at his hands and shakes his head. He can't tell his son Mark's dead. That'd break his heart. But he isn't sure this is much better.

"He can't talk right now, he-"

His son starts tearing up and his wife bends down to comfort him.

"Is he gonna stay on Mars forever?"

Martinez closes his eyes and clenches his fists, breathes in deep. When he opens his eyes he says, "You'll see him, okay? You'll see him again."

His wife gives him a look that very clearly says, don't lie to our kid, but he doesn't know what else he could've done.

"I'll see him again? When?"

Martinez wasn't prepared to answer that. He fumbles over his words, and just as he opens his mouth to give an actual answer Lewis appears, asking if he's seen something of hers (he doesn't quite catch what she says) that she left on the table. She sees the computer and her eyes widen. "Sorry! Didn't mean to intrude."

His son sees her and says, "Is that Commander Lewis? Hi Commander Lewis! Is Uncle Mark really gone? Or is Daddy just being mean?"

Lewis steps closer and glances at Martinez, who mouths, 'I don't know what to do.'

Lewis whispers, "What'd you tell him?"

"Mark's on Mars. He chose to stay. He'll see him again."

"Christ, Martinez," Lewis sighs. She nods and turns to the camera, gives his kid a smile. "Yeah, he's gone. But like your dad said, you'll see him again."

"When? When will I see him again?"

Lewis grips the table's edge. "We left him on Mars, like your dad said, because he chose to be left on Mars. He wanted to get some... experiments done. You'll see him again as soon as he finishes all his experiments."

"When will he finishes his experiments?"

"Now, Mark told me he didn't want me to tell you exactly when he'd be coming home because he wanted to surprise you. You don't want me to ruin the surprise, do you?"

He shakes his head, and Lewis stands and waves and says, "I've gotta go get some work done."

She pats Martinez's shoulder and just as she's stepping out Martinez says bye and hangs up and calls her back in.

She stands in the middle of the room, waiting.

"Thank you," he says.

"No problem," Lewis replies.

"We just... we just lied to my kid."

"We did."

"He'll find out eventually."

"He will. But he won't be mad. He'll know you were just trying to protect him."

"He just wanted- they wanted to talk to him so bad and I panicked. He loved Mark, y'know, and I-"

"It's okay. I get it. I don't think you're in the wrong here."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

---

Lewis sits on the kitchen counter, laptop out beside her. She's reading aloud an email from NASA, detailing today's events, to the crew. Johanssen stands across from her, Beck's at the table, Vogel's making coffee and Martinez sits on the floor. They've all got dark circles under their eyes, all exhausted and nervous and sad.

"...So, Vogel, you're first. Then Johanssen, then Beck, then Martinez, then me. We can change up the order, obviously, if you've got any objections...?"

No one objects. They keep eating, slowly, and they're all thinking the same thing. Lewis rubs the bridge of her nose and shuts her laptop. "You've all got your speeches ready?"

Martinez grins, nervously. Lewis glares at him. "Tell me you've got your speech ready."

"I... I don't. I'm gonna wing it."

"You're gonna wing it?"

"Yeah. No, listen. I wrote a speech, but it felt forced. He was my best friend, and I don't- I don't think a scripted speech will do him justice. I have a general outline of what I'm gonna say. It's all up here," he points to his head.

Lewis nods, wary. "As long as you're sure." She hops from the counter. "Johanssen, is everything set up?"

"Yep. Camera's up and running. I figured you guys'd want privacy, so I set it up in the break room."

"Good. Well, Vogel, you're first. Memorial starts at 5, so we need to send the video in before 3. You've got a few hours to prepare. When you're done, come back in here and we'll go in order from there. Any questions?"

"Yeah. Just one," says Beck. He taps a pencil against his knee. "Is it okay if we cry?"

Lewis gives him a half-hearted smile. "It's fine."

"Good," Beck murmurs. He leans into the table and rests his head on his arms.

Vogel dusts himself off and nods, working himself up. "I am just gonna... go." he walks out, then runs back in, grabs his notebook. "I forgot my speech," he says, before leaving a second time.

Johanssen eats her cereal in slow, small bites. She knows she's next, but she's not sure she's ready. It's hardly been a week and it still hurts, like a fresh wound. "Do you think Vogel's starting right away? Or is he, like, just getting ready?"

Martinez looks up at her from the ground. "Nah. I caught him crying last night in the hallway. He's in as bad a shape as the rest of us. It'll take him some time to get ready." he taps her shoe, gently. "Don't worry. You've got a few hours before it's your turn."

Johanssen swallows. She rereads her speech, over and over, and each time her stomach churns. Lewis sips her tea and Beck's crying, quietly, and Martinez is playing with a bracelet on his wrist. "You know, Mark gave this to me?" he says.

Lewis looks up at him over her cup of tea. "Really? I always thought one of your kids made that."

Martinez laughs. "No. Mark, uh, he came over to my house one day and my kid had some friends over and they were making friendship bracelets. They asked him to join them and he did- he was great with kids, I mean, they loved him- and he made a bracelet. He was gonna keep it, but one of the girls said, like, that's a friendship bracelet, and you should give it to one of your friends. They said 'your friend has to wear it forever to symbolize your friendship'. So he gave me this bright pink huge-ass bracelet and he told me I had to wear it forever, because my son would notice if I took it off, and I wouldn't want him thinking we'd had a falling out, or something. So, yeah."

Beck says, voice muffled, head still buried in his arms, "That sounds just like him."

Johanssen smiles. "Yeah. It does." she leans back against the cabinet. "This is, like, a huge understatement, but... I miss him."

Beck nods and Martinez looks down at his hands and Lewis glaces outside, at the stars. "Worst part is, he's stuck down there. He won't rot. He'll just be buried, by years and years worth of sand."

"Somehow, I don't think he'd mind that. A true astronaut's death. He'll become one with Mars."

"Yeah. I don't know. He might not mind, but I do."

Vogel appears in the doorway, and they pretend they don't notice the tears in his eyes. "I am done."

"Shit," Johanssen says. She shakes her head. "I can't go right now, I'm-"

"Johanssen, it's rolling. You have to go, right now, or else there'll be a long segment of footage people have to sit through with none of us in it."

"I can't-"

"Beth," Beck says. He lifts his head and gives her the most encouraging smile he can muster. "You have to. It'll be okay."

Johanssen fidgets with the spiral binding of her notebook and her legs are trembling as she walks out the door. She stops in the doorframe and wipes sweat from the palms of her hands, and then she leaves, walks down the hall. The break room is quiet. She sits down in front of the camera and she opens her mouth to talk but no words come out. She considers just walking out, but she knows she can't. She coughs, looks down at the paper.

"Hello. I'm Beth Johanssen, and I'm a member of the Ares III crew. I... Um, I've known Mark for a few years now. Or, I knew him. I knew him. I was quite a bit younger than him but he always treated me like an equal and that was... nice," she says. She's having trouble sticking to her script. "He was an extraordinarily funny, warm-hearted guy. He always, just, he wanted the best for everyone around him, and he always worked hard to make others happy. He was- he was-" she covers her face and ducks her head, wipes tears from her eyes. After a moment, she sits back up and continues. "He was an amazing friend, an amazing crewmate, and an all around amazing person. I feel blessed to have known him. I will... I miss him a lot. He's gone, but we'll never forget him. Thank you."

She stands up quick and darts out into the hall. For a few minutes, she lets herself fall apart, pulls the hood of her sweater down over her eyes and just sobs. She gathers herself, eventually, and she walks back down to the kitchen and tells Beck, "It's your turn."

He pushes his chair back and clutches his speech close to his chest. Martinez looks up at him as he walks by, says, "Good luck, buddy."

He walks down the hall and sits in the chair and for a moment he just sits and stares at the camera. Thousands and thousands of people will see this footage, later, thousands and thousands of people. Most of them never knew Mark. None of them had ever spent years with him, training for the mission of a lifetime. He waves at the camera and coughs and begins to read from his makeshift script (he'd scrambled some notes down on the back of a paper towel). "Hi. Chris Beck, here. My main job on board the Hermes is the- the doctor. And I guess I'll just... get right into it. Watney- he was, just, an amazing guy. Mark was, for starters, very passionate. Anyone who's met him knows what I'm talking about. He loved the universe and he loved to explore, and he was so passionate about his work and our mission it always blew my mind. I always strived to be more like him. He was always a great energy to be around. He was fun and kind and sure, he got a bit cocky at times," Beck laughs, wipes tears from his cheeks, "But, no, like I said, he was just great to be around. You could always count on him if you needed a laugh. He was really smart, too. He was very analytical and he had the memory of, like, an elephant. He knew a ton of random fun facts, and when it was quiet he'd come over our headsets and tell us one. Sorry, I keep skipping around. There's just so much to say... I, okay, yeah. I'll stop here. He was a great friend. An amazing friend. I'm so proud of him and all he did for NASA, and I hope that... wherever he is, he knows he didn't die in vain. We miss you, Mark."

Beck nods and leaves. "Martinez. You're up," he says. He sits down at the table and positions himself just like before, face buried in his arms, and he cries.

Martinez looks a little shocked. He knew he'd have to go, of course, but he never really thought about what "going" meant. He never really thought about how "going" meant he'd have to sit and tell thousands of people how great his best friend was in under four minutes. That hadn't occured to him. He stands and Johanssen gives him a smile and Lewis pats his shoulder and Vogel nods and he heads for the break room. He sits down in front of the monitor and he can already feel himself getting choked up.

He grips Mark's friendship bracelet tight. "I'm Rick Martinez. Pilot. I... God, I'm nervous. I don't have a script prepared, or anything," he begins to regret not at least writing down some key points. "Watney'd be able to do this, no problem. He was always great with, uh, improv. Mark was my best friend. I ragged on him a lot but, I-I loved him. My family loved him. He actually lived with us for a few months, one summer. He was funny, and charismatic, and he was a pain-in-the-ass sometimes, but I mean that in the best way possible. He was also, like, crazy smart. He could identify any plant just by looking at it. It was insane. We'd be somewhere and he'd point at some inconspicuous looking flower and he'd tell me its name and where it came from and how many hours of sunlight it needed per day." Martinez keeps squeezing Mark's friendship bracelet, harder and harder, trying to push back the tears. "He was always so supportive. I remember, once, I woke up in the middle of the night and my youngest had this awful cough. I texted Mark and I told him, y'know, I won't be able to make it to training today, my kid's got a cough and my wife's out of town. He showed up at my house twenty minutes later with cough medicine and soup. And it was like, midnight or something. Yeah... he was just, the best friend a guy could ask for. It's been a rough few days, but I know- I know Mark would want us to keep going, and he'd want us to keep working and... move on. He'd tell us he died for something bigger than him. I- I miss you, Mark. We all do. I hope... I hope you've found peace."

Lewis is last. She sits before the camera and takes a deep and shaky breath. "I'm Melissa Lewis. Commander. I met Mark four years ago. I remember, when I met him for the first time, one of the first things I noticed about him was his passion. Mark was an inherently passionate, curious man. He reached for the stars, both figuratively and literally. He dreamed big. When I first met him, he told me he'd always dreamed about going to Mars. He told me when he was little he'd bounce as high as he could on his trampoline and he'd try to catch stars with a butterfly net. Sometimes, here on board the Hermes, I'd catch him looking out into space, and his eyes were always filled with wonder. He was a very funny guy, very quick-witted, but when it came down to it he was just a guy who loved solving problems, who loved the unknown, who loved people. I talked with a lot of astronauts who were being considered for our mission, and most of them were in it for the notoriety, for the fame, but Mark wasn't like that. Mark wanted to go to space for the adventure. And, from a commander's perspective, he was just perfect. He didn't cause problems. He never got overworked, or too stressed, or down. He didn't panic when things went wrong, he just tried to figure out how to fix them. He was great, for the crew, he kept us happy and in good spirits. If you knew him, consider yourself blessed. He was a great, great man, a wonderful friend, and a loyal, hardworking crewmate. Mark... we miss you. Goodbye, starman."

She nods at the camera, then turns it off. "Goodbye, starman," she says again, quiet, to the framed picture of the crew sitting on the desk.

---

In the break room, there's a cushioned recliner, one that spins. At the beginning of the mission, they fought over it. It was by far the most comfortable chair on the entire ship. Mark never got involved in the squabbling. He woke up early in the morning and he sat in that chair and he looked out at the stars. That was his thinking chair, his favorite place on the entire ship. Whenever they couldn't find him, the first place they looked was that chair.

And they still fought over it. They still took turns and bickered (all in good fun, of course), but out of the six of them, Mark spent the most time sitting there.

Nobody sits there, anymore.

---

"You're upset. Why?"

"I'm just thinking. When we're on Earth we won't be able to see Mars anymore. It's gonna just... be gone."

"Well, that's... yeah. That means...."

"Yeah. He'll be gone too." Martinez nods, taps his fingernails against the counter.

"He's gone, anyway, though. And he won't be 'gone', really, he'll just be really far away."

"Yeah. He'll just be really far away. He'll also be, like, pretty dead too."

"Well, yeah, but..."

"So you're telling me this doesn't bother you?"

"No. It does."

"Exactly." Martinez makes a face. "He'll be gone."

Beck nods. "He'll be gone."

---

"Can I speak ill of the dead? For just, like, one second?" says Martinez, into his headset.

Lewis isn't sure she heard him right. She taps a button on her headset, says, "Come again?"

"I need to complain about Mark."

"Oh no," says Vogel.

Beck's chimes in, "God. What is it?"

"His handwriting. It's fucking awful. I'm trying to read his notes and I can't because his words don't even look like words."

Johanssen, then. "Be nice, Martinez. Man's dead."

"Wait, he's dead? I hadn't noticed. You know, that explains why it's felt a little roomier."

Johanssen makes a noise. "Lewis, tell Martinez to shut it."

Lewis smiles. "Martinez, shut it."

"Copy that, commander."

---

It's early morning. They're all up and about, in various stages of their early morning routine. Beck's still drinking coffee, Lewis and Johanssen are eating, and Martinez and Vogel have finished but they linger at the table, talking.

"You may be the slowest eater I've ever met," Martinez says to Johanssen.

She purposefully eats a little slower. "Is this better?"

"When I first met you, you weren't this annoying."

"You love me."

"Shut up."

Beck stands and sticks a breakfast tray in the microwave. "Martinez. Come on. Is her eating slowly having a negative effect on you in any way?"

"Well, it's annoying."

"Other than that?"

Johanssen smirks. "You should listen to him, Martinez."

"Ah, Johanssen. Your boyfriend's words mean nothing to me."

Beck flushes a deep dark crimson. He covers his face with his hand, but no one seems to notice.

Johanssen gets up, done with her breakfast. "Data dump should be coming in around ten," she says. "I'm headed there now."

Lewis nods, says, "We'll be there."

---

"He's... alive."

"He's alive."

"Oh my God," says Johanssen, smiling big, tears in her eyes. "He's alive."

Martinez looks down at Watney's friendship bracelet and shakes his head. "I can't believe it. I just... this is..."

Beck finishes Martinez's sentence for him, voice airy and quiet. "Crazy. This is crazy."

"What should we do about Lewis? She is upset now," Vogel says.

"Right. She thinks it's her fault."

Martinez leans against the wall, and he's trying to be serious but he's having a hard time not smiling. "She shouldn't. It's not her fault."

"I'm not saying I think it was her fault, or anything, but if I were her I'd blame myself too."

"Yeah. But, guys, he's alive."

Beck nods, frowns. "Yeah, sure, he's alive, but... for how long?"

"He is in a pretty hopeless situation," Vogel mutters.

Martinez's smile drops, and he shifts his weight. "It's never hopeless. If anyone can survive this, it's Mark."

Johanssen shakes her head. "Of course, but even if he does, I mean... there's no way he'll ever be himself, again. What does being completely alone on Mars do to someone, psychologically? And they're planning on rescuing him in what, four years?"

"Can't we just be happy? He's not dead! That's something to celebrate!"

Beck sits and looks out at the stars. "Is it?"

"You're telling me you're not happy he's alive?"

"Believe me, I'm ecstatic. You aren't the only one here who cares about him, Martinez. It's just, because I care about him, I don't- I don't want him to suffer."

"Well," says Martinez.

"Well," says Beck. He adds, after a moment, "I'm the one who said he was dead. I... this is..."

"Beck. We all thought he was dead. It's okay," says Johanssen.

It's quiet, for a long while. Eventually, Vogel speaks up. "He must be very bored."

"What's he got down there to do?"

"Well," Johanssen says. "Survive, for one thing."

Martinez starts laughing, hard. "What?" says Beck. Martinez doesn't answer, just keeps laughing. Vogel looks at Johanssen, as though she might know why he's laughing, and she just shrugs. When he composes himself, he looks around. "Did any of you have any music or tv shows with you, like on your personal drives?"

They all shake their heads, and Martinez laughs again. "You know who did?" he asks.

Johanssen thinks for a moment, then covers her mouth, whispers, "Oh my God. Lewis."

Beck's face lights up, a grin. "You're telling me he's only got disco music and 70s shows?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you."

"Oh my God," says Beck. "Shit. That's gotta be... wow."

"I thought leaving him on Mars was bad... leaving him on Mars with nothing but disco? He's never gonna let this go."

Beck adds, "If he gets rescued."

Johanssen nods. "Yeah. If he gets rescued."

They don't do anything for the rest of the day. They sit and think about their friend, about Mars, about what they did and didn't do. They think about seeing him again.

Before they go to bed, they find Lewis in the break room. Head in her hands. They crowd around her and they don't say anything but they sit and look out at the stars, together.

As they go to bed, Lewis stops in the middle of the hall and they all look at her. "He's alive," is all she says.

They nod. "He's alive."

"We'll see him again," says Johanssen, more to herself than to anyone else.

"Maybe. If we're lucky," says Lewis.

"Right."

"Good night, crew."

"Good night, Lewis."

---

"They sent a picture! Guys, hey, they sent a picture!"

They crowd around Johanssen, who's trying to get the computer to work a little faster. "Hang on, it's loading."

The picture loads, frame by frame. When it's fully revealed, they crack up, laughing.

Martinez, in the back, says, "If that isn't the most Mark Watney thing I've ever seen."

Beck says, "Look at him. He looks happy, and healthy."

Lewis smiles. "That's our boy."

"Is he supposed to be the Fonz?" Vogel asks.

Martinez claps him on the shoulder. "I believe that's what he's going for."

Johanssen rests her chin on her knees. "I'm sending this picture to your laptops. Hang on," she says. She forwards the image, then exits out and adds, "They also said that he... he's doing well. Misses us, a lot. And-" she points to the screen "-right here, they said they're gonna let us talk to him."

"Are you serious?" Beck says, leaning over the console. "My God, you are. Holy...."

Lewis laughs and Vogel claps his hands together and Martinez says, "I call dibs. First one to talk to him."

Johanssen spins her chair to face him. "Now, that's just not fair."

"Doesn't matter. I called dibs."

Lewis sighs, says, "We'll all get to talk to him. Let's not stress over who goes first. Martinez is, apparently, five years old, so I guess he'll go first. But I doubt Mark's gonna want to talk to him for very long anyway."

Martinez feigns offense. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Lewis smirks at him.

Johanssen turns back to the screen and continues reading. "They go on to say that we'll all get individualized time with him, so, yeah. We're taking turns."

"Why could we not talk to him earlier?" Vogel asks.

"I don't know. They were probably worried he'd be mad at us, or something."

"Hey, guys. What should I say to him, do you think? Should I mention how much roomier it is without him? Or, wait, I've got it! I should tell him botany's not a real science."

"You're an asshole, Martinez."

"Well, if I were nice to him he'd think something was up."

---

"Three, two, one. We're connected!" Johanssen leans back from the monitor. Martinez sits at the table and runs his fingers along the keys. The cursor blinks, blinks, blinks.

They're all scattered about the room, Lewis leaning on the table, Vogel and Beck lounging in the room's cushioned seats.

"Do I go first?" Martinez asks, voice a little shaky.

"I guess. He hasn't said anything?"

"He hasn't."

"Then yeah. Go ahead."

Beck says, "Read them out loud." and Martinez nods.

He types a message out, and it's long and his hands are shaking. He's nervous, talking to Mark for the first time in several months. He thought Mark was dead, until recently, and it's hard to go from that back to normal.

They wait a minute or so. When Watney starts typing, Martinez hits his hand hard against the desk and they all sit up a little straighter, smile a little bigger, hearts pumping fast.

"It sent! It's here!" Martinez yells. He begins to read, and they all listen, intent. They can't believe they're hearing from him, can't believe that, after all this time, he's alive and they're hearing from him. When Martinez reads aloud the part about the hab blowing up, Johanssen insides clench up in a knot. Lewis laughs, when Watney mentions her music.

Martinez says goodbye, and it's over.

---

Johanssen sits, headphones in, bopping her head to the music. She doodles on her knee with a pen. She's got her laptop open beside her, in case NASA comes through with any new instructions, because she finished her work way earlier than they anticipated.

She doesn't notice when the screen lights up, the first time. She keeps doodling, adding leaves to the flower she's drawn looping around her kneecap. She does notice the second time.

She pulls a headphone from her ear, more out of habit than necessity, and draws the laptop close. She taps the notification box in the right hand corner, and it takes her to her email inbox.

She's gotten two. The first one says: "Johanssen! Hi! They're letting me contact each of you directly, now. How's my favorite nerd?" The second one says, "You there?"

She laughs and pulls both headphones out, hangs them around her neck. She smiles and crosses her legs and leans forward to type: "That's awesome! It's great to hear from you. I'm good. More importantly, how are you?" She adds, "Sorry. I had my headphones in and I didn't notice I'd gotten a message."

Mark emails back right away. "It's okay. I just get a little nervous, that's all. And I'm doing fine. I miss you guys."

She types, "We miss you, too. It's not the same without you. Can't wait to see you again." She sits back and spins her left headphone around her finger, absently. She smiles to herself and looks at the picture of the six of them on her desk, the picture she'd cried over, held in her hands not too long ago, thinking he was dead. And now she's talking to him. Actually talking to him.

Mark replies, "Yeah. Can't wait to see you guys too. I've gotta go, but thanks for talking. Same time tomorrow?"

"Same time tomorrow."

She lies back and looks up at the ceiling. He's alive. She smiles and sticks her headphones back in and wonders what he might say to her, when she sees him again. Or, if she sees him again. If. She thinks about him being so alone and she vows to message him as much as she can, until he's rescued.

---

It's Lewis's turn. She uses her laptop, curls up in bed under the blankets and types, "Hi, Mark. How are you?"

Four minutes later, his response. "Hi, Lewis. I'm good. Or, as good as it gets when you're stranded on a planet all by yourself, I guess. How are you? Vogel told me you've been feeling pretty guilty. I know you're not gonna believe me, but this wasn't your fault. It was bad luck, that's all. I don't blame you."

She sighs. "I'm okay. Thanks for not blaming me, but I still blame myself."

"Well. I don't think there's any convincing you, then. But, honestly, even if it were your fault, I'd be mad at you less for that and more for leaving me on Mars with nothing but disco music."

"Oh, right. Sorry about that."

"You're forgiven. For now. Guess which song I'm listening to right now."

"Which song are you listening to right now?"

"Hot Stuff."

"Ah, a classic."

"You know, I didn't really mind it before, but after hearing it for the 800th time.... It fucking sucks. Hey, now it's playing Turn the Beat Around. Fantastic."

Leiws grins and hums the song to herself as she types, "Sorry. Not my fault you can't appreciate the greatest era of music of all time."

"That's a funny joke."

"Not a joke."

"I can think of, like, ten different eras of music better than the 70s. Anyway, gotta go. Tell everyone I said hello."

"Will do."

---

"Have they messaged back?"

"No, Martinez, they haven't messaged back in the thirty seconds since you last asked."

Beck rubs a hand down his face and Martinez shifts, anxious. Lewis taps her hand against the monitor and Vogel bites his nails.

"It has been twenty minutes since the launch. They should have messaged by now," Vogel murmurs.

Beck swallows loudly and blinks back tears. "Something must've gone wrong. They would've messaged us if it went well."

Lewis glares at him. "Don't say that. They might've just... forgotten to message us, or something."

"Forgotten to message us? When's the last time NASA 'forgot' to do something?"

"They didn't tell us he was alive."

"Yeah, and do you remember why that was? They didn't want us to get upset," Beck shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I doubt this is any different."

Martinez continues to shift his weight. "What's- what's the worst that could happen? If it didn't work?"

Johanssen says, quiet, "He'd starve, long before anyone could get to him."

Martinez nods and his eyes are sad and his arms are bouncing nervously at his sides. Vogel says, "Lets not get ahead of ourselves. We do not know anything for sure."

It's quiet and they're left alone with their thoughts. They're left alone to panic and worry and they hope, but hope only gets you so far, when you're waiting for news that determines the fate of one of your best friends, that determines whether he'll live or die. They wait with bated breath, and when Johanssen announces they've got a message, their hearts start racing and they listen with intent as she begins to read NASA's words. "Dear Ares Crew, we... regret to inform you that the launch did not go as planned. Iris is completley destroyed," Johanssen's voice quakes. Beck mutters, "Oh, God," and Lewis slumps against the wall. Johanssen keeps reading. "We are working on an alternative plan. We'll keep you updated."

Martinez looks at the picture of the six of them taped to the side of the monitor. "Well... shit," he says.

Beck walks to the opposite end of the room and Johanssen folds her arms and hides behind them. Martinez kicks his foot against the wall and Lewis doesn't say anything. Vogel turns around in his seat.

After a little while, Lewis stands up and says, "Hey, guys. We've got work to do."

"Lewis..."

"They're working on an alternative plan. Sitting around and sulking, as nice as that sounds, won't help anything. Lets get to work."

Johanssen meets Lewis's eyes and she can see her frustration, can see conflicting emotions building up inside her. Johanssen decides to help. "Yeah, guys, lets get to work."

Beck squints at her and Vogel nods and gets up and Martinez doesn't show any sigh of having heard them.

Eventually, they all disperse. They get very little work done, for the rest of the day.

---

WTNY: Did you hear?

HRMS: Yeah, we heard.

HRMS: You feeling okay?

WTNY: Yeah. I'm okay.
WTNY: It sucks though.

HRMS: "Sucks" is an understatement.
HRMS: But. You know what else sucks?
HRMS: Your handwriting. You might just have the worst handwriting in all of human history.

WTNY: Ha. Is this Martinez?

HRMS: Yep

WTNY: Where's everyone else?

HRMS: Right here. Johanssen says hi. Beck sends his love (what a sap)

WTNY: Aw. I've missed you guys

HRMS: Of course you have, we're amazing.
HRMS: This is Johanssen. Rick's being an asshole so I'm taking over. We miss you too

WTNY: Johanssen! My favorite nerd.
WTNY: Johanssen, I love you, but I swear to God you're the absolute worst at responding

HRMS: My bad. Lots of stuff going on up here.

WTNY: I get it! It's a-okay
WTNY: Hey, how are my plants?

HRMS: They're in good hands. Martinez has been taking care of them, with some help from Beck

WTNY: Martinez? Rick "botany isn't a real science" Martinez has been watching my plants?

HRMS: Yeah, but so far only half of them have died.

HRMS: Kidding. Kidding.

WTNY: Christ, Johanssen. That's an awful joke

HRMS: :D

WTNY: Don't :D me

HRMS: :D :D :D :D

WTNY: I hate you

HRMS: D: D:

WTNY: Oh my God
WTNY: Gtg. Give everyone hugs for me

HRMS: Will do! Have fun on Mars

WTNY: I'll try. Have fun in space

---

"Shit," says Martinez.

On the opposite end of the ship, Johanssen says into her headset, "What's up?"

"My emails to Mark aren't going through."

Johanssen rolls toward the monitor and taps her pen against her thigh. "Have you tried, uh, rebooting?" She skims through her inbox, looking for an update from NASA she might've missed. She finds none. She leans back and waits for Martinez to respond.

"Yeah. Twice. They still aren't going through."

Vogel joins the conversation. He's standing in the lab, Beck at his side. Beck's trying to get a message through, but it's not working. "Beck and I both just tried. Nothing is working. There seems to be some sort of error."

Lewis joins, next. She's leaning over the table in the break room, tapping furiously at the keys of her laptop. "Not working for me, either, Johanssen."

Johanssen grimaces, opens up the messaging window. She types out a message. "Working on it," she says to the crew. Her message doesn't go through. She tucks her hair behind her ears and exits out.

"Anything?" Beck asks.

"Messages aren't working. About to try email," Johanssen mutters, squinting at the screen. She types out an email, but it fails to send too. She clicks around and finds the problem, almost immediately. "It looks like... like we lost connection?" she says, adding, "How is that possible?" more to herself than to the crew.

"Connection loss?" Lewis asks. She stands up and runs a hand through her hair. "Any word from JPL?"

"Not yet, commander. Should I message them?"

"No, I got it. You keep looking and see if it's a problem on our side or on his."

Martinez sighs. "I just wanted to tease him about his plants, a little."

"Hey, Lewis, let me know if it goes through."

Lewis says, moments later, "It sent."

In the lab, Vogel clicks his pen, absently. Beck says, "That's not a good sign, is it?"

Johanssen shakes her head and writes down some numbers. She clicks around a bit, testing different connections and servers. She tries messaging JPL, and that works too. "Good sign for us. Bad sign for Watney."

"You think he's not transmitting?"

"Never said that."

"You implied it. I mean, what else could it be?"

"Martinez, I said I'm working on it."

Vogel, leaning against one of the lab tables, says, "If we have lost connection, any idea how it could have happened?"

Johanssen rubs her temple, head pounding. "Any number of things. Something could've happened to pathfinder. A storm, a mechanical error," she checks the JPL connection and finds it secure and steady. She finds what she's been looking for, clicks on it, and checks the transmissions. "Okay. Looks like we're not picking up transmissions from Pathfinder."

"Oh, God," says Martinez.

"Doesn't mean Pathfinders down. This could still be on us."

"Is that... really likely? What is the chance that it is a problem on our end?" asks Vogel.

Johanssen shrugs and wipes sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "There's about a... 5% chance that it's on our end."

"5%? That's-"

"Hey, guys," Lewis cuts Martinez off. "They emailed back."

Beck sits up straight and wrings his hands together. "What'd they say?" he asks, so soon after Lewis finishes talking, so urgent, Vogel looks at him in mild surprise.

"They said... Pathfinder's down. Mark left a morse code message, said he's fine, but Pathfinder's completely out of commission."

The line goes quiet. In the lab, Beck and Vogel look at their hands and don't say a word. Johanssen, still at the monitor, leans back in her seat and just sighs. Martinez falls back on his bed and closes his eyes. Lewis writes an email back, then sits down on the couch and looks up at the ceiling.

"He's alone again?" Martinez breathes.

"Yeah, he- yeah."

"But he knows what to do, right? Like, this came at a good time? He knows how to get to Schiaparelli?"

"Yeah, but he's got... a lot to do in the meantime. And without NASA's help... if he can't figure out how to load the rovers with everything he needs, on his own, he can't get to Schiaparelli anyway, and, I mean, if anything comes up there's nothing we can do to warn him. All he can do is talk to us in morse code. We can't talk back."

The line goes quiet again, and this time, it's Beck who breaks the silence. "He can do it. I have faith in him. He's a smart guy. He'll get through this."

"Lets hope you're right."

---

There's a storm. A big one. Right where Watney's heading. The crew crowds around the monitor, looking at the satellite images NASA attached to an email longer than any email they've ever gotten, detailing their rescue mission and Mark's perdicament.

"Does he know?" asks Vogel.

"Apparently not, or he would've stopped."

Beck wrings his hands together. "He can't catch a fucking break."

"Honestly," Martinez says, shaking his head. "Can't Mars cut him some slack? He's trying."

Lewis grips the edge of the desk. "You both don't seem as worried as you usually do."

Beck shrugs. "I'm worried. But... Mark's handled everything that Mars has thrown at him."

"Yeah. He can get through this. He'll figure it out," Martinez nods.

Johanssen closes up on the images and says, "Can't be so sure. This is different. The other problems he's faced have been obvious, and he's more equipped to fix them. This one.... He might not notice he's in the storm until it's too late to turn back."

"Lets stay positive, okay?" Lewis says. "We do need to consider all possibilities, but we shouldn't get ahead of ourselves. Lets just focus on doing what we can to prepare for the rescue."

"Copy that, commander."

---

"He figured it out!" Johanssen says, into her headset.

"That's awesome! Told you he would," says Martinez. He's eating a snack in the break room.

"Wait, he figured it out? How?" asks Lewis, from the kitchen.

"Solar panels, I think. Probably noticed energy loss."

"Mark fucking Watney, man," Beck says, shaking his head. "I would've died like 200 sols ago."

"Yeah, me too," Martinez agrees.

"He is going to make it to Schiaparelli!" Vogel chimes in from the lab.

"It's pretty much up to us, now, guys," says Lewis.

"We've got this," says Johanssen. "I have total faith in us."

Beck smiles and fist pumps the air. "We're gonna get him."

"Hey, guys," Martinez says. "Just think, a few months from now he could be here, with us, onboard the Hermes."

Johanssen spins her chair in a circle, laughing and grinning ear to ear. Lewis laughs too and Vogel looks over at Watney's plants and thinks about him being back in the lab, remembers the days when they were both working and Mark would just talk up a storm. Martinez plays with Mark's friendship bracelet and he can't help but smile.

"We can do this, guys. We can save him."

"Of course we can."

"Everyone start preparing. Get ready. We're gonna go get our boy."