#mark watney/reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

toboldlygohome · 1 year ago

Text

"Please..."

Mark Watney X Reader

Summary: Nothing could have prepared you for the pain of losing your boyfriend on Sol 6. But you were even less prepared to find out that he didn't die. You left him there. Alone.

Character(s): Mark Watney, Beth Johanssen, Chris Beck, Melissa Lewis, Alex Vogel, Rick Martinez.

Warning(s): Descriptions of grief, Mentions of death, Cursing (lots of it), Mildly sexual themes (nothing explicit), Mentions of malnourishment.

A/N: I absolutely adore The Martian, but I've noticed a criminally low amount of fan content for it, so I decided to make some! I've decided to follow more closely to the book plot rather than the movie (Just because I like the dialogue more and it's more scientifically accurate). However, there will be a couple scenes from the movie sprinkled in just because I thought they were fun. I hope you enjoy!

It was the morning of Sol 6 and you were up early to make some coffee before your EVA mission. The past few days on Mars had been busy, but far more rewarding than you could have ever imagined. You were one of the geologists in the Ares 3 crew, along with Commander Lewis of course. Mars, to you, was a playground of science. A giant sphere of discovery you couldn't wait to explore.

Today's EVA was to gather samples from near the hab. You had seen plenty of rocks on the way in that you needed to overturn almost as much as you needed oxygen to breathe.

You sensed a hand on the small of your back and felt goosebumps trail up your spine. "Morning Y/L/N. Anything to report?" A playful voice proclaimed.

"Other than bland coffee and terrible sleep, nothing of interest~" You turned back and smiled at your boyfriend. He brushed his thumb over a patch of exposed skin on your lower back before pulling his hand away.

"Hey, at least you don't have to sleep under Martinez, bastard was tossing and turning all night." He smirked as he made his own cup. "I'm barely getting by, the only thing keeping me grounded is this bland ass coffee."

You snickered and rolled your eyes. "Poor baby," You teased.

You and Mark Watney had been together for almost three years, in secret of course. NASA isn't exactly fond of sending couples into space where they might throw caution to the wind and procreate in transit. You were professionals, this mission was something you both had been looking forward to since it was announced. But that wouldn't stop the Space Administration from removing you both from Ares 3.

Nobody knew you were together. Not NASA, not your families, not even the crew knew of your relationship. As far as anyone was concerned, you were just great friends (inseparable in fact). You went out for dinners, went on morning jogs together, spent late nights gaming and going over the mission handbook. Everyone knew you confided in one another and worked incredibly as a team. But nobody would have guessed that instead of playing Yahtzee together on your evenings off, Mark was slowly and deliciously making you breathless with his lips, melting you with his touch.

Once the mission actually started, it was much harder than anticipated to cut out the physical affection. There were cameras everywhere on the ship and absolutely no way to hide from them. The only place for privacy was the bathrooms, but you had a rather close call that involved Mark dragging you there under the guise of helping him with his laptop (which obviously earned an eyebrow raise from Johanssen,) only for him to kiss you with the desperation of a man dying of thirst. You were nearly caught by Beck and you both decided not to risk it again. Luckily, you and Watney were a couple of problem solvers.

Instead of kisses, you resorted to touching. A hand on the back, an arm on the shoulder, a nudge of the elbow. Casual touch became your replacement for intimacy.

Mark pulled a smug smile and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. "You know what Y/N, I am a poor baby. But I can think of something that would make me feel better..." He whispered close to your ear. You flushed and playfully shoved him back.

"In your dreams Watney." You scoffed but your hand lingered on his stomach, earning a cheeky grin from the botanist.

"How'd you know?" He laughed, glancing down at your lips briefly. You knew what he was thinking: that it had been awhile and maybe he could risk just a little peck. Mark was a reckless one, that's for sure.

"Guys, quit flirting so loudly. I was trying to get a few minutes extra sleep before Lewis pulls out the bugle," Beck strolled in and grabbed a ration packet.

"Flirting? With him?" You asked incredulously, jabbing your thumb toward Mark.

"And vice versa," Beck shrugged.

"You must be seeing things, maybe we should call a doctor?" Watney sassily took a sip of his drink.

"Hilarious," Beck replied. Chris had been fighting for you and Mark to get together for about as long as you've known him (which is a decent number of years, in case you were wondering.) Little did he know you had already jumped that fence. You felt bad for keeping it from him, but you were sure he'd understand given his thing with Johanssen.

"Oh good, you guys are already up." Lewis sighed "hey, can one of you wake up Martinez? He's not listening to a single word I say."

You gave Watney a sidelong glance. He groaned and downed the rest of his terrible space coffee. "Yeah sure, I can go get the bastard. I'll give him a piece of my mind while I'm at it." Mark stomped off to the bunks and Lewis followed him. You casually sat beside Beck, who gave you a knowing smile.

"You know Chris, it would probably happen on its own if you didn't push it so much." You mumbled against the rim of your cup in an attempt to hide a smile.

"It's obvious he likes you too. Practically written all over his face," Beck said. "Honestly though, you two don't even realize when you're flirting. It's kind of incredible."

You huffed, "Now's not the best time for all that, you know."

"I know, I know. Just, keep it on the table okay?"

"Whatever you say Dr. Beck," You snickered. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have an EVA to prep for."

Chris rolled his eyes and poked at the food on his plate, "you're excused."

~~~

"Alright team, stay in sight of each other. Let's make NASA proud today." Lewis announced.

"How's it looking over there Watney?" Martinez asked.

"Well, you'll be happy to hear that in grid section 14/28, the particles are predominantly coarse. But in 29 they're uh... much finer. That should be ideal for chem analysis."

"Oh wow! did everyone hear that? Mark just discovered dirt! Should we alert the media?" Martinez teased. Mark glanced up at you, but you couldn't see his face behind the helmet.

"Hey, you better watch it fly boy. I'm working this grid too!" You laughed.

"Sorry, what are you doing today Martinez? Making sure the MAV is still upright?" You could hear the smirk in Mark's voice.

"Well, I'd like you to know that visual inspection of the equipment is imperative to mission success," Rick preached. "I'd also like to report that the MAV is still upright."

You and Mark giggled as you worked on the grid. "Watney, you're keeping your channel open, which leads to Martinez responding, which leads to all of us listening, which leads to me being annoyed," Lewis scolded halfheartedly.

"Roger that, Martinez the captain would like you to please uh," Mark looked at you for approval and continued. "Shut your smart mouth."

Rick cackled and you playfully nudged Mark on the shoulder.

"We'd prefer you use a different adjective to describe Martinez's mouth." Beck said from inside the Hab, resulting in even more laughter from the rest of the crew.

"Did Beck just insult me?!"

"Dr. Beck and yes!"

"I'm happy to turn the radios off from here commander. Just say the word." Johanssen suggested.

"Johanssen, constant communication is the hallmark-" Watney started.

"Shut him off" Melissa gave the order.

"No-" Johanssen cut him off. Mark tossed his little hammer in the dirt and looked back at the captain like she had just kicked a kitten. You patted the shoulder of his suit and urged him to get back to work.

"I'm sorry for my countrymen, Vogel." Lewis said.

"Accepted," Vogel shrugged and glanced up at the sky. "The storm... It's closer than Houston reported."

"We've got time," Lewis said. "Focus on the task at hand. This EVA's all about chemical analysis. Vogel, you're the chemist so you're in charge of what we dig up."

"Ja, Please dig thirty centimeters and get soil samples. At least one hundred grams each. Very important is thirty centimeters down." Vogel clarified, eyes back on his work.

"Will do, stay within a hundred meters of the Hab," Lewis said.

You worked in peace and quiet for a few minutes. You measured the grid while Mark hammered the grid labels. You could hardly wait to take samples. Mark was right, it was perfect for chem analysis. Unfortunately, your work was short-lived because Johanssen had some bad news.

"Commander, you should come inside. You're gonna want to see this."

"What is it?" Lewis asked.

"Houston has upgraded the storm to 'severe.' It's going to be here in fifteen minutes." Johanssen said.

You perked your head up to get a look at the sky. Already it was getting darker.

"Martinez, how's it looking?" Asked commander Lewis.

"Not good." He said.

After a moment of contemplation, Lewis made her decision. "Back to base."

~~~

The Hab shook and the sound of wind and debris outside only exacerbated the tension within. Lewis commanded everyone to put on their flight suits and you congregated around the screen, wondering if this was the end of your mission.

"Sustained winds over one hundred kilometers per hour now. Gusting to one twenty-five," Johanssen frowned.

"Jesus, we're gonna end up in Oz," Watney said. "What's the abort speed?"

"One fifty kilometers per hour, anymore than that and the MAV's in danger of tipping." Martinez placed his hands on his hips.

"Any predictions on the storm track?" Lewis asked.

"This is the edge of it... It's gonna get worse before it gets better." Johanssen delivered the bad news with confidence. Silence fell over the group and you grabbed Mark's hand. You wished you could feel the warmth, but the gloves on the flight suit acted as a barrier. Watney met your sorrowful eyes. You'd have to end the mission before it even started. He let go of your hand and pressed you into his side. It was over. 25 sols early. You leaned your head against his shoulder and willed the grief to subside.

"Alright, prep for abort. We'll go to the MAV and hope for the best. If the wind gets too high, we launch." Lewis grabbed her helmet.

~~~

Outside the Hab, the wind was disastrous. Mark was nearly swept off his feet by the force of the gusts. He slammed into you, but you managed to keep him on his feet.

"Shit! Thanks." Watney regained his balance.

"Visibility is almost zero. If you get lost, hone in on my suit's telemetry! The wind's gonna be rougher away from the Hab, so be ready!" Lewis warned.

The Ares crew stumbled toward the MAV with ever increasing uncertainty. You had to lean into the wind to avoid being thrown backward. Mark wasn't doing much better. It didn't help that his mind wasn't on getting to the MAV safely, it was on how to keep it upright. Watney was smart, too smart for his own good.

"Hey," Watney panted. "Maybe we could shore up the MAV. Make tipping less likely."

"How?" Lewis Huffed.

"We could use cables from the solar farm as guylines. The rovers could be anchors. The trick would be getting the line around the-"

You choked on your scream as Mark was struck by a massive piece of wreckage, sending him off into the disorienting mist of dust and wind.

"MARK!" You screamed and tried to stumble after him, but you could barely see an inch in front of your helmet.

"What happened?" Lewis said.

"Something hit him!" Johanssen said shakily.

"Watney report..." Lewis said. You listened hard and prayed he'd answer. "Watney, report!" Nothing.

"He's offline, I don't know where he is." Johanssen reported as calmly as she could. You bit back a whimper as you shuffled forward.

"Commander, before we lost telemetry, his decompression alarm went off!" Beck said.

"Shit! Y/L/N, where did you last see him?" Lewis asked.

"H-he was right in front of me and then he was gone," you managed. "He flew off due west" You pointed.

"Okay, Martinez, get to the MAV and prep for launch. Everyone else, home in on Johanssen."

"Dr. Beck, how long can a person survive decompression?" Vogel asked.

"Less than a minute." Beck looked back at you. You could hear the pain in his voice. No. Mark couldn't be... He was just beside you a moment ago.

"Commander, the MAV's got a seven degree tilt. It'll tip at 12.3."

"Copy that."

He's alive, he can't be dead!

"Johanssen, Watney's bio-monitor sent something before going offline. My computer just says 'Bad Packet,'" Beck said.

"Give me a sec," Johanssen said.

"Commander, message from Houston. We're officially scrubbed. The storm's definitely too rough."

"Copy."

"Beck, I have the raw packet!" Johanssen said, "It's plaintext: BP 0, PR 0, TP 36.2. That's as far as I got."

Beck sighed and shook his head. "Blood pressure zero, pulse rate zero, temperature normal..."

Your chest tightened and your eyes burned. "Temperature normal?" You asked hopefully.

"It takes a while for the-" Beck swallowed. "It takes awhile to cool."

"Commander, tilting at 10.5 degrees now, with gusts pushing it to 11." Martinez reported.

"Copy, if it tips, launch."

"What about you commander?"

"I'm going to search a little more."

"You really think I'll leave you behind?" Martinez asked.

"I just ordered you to. You four, get to the ship." Lewis replied.

"Let me help search commander, we'll find him faster if we-" Lewis cut you off.

"That's an order, Y/L/N. Go."

Beck nudged you forward. You reluctantly allowed him to.

"Johanssen, would the rover IR camera do any good?"

"Negative. IR can't get through sand any better than visible light."

"What about the proximity radar? Could it detect Watney's suit?"

"No way. It's made to see Hermes, not the metal in a single space suit."

"Give it a try," Lewis ordered.

"Commander, I know you don't want to hear this... but Wat-... Mark's dead." Beck said.

No.

Please...

Everything around you was a blur. You went through the motions from training. Strapping yourself in, readying your station, waiting for launch. You couldn't look at the empty seat beside you. You couldn't think about anything but your job right now, If you allowed your thoughts to that dark place, you'd have to be dragged along by the rest of the crew.

You couldn't do that to them. Not now.

Lewis returned to the ship and strapped herself in. "Still at pilot-release," Martinez said softly. "Ready for launch."

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

"I'm sorry Commander, you need to verbally-"

"Launch."

You felt the bone-crushing power of ascent. The g's did nothing but forcefully push the tears from your eyes.

You wish it would have been you.

~~~

Mark Watney closed out of the mission log application and stared at the computer screen for a few minutes. He couldn't fathom the hopelessness he was feeling, it was too deep to swim out of. What else was there to do but sit and wait to die? Maybe it would be easier to just go into the airlock and open the doors!

Watney turned his head to a picture of you on the wall behind the computer. It was there among other pictures of the crew and their families. You were standing with your brother in front of one of those rickety wooden roller coasters at Six Flags. He felt a painful twinge in his chest. You thought he was dead and there was no way to tell you otherwise.

He was completely alone, had the whole goddamned planet to himself. Mark rubbed his hands over his face. "Fuck..." he said. "Fuck!" he pulled at the hair on his head before looking up at the picture again. He wished he would have kissed you. He wanted to that morning when you were sharing coffee. He should have said he loved you. Mark hadn't said it in so long.

He knew you like the back of his hand. You were blaming yourself. Everyone in the crew was probably doing the same. He could barely stomach the thought.

Mark grabbed the picture from the wall and shuffled to the bunks. He was so tired and in a lot of pain from the stupid antenna. He was about to settle into his bed, when his eyes landed on yours. After a moment of deliberation, he hobbled into your bunk and pulled the covers up to his chin. It still smelled like you. He buried his face into your pillow and cried.

~~~

You sat in the dining area in the Hermes, watching as the windows slowly spun around. It had been about a week since the incident and you weren't sure you had any more tears left to cry. You did your best to keep on task during your waking hours, only allowing yourself to feel when everyone else was either asleep or taking the piloting shift.

Your fingers drummed lightly against the table, mingling with the beeps, boops, groans, and hums of the ship keeping you safe from the unforgiving vacuum of space. You thought about a lot of things. About Mark, his parents, the house he wanted so badly to buy, his favorite music, his plants growing in the botany lab... The one thing you didn't want to think about was his body, how it would be buried by sand and dust within the year, how Mars would never let it decay. You tried not to think about how if you had just reached for him, maybe he'd still be alive.

"Y/N?" A familiar German accent spoke. You tensed and dared a glance back at Vogel.

"Hey, what's up?" You plastered a grin on your face.

"I have noticed you've not been sleeping. You are... Okay?" He asked, lumbering closer. He was clearly very tired and you felt terrible he was here worrying about you instead of getting some much deserved rest.

"Yeah... Yeah I'm okay Alex, just... Can't sleep." You sighed.

"Have you spoken to doctor Beck? I am sure we have sleep medication on board."

"Oh I know... I just don't really want to bother him, you know? I mean, we're all going through it right now..." You shifted under his gaze.

"You are having bad dreams," Vogel stated. "You're afraid if you sleep, they will come back."

"How could you tell?" You peeked tiredly up at him.

"My little monkeys... before I left, some of them had bad dreams. A father can always tell." He sat down beside you at the table.

You felt your eyes burning again. You hadn't dared ask for comfort from your crew mates, not even Chris. Now that you were receiving it, you wished you had asked for it long ago. There was a hellish cocktail of emotions running through you: relief, sadness, safety, longing, despair. You were so relieved that Alex was here. You were sad to think about how deeply his loved ones must be missing him. You thought about what Alex said about his "little monkeys." Mark would have made a great father if he'd only had the chance.

"You love him. Very much," Vogel said.

"I did..." You whispered.

"You do." Alex grabbed your hand and the tears poured from your eyes. "You do..."

"I do," You let out a choked sob. Vogel pulled you into a gentle hug.

"This pain of loss we feel... It will never go away. But it will get easier to live with as time goes by. This, I promise is true."

"Thank you Alex." You whispered.

"You're welcome..." He patted your back and pulled away. "Now, shall we try some rest?"

"I'll try," you put on a brave face.

"And- what is it?-" He thought aloud. "When first you don't succeed-"

"Try try again," You said with a sad smile. "Words to live by."

~~~

LOG ENTRY: SOL 23

So, I'm still brain storming the whole, "Mark Watney can only really make his potato farm last 90 days," problem. Can't say It's going too well. I'm surrounded by the stench of my own shit. Kinda distracting.

I've made the executive decision to take a long overdue break out in the rover. Sure, logically I know I should probably utilize every spare second on planning my survival right down to the last drop of water, but riddle me this: just who is gonna stop me? Not NASA, that's for sure.

It's funny. I came into the rover to escape the rancid poop smell, but it seems to have followed me. Turns out, I was the poop smell all along! If Y/N were here, they would have forcibly shoved me into the shower. They'd say something like... "Don't even think about touching me until you smell like ocean breeze!" (What does ocean breeze even smell like? How do you smell a breeze?...)There are few things in life Y/N hates more than stink. Me being on Mars is probably one of them.

What I would give to see you right now. Even just a dream would be nice, but I guess that's asking too much.

I miss my parents a lot. Maybe that's an understatement. I haven't really let myself think about it, but sitting here in this cramped rover really has my mind wandering. I really should have told them about Y/N. Maybe if things don't work out for me, they could confide in each other.

I don't have much else to say. The calculations aren't done and quite frankly, I'm depressed.

I'll probably scrub this log from the system, It's kind of a downer.

~~~

You had been doing better. Getting at least 6 hours of sleep a day was an accomplishment and you were eating your meals, but a certain date on the calendar was growing closer. You made yourself busier and busier, but no amount of work would keep this day from coming.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 62

On Earth it's January 8th, which is a very special day. Our anniversary! It's official, we've been together for three years! Yeah, yeah I hear you. These logs are for work purposes only, but I promise no one's gonna see this one. Not even you.

I think about that day a lot. It was freezing outside and snowing everywhere. I don't even remember why we walked to the cafe that day, but I'm thankful for it. You were holding your hot cup so tightly and your coat wasn't nearly thick enough for the weather. You were complaining that the snow came early and I laughed at you.

I think we both knew for a long time that this would happen. A year at least. We kept ourselves just at arms length, on the brink of lovers without ever crossing that line. We never discussed it before, but we knew once the mission was over, we'd do it. We'd take that step.

I had wanted to kiss you all day. Want isn't really the word for it. How about craved. Desired? Yearned~

I wrapped my coat around you and you complained again, said that I'd catch a cold and it would all be your fault. The way you looked at me... Still gives me chills when I think about it. It's like I'm still standing on that sidewalk, snowflakes landing on my nose.

I told you, "I can think of something that'll warm us both up..."

You said, "Then what are you waiting for?"

I was right of course. I always am. I just didn't expect you to be so... magnetizing! Like damn babe, you had me weak in the knees! (What am I, a Disney princess?)

I'll be back with you someday. It'll be your anniversary present from me. You're welcome in advance. XOXO - World's Handsomest Boyfriend.

-P.S. You left your deodorant in the Hab. I've been using it. Totally not creepy.

-P.P.S. Who's the stinky one now?

-P.P.P.S. You better be prepared, when I get off this wasteland of a planet, I'm making up for lost time. You aren't gonna be able to walk for AT LEAST a week.

-P.P.P.P.S. I was talking about CUDDLING you perv~

(or was I? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))

~~~

This had to be one of the greatest days in Mark Watney's life.

Contact.

Sweet, sweet contact!

[11:18]JPL: Mark, This is Venkat Kapoor. We've been watching you since Sol 49. The whole world's been rooting for you. Amazing job, getting Pathfinder. We're working on rescue plans. JPL is adjusting Ares 4's MDV to do a short overland flight. They'll pick you up, then take you with them to Schiaparelli. We're putting together a supply mission to keep you fed until Ares 4 arrives.

Watney could hardly believe it! Everything was working! They had known he was alive since Sol 49! His eyes were brimming and his breathing came out in short gasps as he fought to control himself. He used to take messages for granted, now they're the only tether he has to humanity.

He's not alone anymore.

His hands shook as he wrote out his message.

[11:29]Watney: Glad to hear it. Really looking forward to not dying. I want to make it clear it wasn't the crew's fault. What did they say when they found out I was alive?

Mark shifted in his seat. The reply was taking a bit longer than expected. He hadn't talked to anyone in so long. The thought of being so close, only to fail right in the beginning was terrifying. He wasn't sure he could survive that kind of disappointment.

[11:48]JPL: We haven't told the crew you're alive yet. We wanted them to focus on their own mission.

What. The. Fuck.

Mark covered his face with his hands and released a frustrated groan. "You've got to be shitting me!"

You didn't know. You didn't know he was alive.

"What the fuck? Wha... What the fuck?!" He took a shaky breath and wrestled with his frustration.

[12:05]Watney: They don't know I'm alive? What the fuck? WTF? Seriously! What the fuck is wrong with you?

[12:23]JPL: Please watch your language. Everything you type is being broadcast live all over the entire world.

They did not just say that.

After everything he has been through, there is no way JPL just told him to watch his language.

So, that's how they want to play it, huh?

[12:42]Watney: Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck shit fuck shit fuck! Fuck fuckity fuckfuckfuck! Oh look! A pair of boobs!-> (.Y.) How's that for watching my language, you goddamned bureaucratic felchers!

NASA got the message loud and clear.

~~~

Four months passed and you fell into a routine. Wake up, eat, work, sleep, repeat. It was predictable, which was something you were thankful for.

You took on Watney's role as the ship's botanist. You weren't as good as him, but really, who was? You couldn't match his skill even if you tried. Still, you followed all of his experiments. Took diligent notes and snapped as many pictures as you could.

Martinez joked that you took better care of the plants than yourself. It was one of those jokes meant to expose an underlying issue: You weren't looking after yourself. There was a shadow hanging over everything you did. The crew was experiencing it too. Mark Watney was one of a kind. Everyone he touched felt his loss so viscerally, so deeply.

You needed time, just like Vogel said. But that didn't mean everyone had to be okay with you beating yourself up like this.

Lewis knew better than anyone how you were feeling. As the Commander, she should have tried a little harder. And you... You were right there in arm's reach. Yes, Lewis knew how you felt only too well.

You heard a faint Knock in the doorway. You looked up from the camera and met Beck's eyes.

"Data dump will be completed soon. Care to join?" He smiled.

You managed a smile back, "Yeah, sure. I'm hoping I got something from my siblings. Maybe my niece and nephew too." You strapped the camera to the wall so it wouldn't float away, then you pushed yourself toward your crewmate.

"How about your parents?" He asked.

"Oh, that's a given. I can't get them to leave me alone," you chuckled.

You floated down to Semicone-A, where everyone else was already waiting for the data dump.

"Is it here yet?" Beck asked.

"Almost, it's at ninety-eight percent." Johanssen shot him a grin.

"You're looking cheerful, Martinez," Beck laughed.

"My son turned three yesterday." He beamed. Should be some pics of the party. How about you?"

"Oh, nothing special. Just some peer reviews of a paper I wrote a few years back."

"Complete," Johanssen said. "All the personal e-mails are dispatched to your laptops. Also there's a telemetry update for Vogel and a system update for me....Huh.... There's a voice message addressed to the whole crew."

"Play it." Lewis shrugged. Everyone gathered around the screen as Beth pressed play.

"Hermes, this is Mitch Henderson," the message started.

"Henderson? Talking directly to us without CAPCOM?"

Lewis raised her hand to signal silence.

"I have some news. There's no subtle way to put this:.....Mark Watney's still alive."

Your stomach dropped.

"Wha-" Beck choked.

"I know that's a surprise. And I know you'll have a lot of questions. We're going to answer those questions. But for now I'll just give you the basics. He's alive and healthy. We found out two months ago and decided not to tell you. I was strongly against all that. We're telling you now because we finally have communication with him and a viable rescue plan. It boils down to Ares 4 picking him up with a modified MDV. We'll get you a full write-up of what happened, but it's definitely not your fault. Mark stresses that every time it comes up."

You clenched your eyes shut as they burned painfully with tears.

"Take some time to absorb this. Your science schedules are cleared for tomorrow. Send all the questions you want and we'll answer them. Henderson out."

Silence fell over the bridge.

"He...He's alive?" Martinez beamed.

"He lives." Vogel nodded excitedly and squeezed your shoulder.

"Holy shit!" Beck laughed. "Holy shit! Commander! He's alive!"

"I left him behind," Lewis muttered.

You covered your eyes with your hands, fighting to stay quiet.

"No, hey... we all left togeth-"

"You followed orders...I left him behind. In a barren, unreachable, godforsaken wasteland." Lewis scowled and trudged off the bridge.

Everyone stood around the console. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"Y/N?" Chris asked softly.

"Are you okay?" Beth added.

You shook your head. You couldn't look at any of them right now.

"I need a minute..." you said softly before hurrying back out of the Semicone. You retreated back to the comfort of the botany lab. It was all so much to process.

First Mark is dead, you left him behind to die. Then Mark is alive, you left him behind to die. He doesn't want you to blame yourselves, it was terrible luck. He's healthy. He can contact Earth. Mars is a desolate planet. He's all alone. On an entire planet. You left him there. He will never be safe until he's back on Earth soil. It will be four years until Ares 4 arrives.

He will be alone on Mars for four years.

You left him there.

~~~

Y/N,

I'm typing this letter to you because talking to you relaxes me. I won't actually be sending this to you. It's not going to be professional in nature like the other notes I've sent you. (JPL says that you have received all of them, but have neglected to send me any of your responses. The only one I have gotten from any of the crew was one from Lewis. She invited me for beer to make up for leaving me on Mars.)

Anyway, some bad stuff happened. I wish you were here. Not because I want you to have been launched by an airlock. Never that. I just really fucking miss you. I really need you right now. I almost died last night. I had to do some serious surgery on my suit to keep me alive and I had to sift through the dilapidated remnants of the Hab to find a new one.

I'm so tired. I just want you to hold me. I'm so sick of all of this. Fuck Mars, Fuck the Hab. I'm so sick and tired of getting my hopes up and being disappointed. I miss you so much. You make every one of my bad days good. I know if you were here, everything would be okay again.

Why did this have to happen?

Mars keeps throwing curve balls at me, but I'm not giving up. I've got a lot to look forward to and I'm trying to focus on that.

-Mark

P.S. Your bed stopped smelling like you a month ago.

~~~

The crew of Ares 3 met in the Rec. A secret message had arrived not even an hour ago. One that would alter their mission by 533 extra days.

"Are we going to do it?" Johanssen asked.

"I won't lie, I'd sure as hell like to. But this isn't a normal decision. This is something NASA expressly rejected. We're talking about mutiny. And that's not a word I throw around lightly," Lewis explained. "We'll only do it if we all agree. And before you answer, consider the consequences. If we mess up the supply rendezvous, we die. If we mess up the Earth gravity assist, we die. If we do everything correctly, we add 533 days to our mission. 533 days of unplanned space travel where anything could go wrong. Maintenance will be a hassle. Something might break that we can't fix. If it's life-critical, we die."

"Sign me up!" Martinez announced, causing you to smile. At least someone else was as enthusiastic to bring Mark home as you were.

"Easy, cowboy. You and I are military. There's a good chance we'd be court-martialed when we get home. As for the rest of you, I guarantee they'll never send you up again," Lewis said.

"If we do this," Vogel looked to you and back at Lewis. "It would mean over one thousand days of space. This is enough space for a life. I do not need to return."

You couldn't have possibly said it better yourself. It was like Alex was reading your mind.

"Sounds like Vogel's in. Me too obviously," Martinez laughed.

"Let's do it," Beck agreed.

"If you think it'll work, I trust you," Johanssen said.

Lewis nodded and turned to you. "Y/L/N?"

"You don't even need to ask me. Let's go get our boy," You smiled.

Wow. This is the first time you've smiled... a real smile, since leaving Mars.

'Hang in there babe,' You thought. 'I'm on my way.'

~~~

LOG ENTRY: SOL 192-2

Yep, another secret letter do my dear, long lost love~ How predictable. I don't really care, today's been a great day. I can't believe you're coming back for me! Here I was, thinking I'd have to survive without you for four years. Then there you go, riding in from the sunset to bring me home.

Logically I know the rest of the crew had something to do with it, but I kind of like the idea that maybe I am a Disney princess and you're my knight in shining armor coming to rescue me.

It's like the story of Rapunzel, except my tower is a whole planet and instead of catching my hair, you're catching my MAV. Now that I think about it, the stories are more different than they are similar.

That hardly matters though, what does matter is that for the first time I actually feel like I'll survive. I trust our team with every fiber of my being, but most of all I trust you. I'm gonna rest easy tonight. And in the morning I'll start my work on the rovers!

See you in about a year babe! I'll be counting down the hours. Literally.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 426

Happy anniversary Y/N! You thought I'd forget? Never! You know why that is? Because I fucking love you, that's why!

Four years we've been together as of today, that's assuming we are counting the year we've been apart as "being together", (which I do.) Today I'm really beating myself up over frying Pathfinder with my drill all those months ago. It was my only form of communication with you and I royally fucked it up.

You'd think that cutting myself off from Earth, NASA and humanity at large would be what upset me the most. Nope, it's the fact that I can't send you a super sneaky secret anniversary e-mail. I also missed my parents' birthdays, your birthday, Christmas AND Thanksgiving. Twice. Also, fucking Valentine's day! I used to hate that holiday before I met you.

Anyway, as you can see, I totally have all my priorities in order! Also! I got you a present~ Since you have no way to read this, I don't feel bad spoiling it for you. I found a little rock. It's in the shape of a heart.

Awwww wow! That's cute, I just realized that I'm giving you my heart for our anniversary! To be honest, you had it a long time ago.

I miss you. I miss your smell, your eyes, the feel of your skin. Most of all, I really, really miss your voice. I just want to hear you. I've forgotten what you sound like. I'm scared If I didn't have this picture of you and your brother, I'd forget what your face looks like too.

I'm starting my long commute to Schiaparelli in 23 days. It'll be a two month drive. I really hate driving in the rover. But if it gets me to you, who cares? I'm stalling. I've got a lot of work tomorrow and I just want to enjoy today. I wish I was there with you to enjoy it obviously, but we can't all get what we want (least of all, me.) I've learned how to settle.

Speaking of settling, what do you think about getting married in the woods, or a big grassy field? I'd like there to be as much green as possible. No red or orange, we're talking the opposite side of the color wheel here. I can picture you walking down the aisle. I'll be an absolute mess, but who cares. You're the love of my life. Thanks for, y'know, coming back to pick me up instead of leaving me to die on Mars.

I hope you like the rock.

-Mark

P.S. I grew a beard and my hair looks like the 80's had a baby with a grease monster. You'd hate it.

P.P.S. I hope you're into pirates~

P.P.P.S. Y/N Watney... Mark Y/L/N... hmmmmm, so hard to choose!

P.P.P.P.S. We are never eating potatoes again.

P.P.P.P.P.S And ABSOLUTELY NO DISCO MUSIC!

~~~

You stared at Mars creeping back into view. The last time you were here, Mark was sitting beside you, arm around your waist, your head on his shoulder. Maybe it wasn't your most subtle of moments, but how could anyone not be enthralled by the beauty of the red planet? Even now it was hard not to feel stricken with wonder.

Sometimes your mind played tricks on you. You'd see a speck of dust on the window and think you could see Watney on the surface. That was ridiculous of course, There is no possible way to see an individual person this far out. That didn't stop you from imagining it.

NASA had briefed everyone on the Martian's health, explained that he wouldn't look the same as the last time you saw him. You expected as much, but the thought still worried you. It wasn't that you were worried if you'd still find him attractive, there was no force on Earth or beyond that could change how much you loved Mark Watney. It was his health that worried you.

During all your back and forth questions with NASA that Henderson had arranged, you inquired about his health. They said he was doing well, but that he was stretching his little amount of food to its limits. That's what scared you the most. How would his immune system fare? How would he acclimate back to normal food on Earth? All of these questions went unanswered. NASA was honest, "we won't know for sure until he gets here."

"Mind if I join you?" Lewis asked softly, floating a short distance away.

"Of course Commander. I'd like the company," You said. It was surprising to realize you actually meant it. It'd been awhile since you wanted to spend time with anyone.

Melissa floated further into the cupola and settled beside you.

"Crazy to think that in a few days he'll be up here with us again..." Lewis said softly.

"Yeah..." you said softly, keeping your eyes ahead.

"I know how much you miss him... You two were always great friends."

You swallowed hard and tried to ignore the pit in your stomach as you nodded. "Yeah..."

You could see Lewis looking at you out of the corner of your eye. Her expression was conflicted. "I'm really sorry this happened. I know it's been hard on you. I should have searched a little longer-"

"Commander." You stopped her from continuing. "You did all you could. You made the right decision. I wish none of this had happened, but none of this was your fault. It couldn't have been easy to make the choice, and I'm willing to bet that if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't have been strong enough to do it. I'm sure everyone else feels the same exact way, Mark included." You placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Thanks, that's... Thank you," Melissa smiled.

"We're a team, that's what we do. We keep each other grounded."

"That's actually sort of what I wanted to talk to you about..."

"What do you mean?"

"NASA just sent the message a few minutes ago. They're letting us talk to Watney... Directly," Lewis said. You blinked in surprise. No matter how many times you asked, NASA wouldn't allow any kind of direct communication. You wondered why the sudden change of heart.

"Henderson thinks we need to remind him of what he has to look forward to, keep his eyes on the prize so to speak. At least, that's how he's been pitching it to the director. Anyway, the rest of the crew and I agree you should be the one to do it," she finished.

"R-really? I can talk to him?" You asked hopefully, hoping this wasn't a dream.

"Y/N, I can't think of anyone else he would need to hear from more."

~~~

Mark was waiting by the coms in the MAV for any final updates from NASA regarding the meticulous destruction of his ship, piece by piece. He had just finished taking out the main window and it was heavy as hell, even in Mars gravity. He was happy he at least had some time to rest after all that hard work. If he was lucky, maybe they'd wait too long and it would be too dark to get any work done. He could use a good sleep, it seemed like he was needing it more and more lately. Watney suddenly heard the telltale beeps that signaled an incoming message. He was expecting a barrage of questions about his progress, instead he got something so much better.

[19:22] Y/L/N: Hey, Mark.

Mark's voice got caught in his throat.

Y/N.

It had been so fucking long since he talked to you. His eyes burned and his hands shook. Watney leaned his head back in relief, thanking god for this incredible gift. "I just about gave up on you man..." Mark smiled to the sky before nervously typing back.

[19:23] MAV: Y/N!? Holy crap! They're finally letting you talk to me directly?

You released a sigh and covered your face with your hands. He was responding! Really responding! Everyone was looking at you. Beck beamed at you while Martinez watched on with interest. Lewis was waiting to see if you could handle it. No way you were gonna let this one chance slip through your fingers. You sniffed and wiped your eyes before responding.

[19:24] Y/L/N: Yes, NASA just gave the OK for direct communication an hour ago. We're only 35 light-seconds apart, so we can talk in near-real time. Johanssen just set up the system and I'm testing it out.

Mark sighed and smiled. Level headed and professional as always. How you had such self control, he had no idea.

[19:24] MAV: What took them so long to let us talk?

You looked up at Lewis, silently asking if you could relay the truth. She nodded.

[19:25] Y/L/N: The psych team was worried about personality conflicts. [19:25] MAV: Why? Just 'cause you guys abandoned me on a godforsaken planet with no chance of survival?

Mark typed without thinking and as soon as he hit send, he regretted it. He didn't want you to feel bad, It was a joke. You'd understand that right?

[19:26] Y/L/N: Not funny. Don't make me come down there and kick you.

Watney let out a choked laugh. Half a chuckle and half a sob.

[19:26] MAV: God I missed you.

You smiled at the screen and pushed down the urge to hug Martinez behind you. You were really talking to him! He was only 35 light-seconds away! Suddenly you realized you were blessed with an opportunity even more amazing than just talking with him. You could ask him what you had been asking in all of your disregarded emails!

[19:27] Y/L/N: We missed you too. I've had to take over the botany lab. You'll be happy to know I haven't killed any of your plants...Yet. How are you feeling? We've gotten a few updates from NASA regarding your health, but nothing in incredible detail.

Watney chuckled at the text appearing in front of him. 'Cute,' he thought.

[19:27] MAV: Awwww, are you worried about me?

The crew laughed and you shook your head, swiftly adding your response.

[19:28] Y/L/N: Do I really need to answer that?

Mark snickered and decided not to tease you. He wanted to tell you all of his woes and adequately prepare you for how much he had changed. But he didn't want to put a damper on the mood. Luckily, Watney was a master at sugarcoating.

[19:29] MAV: I'm doing okay. My clothing feels a little loose and I'm craving spaghetti. I'm also in desperate need of a shower. Other than that, I'm just fine. Looking forward to seeing you and the rest of the crew.

Your smile fell. You were happy he was being at least somewhat honest, but you knew it was probably worse than he was making out to be. Unfortunately, Watney was a master at sugarcoating.

[19:29] Y/L/N: We're looking forward to seeing you too. I think it's safe to say a big group hug is in order, if I can get Vogel in on it that is.

Watney hummed at the thought of holding you in his arms. The image was so clear, yet so far away.

[19:30] MAV: At this point, I'd even settle for holding hands. Group hug sounds nice. How are you doing Y/N? I wrote you a lot of emails.

You grimaced and thought your next words through very carefully. With the crew watching, it was hard to collect your thoughts.

[19:31] Y/L/N: I wrote you plenty of my own. There was only so much air time to be used outside of helping you survive. My guess is they put priority on Commander Lewis' emails. Rightfully so of course. I'm doing fine. I've missed you a lot. To be honest, a lot is probably a huge understatement. It's hard to express exactly what I want to say over message.

Mark nodded. You watched him presumably die, leave his 'body' behind, mourn his loss over a period of months, find out you left him there alive, be unable to talk to him for about a year, and suddenly he was here reading and responding to your messages, but you have to limit the details so as to keep those private thoughts private. He couldn't imagine what he would do if the roles were reversed. What you wanted to say needed to be kept between you and him. He understood. There was a lot he wanted to say too.

[19:32] MAV: I know what you mean. I'll be there soon, then you can tell me all about it in person. And I'll tell you all about my space crops and my long voyage to the MAV. Have I mentioned I'm a space pirate?

The crew laughed and for a moment, it felt like he was there. Really there.

[19:33] Y/L/N: Good to know you're still the funniest person on Mars. [19:33] MAV: Thanks! [19:33] MAV: Wait a minute! Rude! Don't make me come up there! [19:34] Y/L/N: Don't threaten me with a good time, Watney. [19:34] MAV: ;)

You were about to make some really elaborate emoji out of parentheses and dots, when you saw a notification from NASA. Playtime was over. You scowled as you broke the news to your boyfriend.

[19:34] Y/L/N: I hate to cut this short, but NASA wants us to keep the line open. We'll be in touch asking for updates on your progress, but don't expect too much witty banter.

Mark's heart sank a little, but there was no use in leaving such a perfect night on a sour note.

[19:35] MAV: Figures. NASA never lets me do anything fun! Tell the others I said hi. [19:36] Y/L/N: I'll be sure to pass it along!

Mark's leg tapped nervously. He knew NASA was right about keeping the line open, but he really didn't want it to end yet.

[19:36] MAV: Hey, thanks for coming to get my sorry ass. [19:36] Y/L/N: No thanks necessary. We'd do it a million times over.

Watney knew you meant it. He could feel the warmth through the bland MAV text on the screen. He couldn't wait to be up there with you...But what if something went wrong? Fuck, don't think about this now! Everything's going to be fine! Right? But what if... There was always a chance, especially on Mars, that things would not go your way. And the likelihood of him surviving this mission was slim at best. He needed to tell you. He should have said it a lot more. A whisper here and there in the hallways, maybe some stupid middle school secret code. Like hell he was going to pass up this one chance, consequences be damned.

[19:37] MAV: I love you, Y/N.

Your heart lurched in your chest. The room fell silent. Martinez lightly squeezed your shoulder. Your eyes flitted around the room to your colleagues. All of them stared with bewildered looks on their faces. What were you supposed to say? What if you got him in trouble? If he was worried about that, why would he send this in the first place?

'You know what, Fuck it,' you thought.

Watney watched the screen with baited breath. "Please..." He whispered. "Please."

[19:38] Y/L/N: I love you too Mark. Sleep well, we'll be there before you know it.

Mark released a cry of joy and typed through the tears.

[19:39] MAV: You too. Goodnight. [19:39] Y/L/N: Goodnight, Mark.

The line received no new messages after that. Mark rested there a moment before retreating back to the rover. Once the airlock had engaged, he removed his helmet and admired the picture of you and your brother he had taped to the rover computer.

He used to take those words for granted. Why say it when you could show it? He showed it to you as often as he could... At least he used to. You never made him question it for a second. You gave him compliments, brought him water on late nights, listened to his nerdy ramblings about plants and D&D. He'd help you to bed when you were too tired to stand, work out the knots in your shoulders while you typed. Over a year has passed and your grip on his heart is still firm. And when you said those three little words, all of it made sense again. Mark Watney would never again question the power of I love you. He was going to remind you every chance he got. He was going to ask you for it as often as possible. His mom and dad would hear it in every phone call, and no more excluding his friends. He loved them too. He would say it until the term loses all meaning, then he'd remember this night where I love you saved his life.

Mark took off his gloves and danced his thin fingers over the photograph.

"See you soon, baby..." He whispered, "I love you."

~~~

You pulled on your headset and took a deep, self soothing breath. In an hour, the love of your life was going to be launched into Mars's orbit in what could barely be considered a MAV. The thing was a Frankenstein version of the shuttle you had taken off the planet nearly two years ago.

You shook your head. What Mark needed right now was confidence. You could do that.

"How you feeling Y/L/N?" Martinez smiled over at you.

"Like I'm gonna throw up," You laughed.

"Anxious huh?" He smirked, "For the launch, or for your man?"

"Both," You smacked his arm and rolled your eyes. Martinez and Beck hadn't stopped giving you crap for the I love you texts. You didn't mind too much, it was nice being able to acknowledge that side of your relationship with Mark. Unfortunately it made for some rather awkward conversations with the NASA administrators.

"You got nothing to worry about, he's in good hands," Rick said reassuringly.

"I know, we're all badass trained professionals with years of experience," you chuckled. "I can't help it. I'm built to worry."

"You've checked and double checked the telemetry. Johanssen confirmed all of your calculations. It's going to be a smooth ride for sure."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

//////////

Mark scowled at his reflection in the mirror and stroked his beard. He looked like shit, no way around it. He hadn't taken a moment to really look at himself for a long time and he couldn't say he liked what he saw.

"It's the end of an era," Watney said to nobody as he grabbed the razor. "No more captain blonde-beard."

Mark took his time shaving his chin and trimming the hair on his head. By the end of it, he still looked like shit but slightly less so. He felt a little more like himself at least.

He patted his chest to make sure the picture was still there, tucked under his uniform. It was there, along with his anniversary present to you. He slipped the headset over his ears and turned it on. It was nearly time to go. Watney pulled the suit on over his head and double checked if it was all on securely.

"I'm leaving Mars today, one way or another..." He whispered. "About fucking time."

//////////

"Fuel engine green," Your voice seemed to cause time itself to slow down. Not just for Mark, but for the entire world. "Engine alignment, perfect." Mark closed his eyes took a series of deep breaths, trying in vain to keep his emotions in check. "Communications five by five. We are ready for preflight checklist, Commander."

"Copy." Lewis said. "Mission Control, this is Hermes actual. We will proceed on schedule. we have T minus two minutes, ten seconds to launch... Mark." The commander turned her attention to the man of the hour. "About two minutes Watney. How you doing down there?"

"I'm good." He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. "I'm anxious to get up to you. Thanks for coming back for me."

You sniffed and shot a smile to Johanssen, who sent you a grin of her own.

"We're going to make it happen. Remember, You'll be pulling some pretty heavy g's. It's okay if you pass out. You're in Martinez's hands."

"Well, tell that asshole no barrel rolls."

"Copy that, MAV."

"CAPCOM."

"Go," you said.

Mark's bottom lip quivered

"Guidance."

"Go," Johanssen said.

"Remote Command."

"Go," Martinez said.

"Telemetry."

"Go," you said again.

He couldn't fight it anymore, he let the tears fall.

"Recovery."

"Go," Beck said.

"Secondary Recovery."

"Go," Vogel said.

"Pilot."

Mark steadied his voice before speaking, "go."

"Mission control, we are go for launch. T minus ten," You said.

"Nine."

"Eight."

"Seven."

"Six."

"Five."

Mark closed his eyes and focused on your voice. "See you in a few, baby..." He whispered.

"Four."

"Three."

"Two."

"One."

The force of the blast was incredible, and growing more painful by the second. His breathing came out short and panicked as the Hab canvas rattled nightmarishly against the MAV. His panic only increased as the canvas ripped from the shuttle, exposing him to the full force of the MAV's thrust. He couldn't even scream. All he could do was watch the sky grow darker and darker.

"Watney." He heard your voice from far away.

"Watney, do you read me?" Your voice called again. His eyes drooped and his vision faded.

//////////

"Watney. Do you read?" You asked in the calmest voice you could muster.

"He's probably passed out. He pulled 12 g's on the ascent. Give him a few minutes," Beck said.

"Copy that." You said and turned your attention on the numbers before you. "I have interval pings. Intercept velocity will be eleven meters per second."

"I can make that work," Beck confirmed.

"Distance at intercept will be....we'll be sixty-eight kilometers apart..." You whimpered and buried your face in your hands.

"Did they say sixty-eight Kilometers? Kilometers?!" Beck cried.

"Keep it together, work the problem. Martinez, any juice left in the MAV?" Lewis asked.

"Negative, Commander."

"Then we'll have to go to him. Y/L/N, time to intercept?"

"Thirty-nine minutes, twelve seconds," You steeled yourself and focused on your coordinates.

"Martinez, what if we point the attitude thrusters all the same direction?" Lewis asked.

"Depends on how much we want to save for the attitude adjustments on the trip home."

"How much do you need?"

"I could get by with maybe twenty percent of what's left. If I use the other eighty percent... We'd get a delta-v of thirty-one meters per second."

"Y/L/N, Math."

"In thirty-nine minutes, we'd deflect....seventy-two kilometers! Use seventy-five point five percent of remaining attitude adjust fuel. That'll bring the intercept range to zero," You did the math quickly.

"Do it." Lewis said.

"Hold your horses, that'll get the range to zero, but the velocity will be forty-two meters per second."

"Then we have thirty-nine minutes to figure out how to slow down. Burn the jets."

//////////

Mark awoke to find himself spinning. Flashes of stars and the red glow of the Martian surface had him feeling a little dizzy. "MAV to Hermes?"

"Watney?" You gasped.

"Affirmative," he grunted.

"What's your status?" You asked calmly.

"Uhhh..." He winced and leaned back in his seat. "My chest hurts. I think I broke a rib. How are you, sweetheart?" He groaned.

"We're working on getting to you," you relayed. "There was a complication in the launch."

"Yeah," Watney dejectedly looked at the massive hole in the roof of his ship. "The canvas didn't hold. I think it ripped early in the ascent."

"That's consistent with what we saw during the launch," Lewis agreed.

"How bad is it, Commander?" he asked.

"We were able to correct the intercept range with Hermes's attitude thrusters, but there's a problem with the intercept velocity."

"How big a problem."

"Forty-two meters per second."

"Well..." Mark paused and tried to wrap his head around that number. "Shit."

//////////

You typed furiously, staring at your screen unblinkingly as you worked through all the possible ways to bring down the velocity.

"Hey, I've got an idea," Watney said.

"Of course you do, what have you got?" Lewis asked.

"I could find something sharp in here and poke a hole in my EVA suit. I could use the escaping air as a thruster and fly my way to you. The source of thrust would be on my arm, so I'd be able to control it pretty easily."

"How does he come up with this shit?" Martinez laughed.

"I can't see you having any control if you did. You'd be eyeballing the intercept using a thrust vector you can barely control."

"I admit it's fatally dangerous, but consider this: I'd get to fly around like Iron Man."

"We'll keep working on ideas," Lewis said.

"Iron Man, Commander. Iron Man."

"Stand by," Lewis temporarily cut contact with Watney.

You furrowed your brows at the screen, waiting for the correct course of action to jump out at you. Suddenly, there it was. "Wait! that's it!" you looked back at the Commander. "Mark's a genius! We could use the ship's atmosphere as thrust. We could blow the vehicular airlock. Seal the bridge and the reactor room. Iron Man... But bigger!"

"....." Melissa stared at you for a moment before addressing Alex. "Vogel?"

"Yes commander?"

"I need you to come inside and make a bomb," she ordered.

~~~

"I have visual, I can see the MAV," Beck said. "Jesus Mark, what did you do to that thing?"

"You should see the rover," Mark radioed. He was ready to get out of his goddamned chair, ready to get away from this hunk of junk that could barely be considered a MAV.

"Call out my velocity to Mark every two seconds or so," Chris said.

"Copy." You responded.

"Hey Beck, the front's wide open. I'll get up there and be ready to grab at you." Watney said.

"Negative, no untethered movement. Stay strapped to your chair until you're attached to Beck."

"Copy." Mark huffed. Lewis was right, impatience would be the death of him out here and he had come too far to die now. Instead, he focused on your voice calling out the relative velocity.

"Three point one meters per second."

"Eleven meters to target."

"Six meters."

"Contact." Beck grabbed the canvas of the destroyed MAV. "Firm contact."

"You have fourteen seconds Dr. Beck."

"Copy."

Nothing could have prepared Watney for how he'd feel seeing Beck's helmet poking through the opening.

Pure. Unadulterated. Serotonin.

"Visual on Watney!"

"Visual on Beck!"

"How ya doin' man?" Beck pushed himself toward Mark, meanwhile Mark was trying not to have another emotional breakdown.

"I....I just...Give me a minute, you're the first person I've seen in eighteen months," Watney croaked.

"We don't have a minute," Beck clumsily collided with Mark. "Contact with Watney... Connected!"

"Restraints off," Watney called.

"We're outta here!"

//////////

"Houston, this is Hermes actual. Seven crew safely aboard," Lewis's voice echoed in your mind as you, Martinez, Johanssen, and Lewis pushed yourselves toward the airlock where Vogel and Beck were bringing him in.

Mark.

You could see his dusty helmet from the small window on the airlock. Already you were feeling an overwhelming ache deep in your chest. There he was, only a few feet away, behind this door. Your crewmates flew in and clambered for Watney.

"Hey guys!" He laughed.

You were frozen in the doorway.

His helmet came off.

Everything slowed down.

Everyone was smiling and laughing. High fiving. Quick hugs. They all wanted to get as far away from the smell as they could.

Your eyes met.

There were beads of what looked like water floating in the air. When did you start crying?

Mark held out his arms to you and you wasted no more time. He hugged you as tightly as he could with the bulky arms of his EVA suit. His face buried into your neck as he cried softly. "Y/N...." He whispered in a broken voice. "Y-Y/N?"

"I'm right here Mark... Right here." You cradled the back of his head, scratching that spot at the base of his neck. He always liked it when you did that

"I stink, don't I?" Watney laughed in between sobs.

"You do. You really do," You tried to keep up the joke. "But if im being completely honest, I couldn't possibly care less," you laughed.

Slowly, you pulled back so you could get a good look at his face. He was thin. Gaunt, and covered in bed sores. That should have been expected of course, It's not like he had anywhere to shower in the rover. He looked at you like you were an angel. He looked embarrassed, like he wanted to hide.

Your fingers danced over his cheek and his eyes fluttered closed at the tenderness. The crew watched on with pride and varying degrees of bashfulness.

Mark opened his eyes and stared at you pleadingly as orbs of tears flowed from their corners. "Y/N... Please..." He whispered.

You didn't hesitate for a second.

You grabbed the sides of Mark's face and smashed your lips against his. So soft... your hands are so soft and your lips are trembling. The heat of your skin, the scent of your hair. It was even better than he remembered. He couldn't breathe, he could barely even think. He wanted so desperately to kiss you back, to fall into your embrace until there's no space left between, but his ribs hurt like hell and his suit was in the way. Mark whimpered as your fingers tangled into his hair. Fuck. Fuck. 'Everything hurts baby, please don't stop kissing me,' he pleaded in his head. 'Don't stop.'

When you started pulling away, he reached out to pull you closer again, but winced when he moved his arm.

"Slow down, baby." You breathed and pressed a little smooch to his forehead.

"Alright love birds, I need to get Iron Man over here to sick bay."

"But-" Watney protested.

"No buts, you need an X-ray and a shower. Maybe three." Beck laughed.

Mark looked at you pleadingly and you caressed his face. "I'll be by once Beck fixes you up. I gotta help check the ship for damage. Okay?"

He nodded and smiled. "Don't miss me too much~"

"You seek the impossible, Watney." You kissed his forehead again and let Chris lead your Martian down the hall to his quarters.

"Wow," Martinez said "I can't decide if that was incredibly romantic or incredibly awkward."

"Shut up Martinez," You playfully shoved his shoulder.

"Honestly though, he smells terrible! You've got some nerves of steel, Y/L/N," Johanssen joked.

"My boyfriend just spent eighteen months alone on a remote planet, If he wants a kiss he's gonna get that goddamned kiss. Definitely not a quick one and definitely not a half-assed one. But I will say one thing," you grinned.

"What's that?" Lewis smirked.

"He's not getting another one until he brushes his teeth."

~~~

Mark settled into his bunk after what felt like hours. He finally had a bath. Five, in fact. The showers were on a timer to conserve water. He had to run that timer five times before he finally felt clean. The water hurt the sores on his skin, but he felt so much better afterward that he almost wanted to go in for a sixth one. Mark brushed his teeth about three times and got rid of all the tangles in his hair. He'd need someone to touch up the cutting job he did. Now that it was all brushed out, it looked astoundingly bad.

After his long grooming session, Beck took an X-ray and determined that he'd broken two ribs. Chris bandaged him up, gave him some pain medicine, made him eat, and sent him to bed for some well deserved rest. At first, Mark protested. He hated the idea of everyone else fixing the ship while their lead engineer was taking a nap. But he was painfully tired and painfully...well... in pain.

Hey! His bunk didn't smell like shit! That's a huge upgrade from his bunk in the Hab- no more thinking about that place.

With a deep groan, Watney eased himself into bed. Weird...his sheets smelled like you. He didn't mind of course, you always smelled nice. He had never been more thankful for the centripetal force spinning the ship. He would have hated having broken ribs in zero g's. He imagined trying to sleep with his body constantly moving ever so slightly. Sounded like hell to him.

Mark wondered what the others were doing. He hoped there wasn't something too terribly wrong with the ship. The subtle groans of metal didn't ease his nerves. He was never scared of the Hermes before, but he was just now coming to terms with that fact that the ship had taken some serious abuse over the past few months, not to mention the past few hours. Normally Hermes would undergo maintenance after each mission, but because they turned around to get him that maintenance was scrapped.

New fear unlocked: Dooming his team to die in space because they had to turn around and get him.

He almost thought the knocking on his door was the hull breaking apart into a billion little bite-sized pieces.

"Come in," he said.

He expected it to be Beck checking in on him, but he was relieved when you poked your head in with a shy smile.

"Heyyyy, look over there! It's the world's handsomest boyfriend!" You said with gusto.

"You are such a kiss ass," Mark laughed, which hurt his ribs, which made him laugh again from how pitiful he must look.

You scoffed as you stepped into his quarters, shutting the door behind you. "You calling me a liar?" you grabbed a loose storage box and used it as a chair so you could sit beside his bed.

"That's exactly what I'm calling you," he smirked. "Seriously. Have you seen me lately? I look like a... a popsicle stick with a bad haircut."

You looked him up and down. His sores looked a lot better after cleaning them. You had no doubt they would heal nicely. The malnourishment on the other hand... That might take some work. You and Beck already had a few dietary plans for him. You discussed it while you reorganized the chow hall. Still, Mark was the most beautiful person you had ever seen. Even now, those alluring blue eyes were mesmerizing you. And let's not forget that goddamned tantalizing smile.

"I'm looking at you right now, babe," You giggled.

"And?"

"You're still as gorgeous as ever. Just a gorgeous man who's been through some shit," you carded your fingers through his hair. Mark hummed and closed his eyes. "How are you feeling?" you whispered.

"Physically or emotionally?"

"Both."

"Emotionally, happy. Very happy. Best day of my life kind of happy," he smiled. "Physically, pretty shitty. The medicine hasn't kicked in."

"Anything I can do to help you feel better?" you asked warmly.

Watney sent you a smug look, "Oh, I can think of a few things that might help~"

"Not until your ribs are healed."

"Damn."

You leaned down and pushed his hair back so you could kiss his forehead. He gave you a dazed grin, "oh, what do you know? I feel better already," he whispered in a gravelly voice. "... I really missed you..."

"I missed you too Mark..."

"I can't believe I can... I can feel you again. I can hear you and see you and feel you... s'insane..." He reached up and cupped your cheek despite the pain. "You were always on my mind. I-I just really wanted... I wanted to make it back to you." He brought his thumb just under your eye to catch a stray tear.

You covered his hand with yours and pressed a kiss to his palm.

"I-I don't even know what to say... I've been feeling so much, I don't know how to... how to-" He swallowed hard.

"Everything's changed so fast," you reassured him. "But we aren't on the messaging system anymore. It's a long journey home, we have plenty of time to find the right words," you continued to run your fingers into his hair.

"I fucking love you... " he closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling of your nails against his scalp. "I'm gonna marry you one day, decided just now."

"Just now?" You snickered.

"No...Realistically, it was the first night we uh... slept together. Do you remember that?" Watney chuckled.

"Of course I do," you smiled, thinking of his messy blonde hair, searing gaze, and strong arms. He took his time with you that night, unhurried, attentive, and unabashedly vocal. "How could I forget?"

Mark shook his head and looked away to hide his blush, but not even his smile could distract you from it. "Sorry, sorry. Go on, continue!"

"Well, I uh..." He let out a sheepish chuckle. "Obviously every part of that night was perfect, but it's what happened after that really changed things."

"Oh?" you leaned closer, curiosity getting the better of you.

"You let me be the little spoon. I'm fine with being the big spoon most of the time, but you gotta be the little spoon sometimes, you know? No one ever let me be the little spoon before you... And when I woke up, you were still holding me." His fingertips danced down your arm, leaving a trail of chills in their wake. Once he reached your hand, Mark intertwined your fingers. It wasn't a conscious movement for him, simply muscle memory. But you couldn't keep your mind off of it. "I know I goof around a lot, but I can't stress how serious I'm being when I say... I have never felt that loved before. It was just... such a perfect night. I knew that you were the one for me well before, but that was the first time I really saw my future flash before my eyes like that."

Your eyes stung a little as you tenderly kissed his lips. "Want to know when I decided?" you whispered against him.

"Please..." He whispered back.

"Remember when I had that terrible flu during the first year of our training program?"

"Oh damn, yeah I do! You looked terrible, baby." Mark teased.

"I felt terrible. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and I definitely couldn't go to lectures... I was so worried about missing, even though the professors agreed there was no way I could come to class. You brought me a copy of your notes. The copy machine in the library was down, so you had to write them by hand... you even filled them with these horrible stick figure drawings," you laughed and Mark brought your knuckles to his lips and watched you, immersed in the sound of your voice. It was like he was trying to commit you to memory. You were doing much the same.

"Anyway, you stayed with me and you made some Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. You stopped by everyday until I got better."

"We were just friends back then," he whispered against your hand.

"I know, but every time I think about how much I love you... that memory comes back, playing on repeat."

"Say that again."

"That again," you smirked. Mark gave you a sassy eyebrow. "Which part babe?" you laughed.

"The uh..." he trailed off.

You lightly kissed his cheek, "I love you, Mark... I love you so much." You peppered his face with little smooches. When you finally pulled back, he was all red again and teary eyed.

"I love you too, Y/N," He whispered. You sat together in silence for awhile before Mark suddenly remembered something extremely important! "Oh shit! I almost forgot!" He winced as he reached into his pocket. "Happy late four year anniversary!" He finally presented you with his gift.

Your fingers trembled as you took the little rock into your hands. Mark's Martian heart stared back up at you, dusting your palm orange.

"Y-you remembered our anniversary?"

"Of course I remembered! Have I ever forgotten before?" Mark smirked.

"N-no, but..." You couldn't help it, you were crying again god dammit. "Thank you Mark, I love it." You beamed and kissed him so hard he lost his entire train of thought. He sighed and pulled you closer like he had wanted to do hours ago. Fuck. There you go again, playing with his hair like it wasn't going to rile him up. He moaned and reached for your waist, only to be pulled swiftly back to reality by the jarring pain in his abdomen. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Mark." You pulled away quickly.

"It wasn't you, I was getting too carried away." He winced and took a deep breath. "My bad," Watney laughed.

You sat down on the crate beside his bed and settled for playing with his hand. While you took inventory of every new callus, Mark once again saw his future flash right before his eyes. You and him and that little house with the green shutters. He's gonna have the best garden in the neighborhood, you'll have all the time in the world for reading. No potatoes. No disco.

"Y/N... Can you hold me?"

"Oh baby, I would love to but the beds are so small-"

"Ouch, oof, oh! ow!" He scooted closer to the wall to make room for you.

You sighed and shook your head. "Mark, your ribs-"

"Please..." he whispered. Dammit! What are you supposed to do when he gives you the puppy eyes!? Beck is going to kill you...

"I can't ever say no to you, can I?" You laughed and scooted into the bed. "Seriously, you've got me wrapped around your finger."

Mark smiled as you tucked yourself into his side. He wanted to be the little spoon, but he couldn't turn over so his back was against your chest. He'd just have to heal quickly, then he could freely snuggle, (and do other things) without any constraints!

He turned his head so he could admire your lovely, beautiful face. You were already looking back at him, one hand holding your rock close to your chest, the other was draped carefully over his waist. Mark swears he's never seen anything more breathtaking in his life.

He slowly leaned closer- Fuck! His ribs hurt so bad, where the hell is the Vicodin when you need it?

You gently smoothed out the crease between his brows with your thumb and pushed his hair back again. Mark closed his eyes, succumbing to the bliss that came with knowing he would never be alone again. You kissed him again and pulled his blanket over the both of you.

"I love you, Mark."

"I love you too."

He felt your hand slip under his shirt and onto his stomach. You drew soft shapes onto his skin, but stopped when you felt the scar just above the hem of his pants. It was jagged and angry.

He swallowed.

Much to his surprise and relief, you didn't pull your hand away. You just kept tracing the new territory.

He sighed and kissed your temple. His body shuddered in relief. "Th-this isn't a dream, right? You'll still be here when I wake up?" he whispered.

You peeked your head up and smiled "I'm not going anywhere, I'm afraid you're stuck with me." You leaned in and gave him one more kiss. He smiled into it and finally allowed himself to rest his eyes.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Y/L/N..."

#mark watney #watney #Mark Watney x reader #The Martian x reader #x reader #reader fanfiction #reader insert #the martian #watney x reader #mark watney fanfiction #mark watney / reader #watney/reader

155 notes · View notes

thecoffeelorian · 1 month ago

Text

all right, then.

if ALL the readers are gone, then there won't be any complaints when I finally get to the wedding chapter.

YEEHAW.

#random status update #star wars #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #captain howzer #captain howzer x reader #fanfiction development #blogging like i have no followers #dancing on my own #special interest #time to pull a mark watney and talk to myself #tbb: kiss me captain

19 notes · View notes

snailpebbles · 1 year ago

Text

rewatching the Martian and screaming everytime Sebastian Stan is on screen IS girlhood.

#the martian #mark watney #sebastian stan #girlhood #bucky barnes x reader #god im SO down bad #help #im legit squealing #😭😭😭#chris beck #chris beck x reader

70 notes · View notes

rekiilysm · 11 months ago

Text

Together? Together. Ch2

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・

⇨ 「pairing— mark watney x fem!reader」

⇨ 「a/n— writer’s block had me BADD guys omg. so i’m so so sorry for not updating this fic in a while. also at first i was scared when i posted the first chapter bc i thought no one would read it but a lot of people have and i’m really happy (i love you guys ^3^) i hope you enjoy the reunion between the two plant nerds <3」

⇨ 「warnings— cursing, detailed blood/bloody wound, and i think that’s it but if not lmk!」

⇨ 「word count— 1.7k」

CHAPTER TWO: …MARK?

The loud beeping of the woman’s suit woke her up from unconsciousness. Her eyes slowly peeked open, the bright orange horizon filling her blurry vision. It took her a second to realize what was going on. Her eyes widened. She was alive. On Mars. All alone.

A panicked sigh left her lips as she tried to get up from the sand. But she was quickly blocked, pushing her back into the sand. She moved her head slightly to see a large solar panel lying right on top of her. Y/n grunted, moving her arms to lift the solar panel off of her buried body. She used all of her strength she had, luckily managing to get the big piece of metal off of her. Once it slid off of her though, and she tried to get up, a sharp jolt of pain washed throughout her whole body. “Fuck!” She cried out.

The woman looked down at the cause of her pain. Her eyes widened. It was a piece of broken solar panel lodged right in her side. A tear slipped past her eyelid, flowing down her cheek as she stood still, the pain overcoming her. “Okay, I can do this…” She told herself. That was enough to get her to sit up straight. She winced as she sat up, the sight of the HAB in the far distance, seeming like it glowed in all its glory.

With a sigh, she knew she had to get back to the HAB as soon as possible because her suit was beeping so loud and it was getting annoying. Her head was already pounding, and the obnoxious noise didn’t help.

And so she stood up. She tried to do so quickly so the pain wasn’t too unbearable. Y/n bit her lip, trying to be strong and pull herself together. Pushing herself out of the sandy hole she was in, she stood up, the pain shooting through her veins like lightning. Her face scrunched up as she cried; I mean, she was stabbed by a piece of metal! But even though it hurt like a bitch, she panted as the pain somewhat eased up before beginning her journey to the HAB.

———

Opening the airlock door, the h/c haired astronaut stepped in, clutching her side. She slowly closed the door, just ready to get inside and get the damn piece of metal out of her side. Once the door was closed and locked shut, the air began to flow through the airlock, blowing right on the side of Y/n’s stab wound. She winced through her teeth as she made her way to the door that led inside.

Y/n weakly grabbed ahold of the door handle and pushed it open, letting out a small grunt. She quickly closed the door and took her helmet off, taking in her surroundings. She was alone. Wait…

The woman then heard quick footsteps headed her way. Panic set in as the footsteps got louder and closer. There was no one else on this planet, unless aliens have already invaded the HAB..

She looked around as her heartbeat picked up. She glanced down at the metal in her side right as the sound stopped. There was silence for a moment. “…Y/n?” A raspy, familiar voice spoke. The said woman’s head shot up quickly, eyes wide, making eye contact with the familiar person.

“…Mark?” She spoke softly, almost a whisper. She felt ecstatic. Her best friend was alive and in the same room as her! …Unless she was hallucinating from the blood loss. “Is this real? Are you real? Please tell me this is real..” She knew being alone on Mars was real, but Mark being alive? After she saw him get blown away by the communications disk? Hallucinations are possible.

The man didn’t say anything, he just walked up to her quickly. He stood in front of her, his eyes not leaving hers as he cupped his hands around her cheeks. “Real. It’s real.” He said, tears in his eyes. Of course he was happy that he wasn’t alone, but he hated that it had to be Y/n. Not in a bad way, he loved the woman in more ways than she’ll ever know. But, he wanted her to be safe, and being stuck on Mars with no communication with people on Earth was definitely not safe.

The woman slowly nodded as her eyes also filled with tears. The excitement she felt distracted her from the object sticking out of her side. But when she went to grab his hands, she winced and looked down. Mark’s eyes widened, moving his gaze to where hers was. He gasped, “Shit, Y/n!” The woman only laughed lightly, even though the pain was becoming unbearable. “What even..?” He started, inspecting the thing impaled into his best friend’s side.

“A solar panel flew straight into me and I guess a piece of debris got lodged into my side after I blacked out.” Y/n looked up to Mark in pain. The more she talked, the weaker she felt.

Mark nodded, looking around the room for supplies to help her injury. “Go over there,” he pointed to the chair he sat in when he was doing surgery on himself when he first got here. She nodded, making her way to the chair slowly as Mark got supplies to fix her up.

Once she made it to the chair, she stood still. If getting up was as painful as it was, how was sitting back down gonna feel?

She was hesitant, but once Mark made his way over to her, he set the supplies down and looked down at her. He looked at the metal sticking out of her and then back up to meet her eyes. He gave her an apologetic look. She understood that look immediately. He was gonna pull the metal out. Y/n closed her eyes shut tightly, breathing out through her nose. “You do it, I’m too chicken.” She said truthfully. She definitely couldn’t have done it herself, she can’t bring herself to do it.

He nodded, not wanting to ask questions because they needed to act fast. She was losing blood. Mark stood close in front of her, ready to be gripped on, punched, held onto, literally anything she would do to make her feel a little better. “Ready?” He looked in her eyes as he put his hand on the debris. She shook her head but he knew it was go time.

And then he pulled it out. Y/n screamed in pain, feeling the emptiness in her side as she squeezed her eyes shut. Her hand wanted to fly to the now open wound and clutch her side, but the pain only made her grab Mark’s bicep and squeeze as tightly as she could. He hissed at the pain in his arm, but ignored it as he grabbed the stapler and looked into her closed eyes.

“I need to take off your suit,” Mark spoke quickly, anxiously looking up at her scrunched up face and then down to her profusely bleeding wound. Y/n did as she was told—with Mark’s assistance—no questions asked, just wanting the pain and the feeling of warm liquid flowing down her body to be over. But unfortunately Mark still wasn’t able to reach the wound completely, there was still one more obstacle. “And your shirt.”

Her heavy breathing stopped momentarily and eyes that were once screwed shut flew open. “W-What?”

Mark sighed impatiently, “I need to take off your shirt to seal your wound so please, are you okay with that or do you want to bleed out?” He was getting more and more anxious as she asked questions. He didn’t mean to sound rude, he just wanted to stop the bleeding so she wouldn’t bleed out.

Y/n weakly nodded her head, giving him the go-ahead to do anything he needed to.

Mark set the stapler down before grabbing the scissors from the table next to him, quickly but carefully moving to cut the fabric off of Y/n’s body. If she wasn’t about to go unconscious, she would be freaking out right about now that her best friend, the love of her life who doesn’t even know it yet, was seeing her in a bra.

But that was at the back of her mind. All she was focused on was staying awake. Y/n struggled, beginning to see black spots in her vision, which was making it harder and harder to stay conscious. She tried breathing as best as she could, hoping that this would be over soon.

Mark had cut her shirt off so fast, tossing it to the floor carelessly as he reached for the stapler on the table next to him. “Ready?” He asked a second time in the few minutes they were together. He looked into her eyes, which were drooping down more and more by the minute. He panicked, and without an answer, he held her open wound together and stapled it shut.

“Shit!” Y/n hissed, her legs staggering slightly trying to balance against Mark. He felt his heart twist at the sound of her pain, but he had to stop the bleeding or she would… he didn’t want to think of what would happen.

Tears streamed down the girl’s face as she tightly closed her eyes, bracing for yet another staple into her side.

One. Click!

Two. Click!

Three. Click!

Four. Click!

And then there were no more clicks filling the silent room, only Y/n’s panting and Mark’s unsteady breathing. Y/n felt herself relax some, trying to ignore the pain that still lingered on her side. She slowly creeped her eyes open, only to be met with Mark’s worried gaze. He let out a sigh of relief, letting his tense shoulders fall as the stressful surgery was over with.

“Thank-“ she slurred, stumbling right into Mark. He quickly wrapped her in his arms gently, cautious of the staples in her side.

“No need to thank me, Y/n/n. I would do anything for you,” Mark whispered softly into her ear, laying his head on top of hers. He rubbed her shoulders gently and fully engulfed her into his arms to soothe her from the traumatic experience moments before.

That’s when it really hit Mark that his best friend was here on Mars with him. Alone. With no one else there but themselves. He hated the fact that she was stuck here too, but he couldn’t stop the happy feeling in his stomach. Maybe he was selfish, but he was glad someone was there stranded with him. And he was glad it was her.

———

taglist:

@jolovesfandoms

lmk if you wanna be tagged!! <33

44 notes · View notes

loreleismusings99 · 8 months ago

Text

Late Night Repairs

In which the quiet becomes a bit too much for Mark to handle.

Hi folks, I'm back for a little bit because I really wanted to participate in #spookyseasoninthebarrens2024 by @jmathesonandsiblings so I wrote this quick little thing for my baby girl, Mark! :3

This is for prompt 6: Haunted House

Happy Halloween, y'all 👻

Warnings: isolation, auditory/visual/tactile hallucinations, grief, fear/anxiety, hopelessness, brief discussion of sleep deprivation, description of someone suffering/dying from suffocation/asphyxia, discussion of death, eye horror, blood, missing loved ones, angst (technically). Please, please, please let me know if I missed anything that should be added to this list.

The soft beeps of the CO2 scrubber’s emergency alarm are deceptively loud and make Mark jump as it cuts through the impossibly still silence that comes with the night. One thing he still hasn’t gotten used to after being here for 23 days is how dead nighttime is on Mars. The increased thermal energy that comes with the sun usually yields soft winds that lightly rustle the HAB canvas and make small clouds of sand hit the airlock door, making it sound like he’s inside a rain stick. Once the sun sets though, an eerie silence creeps in with the sunset’s cold, blue, Mie-scattered light.

Maybe he’s just really missing having his crewmates with him, but he’s quickly started to hate the stillness that comes with living on a dead planet by himself. The more unsavory side effects of his isolation are much more unbearable--there’s something about not knowing when his solitude will end that makes the emptiness of his surroundings so much worse than the isolation training module he went through back on Earth. For the past few nights, every other corner he turns has an extra shadow he didn’t account for; the occasional puff of wind feels just a little too much like a hand and the whirring of the water reclaimer and heating unit running sounds devastatingly like a murmur. It was easier to ignore the first couple of nights--filling the silence as best as he could with episodes of Happy Days and Commander Lewis’s disco. Sometimes though--when he needs to charge his iPad or when he hyper-focuses on his work and forgets to turn something on to fill the space with more than the sounds of his breathing and the rustling of tools--his mind fills the void for him. Sometimes it’s a persistent ringing in his ears, others it’s a convincing recreation of Martinez’s laugh muffled by the walls of the HAB and his memory, making him tear through the HAB trying to find his friend only to be met with nothing but his loneliness.

He finishes typing out his log for the day, outlining the maintenance tasks he completed to keep his tragically high-tech tomb operational (if he’s gonna die here, he might as well do so warm and breathing clean air), and stands up out of his chair with a strained groan. Scratching at the stubble growing on his cheek, Mark walks across the main room of the HAB bubble to the complaining machine and takes off the white panel hiding the ducts, intake valves, and pumps of the robust Four Bed CO2 scrubber. The mechanical engineer takes some time listening to the motors and pressure-driven sounds of the machine, trying to locate a clue as to what part of the damn thing is blocked up this time. A soft whistle coming from the interface between the pre-cooler and a pipe connecting it to bed A-2 catches Mark’s attention, and he sees a small chunk of ice growing around the collar keeping the pipe in place at the valve.

“Well there’s your problem,” Mark utters under his breath as he turns the apparatus off using a panel immediately to the right of the box containing it and slips on a pair of cryo-gloves before touching the parts surrounding the cooling element, lightly dusting off the collection of ice crystals surrounding the collar before carefully removing it and cleaning the ice clogging the mouth of the duct. He re-mates the duct and the valve, torquing it back to a satisfying tension, and turns the machine back on, the pumps chugging away happily now that the blockage is gone.

Mark nods and puts the cover back onto the front of the scrubber’s casing before turning around to append a record of the repair to the end of his log. Or, he would if he wasn’t frozen in place staring out the porthole in the airlock door across the room from him. The scene outside is dark and barely perceivable due to the small diameter of the window and the contrast of the bright LED lights, but your piercing stare is something he’s profoundly accustomed to seeing--just… not outside the HAB’s airlock. He tries to move but the muscles in his legs merely twitch uselessly with the idea of walking towards the glass of the porthole. He tries to blink, but an impending sense of doom prevents him from attempting to break the unexpected eye contact. His heart clenches agonizingly in his chest, and he can feel the beginnings of a sob bubble up from his chest. Logically he knows this is a hallucination--likely made worse by stress and sleep deprivation--but that doesn’t stop him from calling out to you in a horse, pitiful squeak. His knees buckle slightly before the lights above him flicker and shut off, plunging him and the phantom image of you into near-full darkness.

Your face is now only dimly illuminated by a light that didn’t go out at the center of the room, but it’s enough for Mark to see angry red petechiae begin to bloom across your face, lips, and the delicate skin surrounding your now blood-shot eyes. The warmth drains from your face and his ears begin to ring as he watches you open your mouth, frothy and bloody fluid pouring beyond your lips. He’s shaking now as he watches you scream silently at him through the fluid pouring down your chin, pins and needles accosting his hands and feet as he finally musters the strength to turn away from your dying, angry visage and squeeze his eyes shut.

“This--this isn’t real, there’s no one there…” he mutters to himself, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tries to calm his breathing down. He opens his eyes again to discover that the lights either turned back on or were never off in the first place and he starts to lower his hackles, the muscles in his neck and shoulders beginning to relax. Slowly, Mark turns back around and looks through the porthole to find nothing staring back at him. Mark lets out a relieved, shaky breath before running a hand down his face and walking back to his chair to update his log. Typing the details of his repair with shaking hands he begins to properly sob and has to pause, scooting the chair back and winding an arm around his middle, the other raised to clasp his hand over his mouth to try to stop himself from screaming in grief and fear at both what his brain just conjured up and the very real possibility of never seeing you again and leaving you behind to mourn him. The force of his anguish makes him fold in on himself and he continues to sit there, trying to calm himself down at least for long enough to finish his log and get to bed.

After a bit, he feels the temperature drop and a shiver shoots down his spine. He goes rigid and his sobs stop abruptly and a soft, high-pitched, and short-lived whistle coming from somewhere else in the HAB commands his attention. The same feeling of dread oozes back into his chest as he listens to faint taps sound from behind him, getting louder as whatever is creating them gets closer to his chair and stops, letting emptiness fill the soundscape of the main lab space. In the silence, Mark can hear the blood rushing in his ears and his shaky breathing. With his eyes closed it almost begins to feel like he’s in his space EVA suit back on the Hermes. The sound of his breathing tapers off as he quiets enough to hold his breath and try to listen for either the sounds of the HAB or anything that would alert him to the presence of… something, anything behind him. He’s about to let out his held breath when he feels shockingly cold fingers lightly wrap around the back of his neck, causing a terrified wail to rip out of his lungs as he stands up out of his chair and sees… nothing behind him.

Mark continues to stand and stare silently at the false wall behind him, raising a hand to touch the warm skin of the back of his neck and feeling goosebumps bloom across it. He basks in the violently loud silence before the tension is broken by the sound of the HAB’s temperature control unit letting out a shrill, piercing tone alerting him to a new malfunction in its system.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading!

works referenced:

4 Bed CO2 scrubber

The Martian Fan-Made Timeline

Wind on Mars

Sunsets on Mars -> Mie Scattering experiment!

Pathology of Asphyxial Death MAJOR CW: death, and suffocation both described in text and shown in images.

#the martian #mark watney #andy weir #the martian(2015)#mark watney x reader #technically #spookyseasoninthebarrens2024 #writing event #horror #angst

43 notes · View notes

delusionalgirlwritingfanfic · 4 months ago

Text

I have daily thoughts about Mark Watney and him talking with his partner, scoffing, going nerd as she info dumbs also a scientist and the turn around of them being like, " I'm sorry your a what for a living?" Plants!! You're literally a botanist going into space! You are the personality hire!" The deadpan would just get me.

#nerds #space botanist #mark watney #fanfic #x reader #stuck on Mars #The Martain

11 notes · View notes

sidecast-text · 3 months ago

Note

hey your tags abt project hail mary on that one post were fascinating can you pleeaseeee elaborate :3. the white saviorism & consent ones…. that book took my brain over for a month and im still in its clutches every now and then

HI HELLO YES OF COURSE

(disclaimer: i just love sci fi and literature and took a sociology module this year i am Not a media scholar this is just my personal analysis of this book)

Project Hail Mary was a really intriguing read for me because I went into it somewhat cynically, you know? I really like Andy Weir's writing, but from the moment it became apparent that this is another book in first person about a guy stuck alone in space I was fully expecting for the style and tone to match the Martian. After finishing it, I think he clearly managed to separate Mark Watney from Ryland Grace, mostly by their general attitudes but also with the situations they are getting put in. Watney is an astronaut, he knows what he is doing, and he has (sort of) been trained for the crisis he is in. Grace has no idea who is or why he is in the Tau Ceti system and this memory loss trope is exploited audience for loop after loop.

Spoilers under the readmore because honestly going in blindly is the best way to read Project Hail Mary in my opinion GO READ IT GO NOW

So. We figure out who Grace is, why he is 12 light years away from Earth, what he has to do: he has to save Earth from a major extinction event by sacrificing his own life. The rest of his crew died while they were in comas for the voyage, so the entire fate of humanity is resting exclusively on his shoulders. This is where I kind of heaved a sigh. At least it's not a twelve year old saving the world, but it is a white American man. This plays into the white saviour trope stemming from colonialism in the 15th-16th century, wherein concepts such as humanity and civilisation are values inherently tied to whiteness, exclusively possessed by white societies and must be spread to "uncivilised" areas through colonialism. Overall its an ethno- and eurocentric way of thinking that views the image of the white man as cleaner, better, more educated, et ceatera. This bias remains present in Western society and therefore in our media as well, in the form of the aforementioned white saviour trope, which I had expected Project Hail Mary to unintentionally cater to.

In the case of Project Hail Mary, Grace must be the saviour of humanity by journeying through space. The book makes references to Arthur C. Clarke's 2001: A Space Odyssey, and you can see the general similarity in the premise of both stories: men are sent on a voyage further into space than ever before with varying certainties of return. While the men abroad the USSC Discovery know they will be placed into cyro-freeze and retrieved by another mission in the vague future, the crew of the Hail Mary have no such hopes. They are sent out into space at nearly light-speed with no fuel for a return trip. Hail Mary plays with the trope of the traveler changed by his journey by making return both figuratively and physically impossible for Grace. As readers, we assume he was aware of this when setting out.

The audience also assumes that Grace is on the Hail Mary mission because he volunteered. He is set up as feeling great responsibility for his students and the children of the world, so although we are not shown for a long time why he decided to volunteer for the Hail Mary, we assume that at some point he must have, since we are tied to his first person perspective and he assumes the same. We keep on waiting for some sort of eureka moment in his flashbacks when he realises what he must do and with newfound conviction pledges his life to save humanity. We find out that he was not the first choice for the mission's science specialist; he wasn't even the second. The book introduces Shapiro and Du Bois, and as the audience we know that they will either die before the launch or be incapacitated in such a way that Grace is forced to step up. Again, I was rolling my eyes here. Somehow, Grace had to be switched into Du Bois's place, changing the intended protagonist from a black man to a white one, and I thought somewhat begrudgingly that if the author acknowledges that it could have been Du Bois who saves Earth, then why not just write it as so? After all, all the accidents and consequences through the story are conscious choices by the author. Why does it need to be the white man who bravely steps up and declares that he will sacrifice his life? I felt that there were biases in the writing and in the choice to portray the white man as the brave, lonely hero who will die for the greater good in the far depths of space, alone, afraid, and without complaint.

The actual reveal of the circumstances that landed Grace on the Hail Mary is expertly teased and foreshadowed. We see from the start that Ryland Grace isn't a particularly courageous man. He leaves his academic field after his paper is badly received, he surrounds himself with students who are easy to impress and who idolise him, he doesn't seek out relationships or even friendships because he fears rejection. He throws up in zero g, is not used to space travel, he's queasy around the idea of self administered death and generally lacks the brave enthusiasm and commitment that other astronauts in his flashbacks are shown to have.

So when we find out that Grace is actually a sort of coward, it all falls into place. Stratt gives him the option of joining the Hail Mary mission after Shapiro and Du Bois die, and Grace presents an obviously weak excuse and it's painful to read because the eureka moment we were waiting for never comes. I was personally thinking "wait a second, this isn't how it's supposed to go". But it also makes sense, after all, Stratt is asking him to go die in space and he's a high school teacher.

Stratt is also set up as someone who always gets what she wants. She is legally exempt from any consequences; she could kill a man and she would be pardoned since pulling together the project that will save Earth is her responsibility. She is ruthless, but as a readers we think that Grace is safe from her decree; he's her right hand, and furthermore Captain Yao is adamant that no one be forced to join the mission. If Grace decides to go, it must be on his own. Up until the last moment, we expect Grace to experience sudden onset character growth, to stop when he reaches for the door-handle and to overcome his cowardice and to say "yes, I will go, I will die for Earth".

And it doesn't happen. At this point I was texting all my friends "i am gouing to throw up". It is revealed that Grace was only given the illusion of a choice. In hindsight, it makes sense; he was given no choice about joining the project to begin with or at any step in the process. Stratt was hoping that he would choose to join, but when he refuses it the carpet is immediately pulled from under his feet and it becomes apparent that he has had no agency at all since meeting her. He has been set up and manipulated to be the second backup for the role of the science specialist on board of the Hail Mary by being placed with Shapiro and Du Bois and learning to use space equipment under the guise of testing it. He was kept close to Stratt, so he would always be at hand. Even more terrifying, Stratt has a way to work around Yao's demands. She has Grace drugged so he forgets that he is on board involuntarily and he is heavily sedated until launch.

This is what I meant by saying that Grace's autonomy is entirely taken away. Thorough the entire book, he is dragged and ordered around by Stratt's men, and now he is drugged and forced into a coma. His violation goes to the extreme; not only is he not allowed to say no, he is also not allowed to Remember wanting to say no.

Overall, Grace is a really interesting character to me. He is faced with a situation where only he can do what must be done and instead of rising up to the challenge he pleads and begs for someone else to be chosen. The book completely and satisfyingly flips the white saviour trope on its head. The protagonist is so against the idea of self-sacrifice that he threatens to doom Earth by self-sabotage if he is sent into space. Grace is not a bad person, but he has accepted that other people will take care of the crisis, that other people must die and that is the way things must be. It reminds me of Omelas; it is impossible to walk away, so how do we each accept the world that we live in? Grace accepts that three people must be sent to die in space in order for the rest of the Earth to have a chance of survival, but he thinks of that sacrifice as something that unquestionably happens to others. This echoes the contemporary state of affairs more closely; Western society is upkept by Eastern and Southern labour. We are aware of this, but still benefit from it.

Ultimately, Grace rises to his task and manages to save humanity. He could even return to Earth, but he doesn't. That's the part I think about the most. The journey changes and improves Grace, to the point where he does choose to sacrifice himself in order to save Rocky and Erid. We can ask what happened to make him more willing to save an alien world than he was to save his own. He does have a real choice, he could return to Earth and experience no consequences for leaving Rocky behind. I think the reason is that Grace has changed, yes, but Earth has changes as well in his eyes. Earth violated him, and in way exiled him, ruling through the figure of Stratt that his life was expendable.

First I thought the ending was cheap, but I've been thinking about it for days and I am coming around. It's just!!! I haven't formed concrete thoughts about it but God. God Fuck UGH. It's been 26 years on Earth. His students are grown and up his knowledge is probably archaic by now. His use for humanity has been expended. I am in pain. Would you crawl back home if the value of your life had been dismissed. Would Odysseus go home if he knew no one was waiting for him. I'm going to be sick.

#wow. 1800 words #as you can tell i have a lot of feelings about this and about sci fi in general #project hail mary #project hail mary spoilers #media analysis #nick reads #nick writes #asks

36 notes · View notes

continentalblue · 2 years ago

Text

mark watney is fine asf like I genuinely love this dorky botanist 😭 like you KNOW he would bring you breakfast in bed with a kiss on your forehead and a hug when he comes back from Mars

#NOVEL VERSION ONLY #the way he writes ... YOU KNOW HE WOULD BE A GOOD BF !#mark watney #the martian #mark watney/reader #mark watney x reader

49 notes · View notes

toboldlygohome · 1 year ago

Text

Hold Me Closer

Mark Watney X Reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Summary: You were looking forward to your month on Mars, but what happens when a month-long mission becomes indefinite? Will you and Mark make it back home, or were you doomed from the start?

Character(s): Mark Watney, Chris Beck, Melissa Lewis, Beth Johanssen, Alex Vogel, Rick Martinez

Warning(s): Cursing, Injuries

You stared out the window as you ate, watching the endless expanse of darkness spin around the ship. A week from now, you would be on Mars, conducting geological surveys and testing core samples. You were a chemist first and foremost, but you were also sort of a jack of all trades aboard the Hermes. You could fix things, run telemetry, conduct space walks, keep the plants alive, identify minerals, and of course you had a fair bit of medical training. It was because of your proficiency for all things scientific that you landed yourself a spot in Ares 3.

The excitement practically radiated off of you. You were so stoked, you couldn't even eat the food in front of you. So much to see, so many samples to run! You hoped there would be signs of past water in Acidalia Planitia!

"You know Y/L/N, the food is supposed to go into your mouth." Beck strolled in with his water bottle in hand. Evidently he was here for a refill.

"Thanks for the tip, doctor. I'll keep that in mind." You said before shoveling a spoonful of rehydrated ravioli into your maw.

"You looked lost in thought there, wanna share with the class?" He asked as the water reclaimer slowly filled his bottle.

"Just thinking about Mars," you shrugged.

"Ah, for a second there I thought you were thinking about your botanist," Chris smirked.

You stared daggers into his back. "My botanist?"

Beck grinned at you over his shoulder. "Well who else would you be thinking about? You've got such a wistful look in your eyes, I thought for sure your mind was on him."

"You really need to stop with the teasing Beck. It's a small ship, it'll get back to him eventually," you grumbled.

"Look, I just call it like I see it."

"Well, you're seeing wrong."

"You've been more and more distracted lately, there's no way it's only because of Mars," Beck chuckled. Dammit. You hated when he was right. You did like Mark, but let's be honest here. Who wouldn't like Mark? He was funny, smart, and he looked way too good in his grey flight suit. Completely unfair.

"God, you can be so annoying," you laughed.

"Only because I'm right."

"Mark and I are just friends, that's all we're ever going to be. Even if we didn't work together, and for the government no less, there's no way he'd ever go for the likes of me."

"What makes you say that?" Beck tilted his head curiously.

"Have you seen him?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Dude, he's like the second most attractive person on this ship!"

"Second?!"

"Objectively speaking, Johanssen is the first. Her posters sold out like hot cakes!"

"I know Johanssen is first! I meant, how is he second? What about me?"

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Who's the one who got the super sexy Under Armor ad again?"

"... Y/N? How many times have you watched that ad?" Beck laughed.

"Shut up."

"It must have been a lot for it to be this fresh in your mind."

"Don't you have a computer nerd to go flirt with?"

"Don't you have a botanist to ogle?"

You groaned and pushed your food away, but Beck scooted it right back. "Fine, fine. No more teasing for today," he laughed. "Just make sure you finish your food, it's important that you eat well."

"What if I'm not hungry?" you asked.

"Eat anyway, doctor's orders," Beck sassed as he left the dining area with his water.

You snickered and poked at your ravioli. If only you could just follow your heart like Beck. He was set on Beth and nobody was going to keep him from her. You just hoped he'd wait until after the mission to make it official for the sake of his career.

Of course you wanted to date Mark. Beck wasn't wrong on that front, but relationships are strictly prohibited among crew-mates. Maybe if you didn't work together, you might have worked up the courage. Probably not, but it would have at least been an option.

You slowly ate the rest of your cold meal and tried to think about anything else. Anything but the plant-loving engineer who had a choke-hold on your heart.

~~~

Mark groaned and climbed out of his bunk. It had to be at least two in the morning... at least according to the Kennedy Space Center. Jeez, he was starving. Luckily their food reserves came with snacks for just such an occasion! He exited his quarters and looked toward the room beside his. The door was open, which was quite a surprise. You were normally asleep by now, and Martinez was keeping an eye on the telemetry tonight. What were you doing awake?

Watney made his way to the dining area and took a look at all of his options. Hmmmm... trail mix it is. He grabbed a bag and took the ladder to the zero g portion of the ship. Everything was quiet except for the hum of the ship and Rick clicking his pen in the cockpit. He decided not to bother the pilot and instead went in search of his favorite crew-mate.

He found you floating in the cupola with your earbuds in. You watched as Mars inched ever closer, calling you to its surface. Mark couldn't resist the urge. He grinned mischievously and grabbed your ankle, causing you to yelp in surprise.

Mark laughed as you smacked him on the shoulder half-heartedly, "Mark! you scared the shit out of me!"

"Sorry, sorry!" he floated up and settled beside you. "I saw an opportunity and I had to take it."

"Jerk," you laughed and returned your focus to the lonely red planet.

"What are you doing up?" Mark asked.

"I could ask you the same question."

"I was hungry," he caught a floating peanut in his mouth and looked at you as he ate. "And you?"

"I couldn't sleep. I'm too excited," you admitted with a smile. "Ever since I was little, I wanted to go to Mars... I can't believe it's actually happening."

Mark smiled gently and watched as your eyes sparkled with adventure. That was one of the things he loved most about you. He loved seeing you light up when you learn something new or complete something for the first time. And for the few instances you failed, he loved watching you gear up to try it again. Nothing could shake you when you had your mind set on something. (He wished you had your mind set on him...)

This was a lifelong dream of yours, something you'd thought about, planned for, and fought tooth and nail to achieve. Now here you were, watching all of the pieces fall into place. Mark felt so lucky he got to be on this mission with you, that he'd get to see every moment of excitement, every vivid dream become a reality.

"What are you listening to?" he grabbed your earbud and stuck it in his ear. He grinned.

Hold me closer, tiny dancer. Count the headlights on the highway. Lay me down in sheets of linen, you had a busy day today.

You scooted closer to Mark so he could listen with you, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder to keep you steady. Oh what Watney would give to stay with you like this. Floating softly, slowly, taking in the view. He offered you his bag of trail mix with a cheeky smile. You laughed lightly and grabbed a bite. Fuck. He loved your laugh. He would listen to it on repeat if he could.

"Hold me closer tiny dancer," He mumbled along with the song as the chorus kicked back up.

"Count the headlights on the highway," you whispered back.

~~~

Finally.

Mars was so close, you could almost touch it! And here in a few hours, you would be~

You suited up for your ride in the MDV and helped Martinez and Johanssen with the pre-flight checks. Mark and Beck were loading the descent vehicle with everyone's personal items and Vogel was making sure all of the Hermes experiments were on autopilot. Commander Lewis oversaw the whole operation and kept in contact with Mission Control about the progress being made.

Once all the checks had been made and all the cargo had been loaded, everyone piled into the MDV and prepared for descent.

You took a deep breath as you checked the on-board navigation. You were really going to make it! You were going to walk on Mars! You checked, double checked, even triple checked your numbers before giving Lewis a thumbs up.

"We are go for separation," she told Martinez.

"At your command," Martinez said, poised to initiate the separation.

"Launch," Lewis said.

Your heart rate increased as the MDV shuttered out of the docking port. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my GOD!

"Approaching ten meters from Hermes," Johanssen said.

"Engine power readings are nominal. Ship internal pressure is stable." You said, unable to keep the excited quiver from your voice. The cabin was quiet for a few minutes. The tension could be cut with a knife. It wasn't a bad kind of tension. It was exciting, like teetering at the top of the world's tallest roller coaster.

"Approaching two kilometers from Hermes. Go for engine start up," Beth said.

"Martinez, go for engine burn," Lewis said.

You squeezed the arms of your seat and closed your eyes. This was the hardest part for you. You'd worked in the International Space Station before and reentry was your downfall. What was worse about entering Mars was that there was no water to break your fall if you crashed.

You felt a gentle pressure on your hand and looked up to find Mark already watching you with a smile on his face. He squeezed your hand as the MDV inched closer and closer to Mars.

"Hanging in there?" he chuckled.

"By a thread," you joked.

"You got this, tiny dancer," Mark winked.

You chuckled and rolled your eyes. You both listened as Lewis and Martinez went back and forth calling out each action they performed. Mars completely filled the window.

You held onto Mark a little tighter.

~~~

The actual mission started off promising enough. The landing was good, setting up the Hab was a breeze, and life support was running at maximum efficiency. Unfortunately, life seemed to have this obsession with throwing you curve balls.

You scowled as you watched the screen while the storm outside raged on like an angry god.

"Jesus, we're gonna end up in Oz," Watney said. "What's the abort speed?"

"Technically one fifty kph. Any more than that and the MAV's in danger of tipping." Martinez said.

"Any predictions on the storm track?" Lewis asked.

"This is the edge of it. It's gonna get worse before it gets better," Johanssen replied.

"All right, prep for abort. We'll go to the MAV and hope for the best. If the wind gets too high, we'll launch."

If only that were the end of your misfortune. You literally had the audacity to think: 'How could this get any worse?' You got your answer when Mark was struck by a piece of flying debris. His vitals were offline, his suit depressurized on impact. He was likely dead, but still you were searching for him. The only trouble with that was you couldn't see two feet in front of you. The dust was thick and the wind was threatening your stability.

"WATNEY!" You called out, hoping the urgency in your voice would stir your friend from his incapacitation. "Watney, please respond."

"Y/L/N, I need you to get back to the MAV," Lewis ordered.

"But he could still be-"

"This isn't up for discussion. MAV. Now."

"I'm not leaving him behind. I know if it were any of us, he wouldn't give up. Not when there's still hope we could be alive."

"He's dead Y/L/N. W-we need to go, please," Beck pleaded.

You closed your eyes and forced down a cry. You didn't want it to be true, but Beck was right. Of course he was right. You were in denial... Still, you couldn't do it. If he was dead, you needed to see it for yourself. What if the numbers were wrong? What if-

You were struck with a sudden, blinding pain.

"Y/N!!" Lewis cried.

That was the last thing you heard before everything went dark.

~~~

Mark awoke with a gasp to the sound of beeping in his helmet.

"Oxygen level critical." A robotic voice said, causing him to pant heavily. His abdomen really fucking hurt. It took all his willpower to sit up. When he looked down, he found the source of his pain. The antenna for the com dish had turned him into a human shish kabob! He let out a cry as he tried to keep the antenna steady. Every movement sent a shock through his tired body.

Watney paused when he heard static in his helmet.

"Wa---y... W---ey c--- -n. Watney, If yo--- the-- please respond!"

"Y-Y/N?" Mark winced.

"Watney! Oh my god!" You sounded on the verge of tears. "I thought you were dead! I've been trying to call you for hours!" You sniffed and leveled your voice as much as you could. He could tell you were still coming down from your emotions. "What's your status?"

He groaned and pressed his head against the sand bank. "I've been impaled. Small puncture. Feel like shit," he said through heavy panting.

"Can you make it back to the Hab?" You asked.

"Yeah, I'll make it. I don't think it's deep enough to kill me." He stood up and immediately screamed.

"Mark! Are you okay? What happened?!"

"Antenna is still attached to the dish," he said through gritted teeth. He made quick work of the wire and struggled to his feet. "W-where are you? What's your status?"

"I'm trapped under the MDV. It plowed through me when I was looking for you. I'm not sure you can get me out in your condition."

Mark looked around and found the partially-mangled MDV a short distance away. Watney clutched his side and hobbled over, fearing the worst. He choked when he saw you. You were being crushed from the waist down by a fucking space ship. "O-oh my-"

"It's not as bad as it looks. I landed in some really soft sand. I managed to dig myself out from underneath, but I hit something solid and now I'm literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. The sand shifted under the MDV and now my chest hurts, but I can still feel my legs," you sighed and closed your eyes. "You need to get back to the Hab, Mark-"

"I'm not going to leave you." He grunted as he stepped closer. "If I lift this thing, can you pull yourself out?"

"Mark that's-"

"Can you?"

You grimaced and nodded, "Yes."

Mark nodded back and racked his adrenaline fueled brain for an idea of how to get you out. Still panting, he grabbed a metal bar from the ground and shoved it under the MDV. "On three," he said.

"One."

"Two."

Three."

He shoved the bar down and the ship eased up just enough for you to drag yourself out. You screamed as a searing, blinding pain ripped through your ribs. Mark felt his stomach drop at the sound.

He reached for you, but you pushed yourself into an unsteady standing position. "Fuck," you bit out and stumbled forward. "M-Mark" You inspected his wound. "Come on, we have to get this treated right now." You wrapped a supportive arm around his back and helped him shuffle back to the Hab.

His panting and gasps had only grown more pained as he stepped into the empty habitation. What little adrenaline he had left was wearing off. You rushed out of your suit as quickly as possible and helped Mark undress.

"Do you want to pull it out, or do you want me to do it?" you asked with as much calm as you could muster.

"I'll do it," he bit out. After a series of short, shallow breaths, he ripped the antenna out with a gut wrenching scream. You didn't have time to feel distraught as you shoved down his suit. He placed his hand on the wound. "There's something in it," he managed.

"Sit down," you ushered him to a chair and slid on some gloves. You made quick work in cutting away his shirt, administered a series of injections for pain and infection, and grabbed the retractor and forceps. "I'm sorry Mark, there isn't time to wait for the medicine," You didn't hesitate to insert the retractor and open the wound. He tossed his head back and blew out a long, shaky sigh. You bit the inside of your cheek and grabbed the object with the forceps. Carefully, you pulled it out and sat it in a dish. Mark groaned deeply. He was so pale and sweaty. You wanted to reach out and hold him, but you had a job to finish.

With the hard part done, you were able to relax and clean him up. The stitches were the final step. By then, the medicine was kicking in and Mark's strangled cries slowly turned into steady breathing. You leaned back in your chair and relished in the sound before standing up. You felt around your ribs for a moment and huffed before grabbing Mark some juice.

"Thank you..." He said, taking the bottle with shaking hands.

"You're welcome," you sighed and carded your fingers through his damp hair.

"Are you okay?" He rasped.

"I'm fine, just a couple broken ribs on the right side. I'll live." You gave him a tight smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I just ran a marathon," he chuckled, then winced.

"We should get you to bed-"

"Not yet," He shifted awkwardly in his seat. "There's an elephant in the room..."

"Ah," you sighed and sat down across from him, pushing away the pain in your ribs.

"What are we gonna do?" Mark murmured.

"Our odds aren't the best, but we'll make it work," you reassured him though you weren't sure it was the truth.

He closed his eyes and blew out a sigh. "You should be safe on the Hermes..." He swallowed. There were many stupid nights he wished you and him were the only two people in the world. Now he was beginning to realize how selfish that was. You were trapped on Mars because of him. If he hadn't have stopped to suggest the stupid rover plan, none of this would have happened.

"You should be too," you pressed a hand to his knee, sending a trail of goosebumps up his leg. Even now, you had him entranced with a single touch. "We should both be on our way home right now, instead we're here. But we're trained for this... We'll make it back, we're just gonna be fashionably late is all," you gave his knee a squeeze and pulled back.

"Can I see it?" he asked.

"See what?"

"Your ribs."

You opened your mouth to disagree, but decided a second pair of eyes on it might be for the best. You slowly lifted your shirt. Mark paled again as his eyes fell on your ruined abdomen. The whole thing was covered in splotches of purple and blue. Your back wasn't much better and he was sure your chest had received similar treatment.

His fingers ghosted over the bruises. "Shit," he whispered.

"It'll buff out," you lowered the hem of your shirt.

Watney closed his eyes and wished that this was all a nightmare, but upon opening them again, all he saw was you. You looked exhausted. No, exhausted was an understatement. There wasn't a word in the English dictionary that could describe your expression. You were devastated and trying to hide it. And why wouldn't you be? You had an endless supply of family and friends expecting you home. He only really had his parents to worry about. You had your parents, siblings, nieces and nephews, all your university and work friends... It should have been him and only him. You didn't deserve to be trapped here, least of all with the lowest ranking crew-mate on Ares 3.

"So, we're in a Hab designed to last 31 days..." You thought out loud. He could tell by that look on your face that you were puzzling through something.

"If the oxygenator breaks down, we're gonna suffocate. If the water reclaimer breaks, we die of thirst. If the Hab breaches, we'll explode. And if none of that happens, we starve to death." Watney said, giving in to the hopelessness of it all.

"If the oxygenator breaks, we have the spare. It's built to last 5 days for seven people. With only two of us, that will be... 30 days. More than enough time to fix the oxygenator." You thought out loud.

Ah, now he saw what you were up to. "If the water reclaimer breaks, we build a piss distillery while we fix it..." Mark corrected his earlier statement.

"We'll do bi-weekly checks on the Hab canvas to look for tears." You leaned back. "But you're right. Food is our biggest problem. We're gonna be a couple of hungry, hungry astronauts in a few months."

Mark laughed and shook his head. "Looks like we're gonna have to science the shit out of this..." He looked at you and was pleased to find you smiling back at him. "But that sounds like tomorrow-Watney's problem."

"For sure," you snickered. "There is no way I'm doing all that math tonight."

His heart fluttered as he watched the grin spread over your lips. Your enticingly soft looking lips... What is wrong with you Watney? Stop thinking about that! JEEZ... Creep... Anyway, just a moment ago, Mark was ready to give up. Now he had a little more hope that everything would turn out fine. Today fucking sucked, but tomorrow was a new day. Things are only hopeless when you give in to fear, and it was clear you had no intention of giving in.

"Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"You should run for President when we make it back."

"What?" You laughed and clutched at the spot above your broken ribs.

"I'm just sayin' I'd vote for you," he shrugged in a playful manner.

You sighed, "what am I gonna do with you, Watney?"

"Make me your Vice President?"

You raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'll settle for Secretary of Agriculture."

"How about the Secretary of Homeland Security?" You smirked.

"But that's the bottom of the line of succession," Mark grunted as he sat up.

"Exactly," you laughed before groaning and cradling your side again.

"Alright, that's enough for today," he pushed himself into a standing position. "No more laughing for... how long does it usually take for broken ribs to heal?"

"Like, six weeks."

"I knew that," he smiled and helped you stand up. "No more laughing for six weeks."

"What you're asking for is impossible," you winced. "You always make me laugh. It's why you're my best friend."

"I'm your best friend?" Mark asked, unable to hide his surprise at the admission. He hesitantly wrapped his arm around your back, worried about making the pain worse in his attempt to help you.

You huffed and leaned into him, "don't let it go to your head, Watney."

"Too late," Mark smiled and led you slowly to your bunk. It wasn't easy for either of you to maneuver with your injuries, but eventually you managed to get settled.

"Comfy?" Watney asked.

"That's a relative term," your eyes softened at him, causing the botanist to go all weak in the knees. What a mess he had gotten himself into... "Are you sure you don't need help getting into bed?"

"You took good care of me Y/L/N, It doesn't hurt so much anymore thanks to you... Maybe if the President thing doesn't work out, you could be a doctor," He leaned his bare shoulder against the ladder.

Your eyes trailed down his chest to the bandages keeping the stitches from view. Your eyes started to burn, but you pushed it down and looked up to the bunk above you. "And take Beck's job? As if~"

Mark could almost believe things were normal. That they weren't all alone in a desolate wasteland. You were an anchor. He wasn't sure what he'd do if you weren't here. Would he have the strength to try? This would have broken most normal people... was he one of them? Or was he like you? Brave, selfless, and full of resolve to keep going. His chest hurt. You had gone looking for him... and now you were here. It was his turn to be your anchor.

You felt his eyes on you, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet them. You felt pathetic. Once again, Watney had to pick you up when you were down. For as long as you'd known him, Mark had been your helping hand. He had a sixth sense about these things. The moment things go wrong, he's there to dig you out of the rubble. You closed your eyes and remembered being in orbit. You remembered how he covered your hand with his and made everything okay again. You couldn't keep relying on him like this. It was your turn to be his helping hand.

"Somebody's sleepy~" Mark cut through the silence.

"It's been a day," you sighed and dragged your eyes to meet his.

"A sol," he corrected.

"Smartass," you fought the urge to chuckle. "Go to bed, before I get up and make you..."

"Don't need to tell me twice," He raised his hands in defeat. Mark moved to leave, but paused and grabbed your hand. "Hey Y/N?"

"Y-yeah?"

He gave your hand the gentlest of squeezes, "you're my best friend too..."

You glowed as the smile reached your eyes.

"Don't let it go to your head," he winked.

"Too late."

You held onto Mark a little tighter.

....................

Taglist: @jolovesfandoms

If you would like to be added to my taglist, feel free to reach out!

Thank you for reading!

#x reader #mark watney / reader #the martian x reader #mark watney x reader #mark watney fanfiction #mark watney #the martian #watney x reader #reader fanfiction #the martian fanfic #the martian fanfiction #fanfic

60 notes · View notes

elizabethisreading · 5 months ago

Text

Book Review: Mickey7 by Edward Ashton

Genre: Dystopian/science fiction

Rating: 5/5

TW: blood, death, human experimentation.

Theme Song: “Afraid” by The Neighbourhood

Summary:

Set in the distant future where humanity has begun interplanetary colonization, our story follows a man named Mickey Barnes, a resident of a beachhead colony on a foreign planet. As part of an effort to colonize the ice planet Niflheim, Mickey works as an "Expendable"—a person who performs jobs that almost guarantee their death. Whether it's testing an unpredictable new vaccine or scouting out a terrain infested with carnivorous alien creatures, Mickey is the guy for the job. And every time he dies, his superiors reprint his body with all his memories and personality, so he can continue to die for the cause again, and again, and again.

The job goes as well as it can for Mickey—until he returns from a mission where he unexpectedly lives and finds Mickey8 in his bed. With limited rations and supplies available, a commander who doesn't see multiples as human, and an impending infestation of a native alien population known as creepers, the life of Mickeys Seven and Eight hangs in the balance.

Favorite Quote:

"I've died seven goddman times," I say over my shoulder. "That's six times more than anyone should. Don't tell me what I wouldn't dare."

REVIEW BELOW

I'll begin this review by admitting I haven't read much science fiction in my time. While I like to think I read diversely in terms of genre, science fiction is one I've rarely gravitated towards (pun intended). The reason I decided to give this book a try is because it's getting a film adaptation in March, directed by Bong Joon-ho and starring my parasocial husband, Robert Pattinson.

And I must say, this might be the book that turns me into a sci-fi reader, because I loved this book.

To me, this book's biggest strength is its narrator. Mickey Barnes is such a funny and engaging narrator that I was never bored throughout the story. He deals with the absurd life or death situations he finds himself in with a dry, sarcastic sense of humor that's somewhat reminiscent of Mark Watney from Andy Weir's The Martian. Except unlike Mark Watney, who is knowledgeable enough to science his way to survival, Mickey is not the smartest guy in the room, and this makes him a relatable and refreshing main character.

Another thing that impresses me about this book is how it goes about giving exposition. When it comes to writing speculative fiction, there's a lot of talk about info-dumping. Much writing advice warns authors against vomiting up too much world-building information onto the reader, lest the story's momentum slows down and bores them. There are a fair amount of info-dumping sections in this book, but I think they work really well. This is for two reasons:

One, Mickey is a history nerd. He spends much of his time reading about past space colonies that have failed and succeeded, so him talking to us about the history of the colonies, how they work, how human space expansion has happened, etc. makes sense for his character. Add the fact that Mickey's conversational tone makes it feel like he's chatting with you personally about it rather than reading off a Wikipedia page for this world.

And secondly, much of these info-dumps happen during lower-stress points of the plot, so it never feels like the story is stopping to a halt to world-build at you. Ashton allows us to learn about the world from Mickey's restricted position on the colony during moments where we as the readers get to breathe a little.

In my opinion, the best books are the ones that are both fun and thoughtful at the some time. Enjoyable but not brainless. Mickey7 is a great example of said book.

In between its snarky narration and death-defying alien encounters, the novel has a lot of interesting ideas that it's playing with. Ashton explores not only expansionism and space colonization, but also at broader systems that treat human lives as...well, expendable. And how desperate circumstances can pushing people into jobs that quite literally kill them for the sake of empowering those at the very top.

Ideas that Bong Joon-ho will no doubt explore in his film adaptation, since systems that dehumanize people tend to be a theme in his movies.

The novel also has a lot of fun just exploring the implications of having multiple copies of the same person. At one point, Mickey describes a story of a man who once tried to take over an entire planet with an army of his own clones (with disasterous results). There's many references to the Ship of Theseus and immortality, and whether each copy of Mickey is still "the real him."

On top of all this, the book has a great supporting cast of characters. I was especially fond of Mickey's girlfriend Nasha. This woman does not give a fuck and I love her for it.

It's funny, I spent a good chunk of this book thinking, "Man if I were Nasha and I found out there were two copies of my boyfriend, I would have some fun with it." And then:

What can I say but good for her.

Even characters like Berto, who had me saying "fuck this guy" several times, he eventually grew on me. While I did find Marshall, the colony's uptight commander, a bit stereotypical and one-note, I was so satisfied when Mickey stood up to him in the end that I simply did not care.

Overall, Mickey7 is an engaging story that combines sci-fi thrills with fascinating philosophical insight, all brought to us by a fumbling but lovable main character. I look forward to reading its sequel, Antimatter Blues.

And I also look forward to seeing not one but two versions of my celebrity crush when the movie comes out.

(Mr. Pattinson hiiiiii 😉)

#elizabeth is reading #mickey7 #edward ashton #book review #mickey 17 #bong joon ho #robert pattinson #bookblr #book blog #books #science fiction #scifi #book recommendations

3 notes · View notes

brightbeautifulthings · 6 months ago

Text

The Martian by Andy Weir

"It's a strange feeling. Everywhere I go, I'm the first. Step outside the rover? First guy ever to be there! Climb a hill? First guy to climb that hill! Kick a rock? That rock hasn't moved in a million years! I'm the first guy to drive long-distance on Mars. The first guy to spend more than thirty-one sols on Mars. The first guy to grow crops on Mars. First, first, first! … I'm the first person to be alone on an entire planet."

Year Read: 2024

Rating: 4/5

Thoughts: I don't have a lot to add about this book that hasn't already been said ad nauseam, and you should read it for all the reasons people say you should. Weir does an excellent job of making some very complicated science easy to understand, and I think it will appeal both to the average reader who's looking for an escape and the seasoned science fiction lovers who want some degree of verisimilitude. The research involved had to be incredible, since while not everything in this novel has happened, it all feels entirely plausible. It's a sneak attack of learning about science and physics, and that was probably my favorite aspect of the book. I love listening to smart people nerd out about nerd things.

It's not quite as strong in character, but that would be hard to pull off given that Mark has very little contact with anyone else for most of the novel. He's funny and charismatic enough to carry most of the book, but I was glad they toned the humor down a little for the film. I had less of a sense that I was being told this story from the point of view of a fourteen-year-old boy playing a really complicated X-Box game. (Also, you can't convince me that Paul Rudd wouldn't have been a better choice for Mark Watney than the appallingly un-funny Matt Damon.) Despite knowing how it ends, it's breathtakingly tense when Mark's do or die plan finally unfolds. I don't know that I'd ever reread it, but I'm glad I gave it a shot.

#book review #the martian #andy weir #science fiction #adult fiction #4/5 #rating: 4/5 #2024

5 notes · View notes

rekiilysm · 1 year ago

Text

。.・✭rekiilysm’s masterlist!✫・゜・

here’s all of my oneshots, headcanons, and series!

if you want to request something, please do! rules are on my navigation/pinned post on my page!

MY HERO ACADEMIA

Katsuki Bakugo:

Period— 0.7k. you have really bad cramps, so your amazing and loving boyfriend does anything he can to make you feel better.

My Mechanic— 5.6k. a silly mechanic falls for a certain security guard, so she decides to change her shift to be the same as his, not knowing that that shift would change their relationship forever.

Random Headcanons— 0.8k. katsuki here is a different kind of boyfriend for sure.

Izuku Midoriya:

Sick— 0.7k. a green haired boy takes care of his sick lover.

Rough Day— 0.5k. you procrastinate A LOT and you’re having a bad day, so mr. pro hero does everything he can to make it a little less rough.

Rody Soul:

Till We Meet Again— 2.7k. you go on a trip to a different country and meet a certain boy who you end up falling for.

Just A Lil Bit Shy— 6.1k. you and your classmates go on a trip to a different country, which leads you to meeting new people and maybe even romance. but there’s one problem: you’re shy as hell.

Denki Kaminari:

Cuddles— 0.9k. you and your boyfriend have both had a rough day, so you decide to relax by being snuggled up together in his room.

Random Headcanons— 0.5k. things that i feel like your short-circuited boyfriend would do in your relationship.

Shoto Todoroki:

Live A Little— 0.3k. your beloved boyfriend doesn’t really know how to have fun, so you teach (force) him how to have a little fun every now and then.

Hitoshi Shinso:

“I’m Here”— 0.9k. you get panicky because you are lost in the woods late at night, but your knight in shinning armor saves the day.

CELEBRITIES

Jake Webber:

Gingerbread Houses— 1.9k. jake wants to make a video with you for the christmas time, and you guys decide to do a gingerbread house competition to see who could make the best-looking gingerbread house.

Harry Styles:

As It Was— 4.3k. it’s hasn’t been the same with you and harry lately; he became distant, leaving you wondering what you did wrong to get to this point. it wasn’t the same as it was.

FORMULA ONE

Lando Norris:

My Cure— (series). Being the only girl in the glade has been exhausting. Especially when all the boys want to get with you. Because of this, you made a pact to yourself that you would never date or fall in love with any of them. But when a new rookie—a very handsome and… familiar rookie—arrives, you begin to question that so called ‘pact’ of yours.

DC / MARVEL

Jason Todd:

Adore You— 0.9k. you and jason have been together for a few months, and all the bird boy can think about is how perfect and amazing you are.

STRANGER THINGS

Steve Harrington:

Ethereal— (series). Steve Harrington meets a girl, a certain girl who happens to be the biggest freak in Hawkins High. This girl thought the king of the school never knew who she was, but she may or may not have been wrong.

MOVIES

Mark Watney:

Together? Together.— (series). The only two botanists on Ares III get left behind on a desolate planet. They have to work together to reach their goal: getting home…

#steve harrington x reader #lando norris x reader #colby brock x reader #jake webber x reader #mark watney x reader #jason todd x reader #x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #izuku midoria x reader #denki kaminari x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #harry styles x reader

40 notes · View notes

loreleismusings99 · 11 months ago

Text

Two Body Problem

Ch 6

[Masterlist]

Hey folks, sorry for how long this took to get out--even though it's summertime, life stays busy :')

Let me know what you think of this chapter, and I'll try my best to get the next chapter out in a more timely fashion. This one is longer than what I usually post, so I hope it makes up for the timing <3

CW: mention of morning wood and surprise close proximity/almost cuddling

Let me know if there's anything else I should add to the above warning <3

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Cinnamon sugar… you think, eyes still closed while you take in another breath, starting to register the soft fluffy texture pressed against your face and the slight sting of painful discomfort in your neck. Definitely cinnamon sugar. You confirm mentally, the warm and sweet scent seemingly surrounding you. Slowly working your way back to consciousness, you register a warm weight wrapping around you and you try to remember if Hana’s weighted blanket was on the futon before you fell asleep. Thinking back to the previous evening, you remember sharing the small space with Mark while the lot of you celebrated you and Mark passing your quals; the hearty laughter that tore from him at the prompts from Hana’s card game, the grounding weight and warmth from his arm evident in how you felt the pillowy backrest of the futon yield to his presence and making butterflies erupt through your stomach again. As more light pours into the room from the rising sun, familiar notes of soil, citrus, and honey stir you back into the waking world and the sight you’re presented with makes your heart jump violently in your chest.

As the rest of your senses finally refocus and you discover that the warmth and weight you’re feeling on your body is from another person’s form being draped over yours, you find Mark’s mop of sandy blonde hair tucked under your chin. I guess that wasn’t Hana’s weighted blanket… you internally deduce as you muster the will to not gasp, a ripple of surprise propagating through you. You shift slightly, carefully inching the hand Mark’s got pinned between your back and the cushion beneath you into what you hope is a more comfortable spot at the small of your back. This, however, causes the back of your shirt to ride up slightly and you can feel the soft contact Mark’s hand makes with your now exposed skin, the temperature difference sending a pleasant sensory shiver down your spine.

His other hand is draped off the side of the futon you’re on, the fingers of which you can feel are loosely intertwined with your own. The steady rise and fall of this chest and the puffs of air that dance across your chest suggest that he’s still asleep despite the bright morning light flooding the living room. Moving your other hand, you find your arm draped loosely over Mark’s shoulders and back, your fingers lightly flirting with the baby hairs at the nape of his neck. Gently wrapping a stray lock of hair around your finger, you can feel a malcontent interwoven with an unfortunately wanton breed of ennui fill your ribcage. You want to be livid, filled with enough ire to make the most ornery of javelinas seem tame, but all you can find bubbling beneath your sternum is an almost suffocating longing. Smoothing over a stubborn golden cowlick at the top of his head, you irresponsibly let your mind wander. You imagine what his face must look like when he sleeps, the thin beginnings of what will deepen into proper worry lines as he gets older smoothed into a content blank expression. To your horror, you discover an impulse to pull him closer, despite the fact that he’s already on top of you, and commit as many freckles as you can find on his cheeks to memory. You move your hand down and gently brush the surprisingly soft skin at the apex of his cheek and find yourself wondering what his skin would feel like under your lips, what his own would feel like--

What the fuck is wrong with me… you ask yourself, cringing at your yearning. You hate this comfort you're feeling, how content and full of warmth you are while the two of you are wrapped around each other. You want to be suffocating under his weight, but you only feel the need to further curl around him and sink into the plush of the futon under you. I can't believe I let this happen… you lament internally, wishing desperately to be released from your newly discovered affections and the complications they bring. There’s no way he’d ever be into you; you two might be tentatively amicable now but your hostility towards him was reciprocated when you first met, and that much you were one hundred percent certain of. Who were you to think the two of you could be anything other than friends after the precedent the two of you set? That all that loathing could morph into genuine affection? You were lucky to have the tentative peace that formed between the two of you this past semester and should be grateful it hasn’t come crashing down around you yet.

Something deep within you objects to this, though; you want to believe there’s more to discover within the evenings the two of you spent together grading, each moment you caught him looking at you and every touch that seemingly made him trip over his own words--something that was certainly surprising the first time you encountered it, considering how smoothly he communicates normally. You remember the day he helped you run the observatory’s booth in the early fall sun and wind that rolled through the University of Chicago’s rec field; how he looked so bewildered when he looked up to you from his position surrounded by the partially assembled skeleton of the space-time fabric demo trampoline. Moments like these, when he regards you with seemingly unabashed sincerity and undivided focus, give you a dangerous amount of hope. They make you think that maybe telling him how you feel wouldn’t end in your emotional ruination--that maybe he would want to be with you too. That he’s somehow different; that he wouldn’t hurt you, or abandon you like others have before. It’s moments like these that you also wish you were better at reading people and didn’t misunderstand intentions so easily.

Letting out a near-silent huff, you move to brush some hair out from what you assume is in front of his eyes, careful not to move too much and wake him. “I thought I told you to get a haircut…” you whisper, your voice scarcely louder than a breath, trying not to wake the sleeping man on top of you. However, combined with the soft movement you made, it was enough to seemingly stir Mark back to wakefulness. Seeing him begin to lift his head to face you as much as he could comfortably, you’re frozen again, this time in fear--not being quite ready to let go of this moment or to be found staring at Mark while he slept. He looks up at you through his eyelashes before lifting his head fully, dawning a bewildered blank stare that you squirm uncomfortably under.

“... You didn’t say that.”

The velveteen rasp of Mark’s morning voice nearly knocks you back into unconsciousness. Logically, you know that this is because his vocal cords are relaxed after not being used for several hours, but it’s hard to think of that while your brain grasps desperately at the memory of the vibrations his lower voice sends rumbling through your sternum. It takes an embarrassingly large amount of mental grounding to calm down before you can eke out a confused “what?” You wince at how rough your own morning voice sounds, wishing you could’ve gracefully cleared your throat before speaking.

Mark continues to look at you with an indiscernible look on his face as he continues. “You told me that I need a haircut… Not to get one.”

This breaks you out of your reverie and causes you to huff out a scoff, smirking at Mark’s cheek and humor, which is present even immediately after waking up. “You’ve got to be kidding me--” you laugh out and roll your eyes while trying to ignore the way the rumble of his voice and the rasp in his laugh both somehow find resonance with your bones, sending a sensory shudder through your body that’s thankfully obscured by your laugh.

While settling back down, you’re met with a questioning look from Mark, a lone dirty blonde eyebrow raised and the beginnings of a smirk blooming on his face, and you begin trying to divert his attention from your reaction to the position you’re in. “Before you start looking at me like that, we were like this when I woke up, and you’re the one on top of me, so…” Mark continues to look at you, his eyebrow dropping back to its neutral position, and you squirm under his unwavering gaze. The look in his eyes, however, is clearer to you than any time you’ve seen it before; he finally allows a smile to break through while listening to you lampshade and responds with a clipped hum before carefully removing himself from on top of you. Lamenting internally from the loss of Mark’s warmth, you start to stretch and work the stiffness from your joints as much as you can.

The two of you take turns using the half bathroom to brush your teeth and handle the homeostatic needs that come with waking up from a deep sleep--you aren’t sure what Mark used, but you visit Hana and Vanessa regularly enough to keep a toothbrush in the guest bathroom. Walking out of the bathroom, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket and take it out to see a plethora of notifications populating your lock screen. One alerting you to its nearly drained battery, another from the Weather Underground about a snow storm that blew through last night, a couple of others from Stellarium showing the rise and set times that just passed for the Starlab and Tiangong space stations, and at least six emails since you went to sleep from the university and your department asking you to RSVP for a cornucopia of end-of-semester potlucks. The notification that seized your attention most strongly, though, was a text from Hana. You can feel your heart sink as you read and reread the message.

<| Heyy! Had to go to work

<| Dropped Colin back home too, but you and Mark looked super tired so we let you sleep

“You too, huh?” you hear Mark inquire before looking up at him. He’s sitting in a half criss-cross with one leg planted on the ground and the other tucked under his thigh. He’s holding his phone up to show that he got a similar message from Colin.

<| Help yourself to anything in the kitchen~! ;)

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” you mutter under your breath, still staring at the screen.

“Seems so,” you respond, cracking the stiff bones in your neck before sitting down across from him. You’re already beginning to dread having to make the trek back home, still tired, and starting to feel your hunger as the rest of your body gets the memo that it’s time to wake up. You look over your shoulder and through the window on the other side of the room, and the view makes you even more hesitant to leave; the bulk of the snowfall has slowed down to stray flurries, but ice and fresh powder blanket every surface you can see through the window at the other end of the room, the icy landscape making you involuntarily shudder.

“Honestly it’s kind of tempting,” Mark responds just barely under his breath. He’s looking over his shoulder and out the same window with a thousand-mile stare, his arm now draped over the backrest (you’d say it looks like an invitation to inch closer under his arm and to his side if you didn’t know better). He looks like the poster boy of confident nonchalance, the bright light pouring in through the window beautifully illuminates his profile and makes his eyes look like peridots. “How much do you think we’ve gotten so far? Eight, ten inches?” Mark looks back to your relaxed form--almost a mirror of his own--a few locks of his hair falling into his face. The weight of his gaze feels almost as tangible as that of your phone now resting on your thigh.

“I think I’ll have to agree with you there--looks like it’s not quite done though, so we’ll probably get a foot by the end of the day…” you whisper the last few words in your response, just barely loud enough for Mark to hear you.

“I agree; which is why staying here, at least until the sidewalks have been shoveled out, seems like an unfortunately practical decision,” Mark adds. You begrudgingly hum in agreement before letting out a defeated sigh as you watch Mark abruptly stand up from his position on the futon. “So… what sounds good for breakfast? You have a usual favorite you go for?” he asks, walking toward Hana’s kitchen.

“I--” you start to respond but pause to contemplate your answer, getting up and following him behind a false wall separating the kitchen from the living area. You actually can’t remember the last time you’ve made yourself breakfast--usually opting to pick up a pack of pop-tarts from the nearest vending machine before heading into class in the morning. “I, uh… don’t really have a ‘usual’. Not anything that would be considered a proper breakfast, at least,” you admit compunctively.

Mark turns and walks backward toward Hana’s pantry to look at you with a disbelieving smirk. “Like what?”

You grouse a bit before grumbling out a response. “...Pop-Tarts--usually strawberry.”

Mark looks at you concernedly and thoughtfully before conceding, “I would not consider that real breakfast, but I am guilty of the same thing,” he says as he opens the pantry door and starts looking through its contents, squatting to peruse the lower shelves for something that looks good. “The chocolate frosted ones are the best, though, no clue why you’d go for strawberry.”

“Bite me, Watney.” you sneer playfully at him, eliciting an amused-sounding huff and a smirk from the man in question.

“Don’t tempt me.” he deadpans, still sporting a smirk as he straightens back up to his full height and turns to start walking towards the other cabinets lining the kitchen. You’re both astonished and regretful at how much it takes to stop yourself from biting your lip at this quip, having to also turn your thoughts away from trying to provoke him further, what it would take to tempt him.

He continues to open cabinet doors, humming to himself softly while searching around the shelves. He settles on a box of Krusteaz pancake mix before casually walking past you to the fridge on the other side of the kitchen. Following him with your gaze, you question his ministrations, asking “What are you making?” while trying to avoid lingering your gaze on Mark’s ass as he’s bent over to search the refrigerator’s shelves.

“Blueberry pancakes,” He confirms, looking back at you over his shoulder before smirking, saying, “Unfortunately, I didn’t see any Pop-Tarts back there,” gesturing towards the pantry door with a curt nod.

“Unfortunate,” you respond flatly, returning his smirk with a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed grimace. “You need any help?” you ask, nodding towards the pack of blueberries Mark found in the fridge.

“I think I’m good. But, if you want, you can wash these blueberries while I get started on the batter,” he answers, handing you the cold box of fruit while he rummages through the cabinets, presumably searching for a bowl and measuring cups.

Mark seems surprisingly confident in the kitchen, settling into a smooth rhythm once he becomes familiar with where everything is kept. Despite his apparent flow state, though, he notices every time you try to sneak a blueberry or two while he’s frying each pancake--jokingly chastising you about keeping your hands out of the food until it’s done. From the smell of it, he’s decently good at cooking as well--the medley of smells from the scrambled eggs mixed with the blueberry and vanilla extract was making your mouth water. You take the time to observe him further while he works, sitting on a stool out of the way while he fusses over a particularly difficult flapjack.

The domestic scene of him cooking for the two of you is nearly unbearable to watch. He’s impossibly handsome. You feel like you’re sinking into quicksand and it’s scaring you how easily you’re finding it to make space for him in your heart. The pesky organ clenches in delight every time you hear him hum to himself, his viridian eyes sparkle slightly with a subtle contentedness that makes you want to believe that maybe he’s feeling similarly--any evidence to the contrary be damned. Your distracted mind wanders and you find yourself regarding his hands as he uses them to (honestly, quite impressively) flip another pancake without the spatula he’s picked up from Hana’s cutlery drawer. He clasps his hands together behind his back and looks over what appears to be the last pancake of the batch, reminding you of how it felt to have one of them clasped in yours; even through the loose, likely in-sleep-initiated grip the two of you had on each other’s hands, you remember being able to feel how soft the skin of his palm is despite each ridge and inconsistency in his skin’s topography made by the veins, muscle, and bone beneath the surface. You wonder what it would feel like to have more contact in that moment and you frown at your sudden desire to feel his warmth on you again. To feel the soft yet firm texture his hands trace over your back, down your sides. You wonder what the rest of him might feel like--

“You know, I learned this recipe from a camp counselor when I was, like, twelve.” Mark breaks the thick silence between you too, his hands still clasped behind his back and gaze trained on the stovetop in front of him.

You blink blankly at him for a moment, tuning back into the present moment, and frown slightly before responding, “Really?”

Mark nods and turns around to face you before continuing, “Yeah, I was feeling really down about being away from home and couldn’t sleep.” he’s fully facing you now, but his eyes are still cast downward to the floor.

“By the time the sun started to rise, I decided to take a walk around the complex of cabins and was caught by one of the councilors--which was probably the most terrified I’d have ever been at the time, I thought he was gonna kill me,” He admits with what sounds like a nervous laugh. “He just asked me what was going on, though, and I told him that I wanted to go home. He somehow deduced that I was homesick and helped me feel less bad about it--which, actually now that I think about it, he mostly was just finding ways to distract me from wallowing in sorrow over not being able to see my goldfish for another three weeks. It was almost breakfast time, so he showed me how he makes pancakes.”

He finishes the story and finally looks back up at you. As usual, he’s hard to read--a slight smirk pulling at his cheeks, but his eyes conveying something more complicated under the surface. His eyes meet yours and his smirk almost instantly widens to a proper smile. The look he’s giving you doesn’t feel ambiguous anymore; his eyes look brighter, the fog of sleep and fatigue and whatever barrier to what they hold nearly fully cleared. What’s left in its wake is what appears to be genuine admiration and trust that almost hurts to look at. Getting your heart inevitably broken by this man would be impossibly painful.

“Ready to eat?”

☆☆☆

Mark’s exceedingly grateful that he wore jeans and his one pair of briefs yesterday. Waking up in an unfamiliar room was jarring enough, but every sensation he experienced initially waking up was shocking enough to nearly incapacitate him--and honestly, he wishes it did. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to try so desperately to hide the frankly surprising consequence of his inability to not be pathetically emotionally non-platonic and, just… weird about waking up with you in his arms. Just thinking about it is venturing into dangerous territory, making him white-knuckle the plate he’s holding in a desperate effort not to lose himself and end up dropping your pancake and eggs.

The first thing he remembers is pins and needles in his left arm. Next, the smell of sleep, heady and warm and accented by the faint memory of M. x piperita and L. stoechas--a cocktail of scents that remind him of the soap you use. Hearing you softly hum--presumably in your sleep--is what tips him over the edge into wakefulness and alerts him to your presence under him, a mere half-second before he can act on his urge to bury his face into the soft cotton separating his cheek and your sternum. The lovely contrast between the cold air in the room and your combined warmth is exhilarating, the starkly different stimuli making him shiver slightly.

The next thing he registers is a soft twitch in what must be your left hand, the fingers of which are currently entwined with that of his right. He wants to press your palm closer to his, but he can’t do that without waking you and potentially invoking your ridicule and anger at your current position. He wants desperately to look up at you, though, and see the peace he finds etched in your features each time he’s found you asleep after a night of grading or after working together in silence on research or other projects. He’s not sure why, but seeing you resting--especially when you work as hard as you do--brings him a deep relief. He used--or, perhaps pretend is a better word--to be concerned by it, thinking incorrectly that you might have narcolepsy or something similar, but your soft snores quickly grew on him. With how cagey you can be about how you’re feeling, it’s become one of the ways he can know that you’re not pushing yourself too far beyond what’s healthy.

Risking a peek around, Mark cracks open an eye and sees Hana’s TV, now dark and idle on its stand. He takes in a deep breath and feels you shift under him, his hand slipping to the small of your back. Your shirt’s ridden up slightly and he can feel the soft skin there, just slightly at his fingertips, as he feels your other arm shift on top of his back and start to play gently with his hair. This almost pushes him into the realm of overwhelm, making him pour every ounce of his self-control into keeping his breathing steady. He’s terrified to move; this is partly because he notices his pants starting to feel tighter than they did when he fell asleep the night prior and he still needs to find a way to move off you without revealing to you what would be a quite visible (at least at your current proximity) silhouette of his manhood. He laments internally at the abysmal luck must have to get morning wood this morning, of all mornings. Most of his fear, however, is rooted in not wanting to collapse this mutable pocket of time into a specific trajectory. He’s positively terrified of what you’d think waking up next to--er, under*--him, of what the delicate limbo the two of you are caught within would become. An unexpectedly dangerous limbo to be in as his body threatens to betray him. He wants to want to shrink away from you, hell, you probably would want that too he finds himself thinking, relishing regrettably in the soft ‘lub-dub’s of your heartbeat audible to him through your sternum. This has to be wrong, he thinks, fighting the urge to throw himself out the nearest window at the mere thought of having so much contact with you without your clear and expressed permission.

And yet, just as intensely and more clearly than he’s ever noticed before, he wants to wrap his arms completely around you and still hold your hand all at the same time--causing him to consider the pros and cons of growing a third arm. Your legs shift on either side of him and he wonders how long it would take for him to commit to memory every scar, dimple, spot, and stretch mark that might adorn them. How they look, how they feel. He wants to compare notes--learn how you see yourself and show you in turn how he sees you. He’s delving into dangerous mental territory, and he knows it. It’s not productive to think of you this way, but he can’t help the way his breath hitches each time your fingertips brush against his scalp. He’s itching to feel more of your touch, however fleeting it might be.

“I thought I told you to get a haircut…” he hears you breathe out sleepily, stunning him momentarily with the intimacy of the--now that you’re awake--newly shared moment. He decides to break the silence with a cheeky response but is quickly humbled when he forgets himself and decides to look up at you. The sunlight’s cutting across your face, and the glow it gives you makes you look like an angel. There’s a beautiful melancholy wrapped around your features that gives him pause but, all things considered, he’s in no position to try to sit up and talk to you about it. He searches your face for disgust or fear and thankfully finds none that he can identify; You haven’t kicked him off you yet, so he takes that as a good sign. You’re still just looking at him, but your hand doesn’t leave his hair and the way your fingers continue to flirt with the wispy locks at the nape of his neck makes him want to weep in ecstasy.

Mark knows this can’t be normal. At this point, his feelings have completely left the zip code just friendly and professional. He doesn’t think this way about any other GTA he’s worked with, or any of his DnD buddies from high school. He’s curious about where this could go, but he wouldn’t ever utter any of his daydreams within earshot of anyone other than Colin and maybe his therapist. Maybe. He’s been more adventurous than this in the past, so he has no idea what’s stopping him from taking the risk and just asking you out; let the love sickness run its course within a couple of months and watch the relationship fizzle out and die--a tale as old as time for Mark and the terrible luck he’s had so far with dating. Maybe he feels like he’s got more to lose now. The strange companionship cultivated between the two of you is too precious. Your affection and trust in him feel like they’re made of glass, and for the first time, he feels like there’s more at stake than his ego.

After putting the plates down on Hana’s table, Mark hears your footsteps behind him and turns around to see you walking out of the kitchen holding a glass of orange juice in one hand and a mug of what smells like English breakfast tea in the other. You hold up the steaming mug and dawn a small smirk before breaking the small moment of silence, saying. “I think I remember you telling me that you’re more of a tea person than a coffee person.”

“That is correct, thanks,” Mark laughs slightly and takes the mug from your hand before continuing. “Where’s your cup of joe though?”

You shrug before answering, “It’s the weekend--I can afford to not artificially vanquish my fatigue today.” Mark raises a questioning eyebrow and you offer the rest of your justification. “And Vanessa’s collection doesn’t include a roast dark enough for my tastes.”

“There it is,” Mark says into his mug, taking a sip of the surprisingly beautifully brewed tea and giving you an incredulous look over the rim of the cup.

“Sue me,” you grumble playfully, rolling your eyes before walking over to the nearest plate to where you’re standing. Mark sits not too far behind you, choosing to set his plate down in the spot adjacent to yours.

Mark takes a bite from his stack of pancakes and feels his soul leave his body--the heavenly flavors and textures rocketing him back into his memories of sleepaway camp. “Wow, I really outdid myself with this,” Mark says around mouthfuls of pancake and eggs. Sometimes Mark can forget how messy of an eater he can be; you grimace at a syrupy piece of pancake that he nearly loses while trying to get a mouthful of eggs with it too.

“Mark, the food isn’t going to run away from you, it’s okay to enjoy them separately,” you chastise, licking a dollop of syrup off your thumb and making Mark wonder if your lips have always looked that soft.

“Wha- I- but they taste so much better together!” he defends himself after taking a sip of his tea, his approach to consuming his beverage somehow more gracefully than how he eats. “Have you ever tried them at the same time? The sweet and the savory? together??--” You giggle at the chef's Kiss Mark blows in your direction, sending a bolt of oxytocin through Mark's heart as he laughs with you. “Perfection. I promise it’s perfection.”

“I can’t say I have, but I’ll take your word for it,” you say through soft chortles. You finally pick up a piece of your blueberry pancake stack and bite into it, letting out a groan and looking up at the ceiling while you taste the fruits of Mark’s labor. He tells himself that the falter in his heart’s beat is from the pride he feels at doing a good job, and not anything else. “Wow. Yeah, okay.”

“‘Okay’? They’re okay? Just okay?” Mark inquires, leaning his head onto his free hand while regarding you, a look of feigned heartbreak stitching his eyebrows together.

“No, no--they,” you roll your eyes, nodding seemingly mostly to yourself. “They’re actually quite good. I’m impressed.”

“Oh my G-d, they’re impressed!--”

“Don’t get used to it--”

“Nah, we gotta stop the presses, this is the most important thing happening right now--” Mark clutches an imaginary chain of pearls, his eyes glittering in mock shock and awe.

“You’ve got to be kidding me--” you wheeze out between laughs, trying your best not to accidentally aspirate a pancake chunk you haven’t swallowed yet.

Mark looks at you, his face still twisted in a poorly hidden laugh while he drinks in how your glee lights up your face. “ you like my pancakes?” he asks for confirmation with a smooth grin pulling at his lips while he looks at you. Your prideful and thoroughly amused pout makes his heart swell. He never would’ve guessed that he would need this much to see you smiling at him. Mark wonders if it’s always been like this, and it just feels different because maybe he’s starting to consider the possibility that he may hypothetically be into you.

“Yes, unfortunately. You win this one, Watney,” you respond, knitting your brows together and exaggerating any hint of annoyance that might be present in you, which is likely quite negligible, considering the seemingly fond smile on your face that you try to hide behind another bite of pancake.

The two of you finish your breakfast not too long after, and you get up to take your and Mark’s dishes back to the kitchen sink. While waiting for you to return, Mark looks out at the hint of a view of the Chicago skyline visible through the window on the opposite side of the table from him. The sparkling, frosty landscape combined with the proper meal he just had and your company casts a warm, rosy bloom over his thoughts. After taking a moment to take in what he can barely see is the faint whisps of vapor rising from the surface of the certainly frigid Lake Michigan in the far distance, Mark breaks the brief moment of silence to ask, “How much longer do you have in the city before you head out to Pasadena?” calling out the question in your general direction, now on your way out from the kitchen.

“Oh, uh… about 3 more weeks,” you respond, walking out of the kitchen with a glass of water and taking your seat next to him again after he pulls your seat out for you from under the table. “After that, I’m headed west to spend some time with family in Alberquerque before flying out to LA. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering,” Mark responds reassuringly. “Colin and I usually head out to Glencoe to check out the light show at the Chicago Botanic Gardens, and, I, well, uhm--” Mark shifts slightly in his seat, his limbs stilling and becoming uncharacteristically rigid as he feels his heartbeat pick up, “if you perhaps are interested in going too, you can. Colin’s sister is visiting, and we’re going to need to bring another car anyway, so…” Mark finally breaks his gaze away from the window and meets yours, startlingly perceptive and consuming. The beat of silence goes on for a couple of milliseconds longer than Mark expects and he starts to panic; that was a normal question, right? Perfectly normal, it has to be. Why are you so quiet? Did he freak you out? He recalls the first time he asked Colin to go to the botanic garden with him and he doesn't remember his chest aching so much back then. Maybe he should talk to a doctor about that--

“Sure, that sounds fun.” you finally respond and pull Mark back to the present.

“Sorry, I-- wait… really?”

“Yeah, I’ve never been there before, but Vanessa told me forever ago that it’s beautiful out there--especially during the holidays--so it seems pretty enjoyable,” you respond while looking into your lap and pulling your legs into a precariously balanced criss-cross.

“You’ve been here for almost two years and you haven’t gone to The Chicago Botanic Garden?” Mark asks incredulously, tilting his head down and looking up at you through his eyelashes with a concerned grimace twisting his countenance.

You sigh and shrink away from his gaze slightly before laughing out an explanation, “Yeeeaaah, I know. Just haven’t had the time. There’s always too much to do.” you pause for a minute, tilting your head in contemplation, before continuing, “there’s a lot from this city that I haven’t seen, honestly.” You look up and through the window, staring at the same landscape that Mark grew up seeing his entire life. “I’ve still got some time left to see them though. At least it feels that way,” you conclude, looking back at him with a bitter-sweet smile that brings back that pesky urge to lean into you--hold your hand, or bring you into his side and hold you there and trace soothing patterns into your shoulders; to try his best to comfort whatever part of you is feeling that melancholy.

You two look at each other for a moment, eyes locked and suspended within what feels like the most potent silence since the moment before the Big Bang before Mark impulsively proposes something that the more reserved part of him twists up in fear at.

“We could start today. If you want.” The question hangs heavy in the air between him and you, and the nerves Mark is steeling himself against make him acutely aware of his pulse ringing in his head.

You frown slightly at him and ask, “What do you mean?”

“What do you have planned for today?” Mark asks, holding your gaze and softly pinching his bottom lip between his teeth, hoping to find a glimpse into your inner world.

“I-- well, nothing really? It’s the weekend, so…” you punctuate your response with a small shrug. “What’re you suggesting?”

“Have you been to Garfield Park?”

“I-- no? But, Mark, look outside--”

“I know--”

“It is actively snowing???” you interrupt him through a disbelieving laugh

“There’s a conservatory there, it’s not as busy during the Winter,” he begins to explain his reasoning, smiling at the quirky look of suspicion adorning your face. “It’s like a big greenhouse--humid, but warm which is what matters given the state the outside world is in right now. And it’s my favorite spot out here. Other than my fridge.” Mark adds the ending sentence in a low grumble and you break into peals of laughter before weakly nodding, trying to catch your breath.

“Yeah?” Mark dips his head to capture your gaze again and he swears he sees a faint sparkle light them up.

You nod more fortuitously, “Yeah, okay. How far is it from here?”

Mark purses his lips slightly, answering tentatively, “Maybe 20 minutes if we take the L? There’s a station not too far from here if you’re willing to brave the walk.” He nervously draws his bottom lip between his teeth again and he thinks he sees your gaze momentarily flash down to his lips. I’m probably just imagining things--

“You’re lucky I brought my boots,” you say into a swig of water, looking at him mischievously from over the glass.

Mark feels a jolt of panic rip through him as he remembers that this isn’t your place, and you likely have things you need to take care of before entering into the rest of the day. “Shit, sorry, do you have anything at your place you need to head back for? Any meds you need to take?”

“Thankfully, no,” Mark lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding as you respond, looking over to where your bag was still resting against the side of the futon. “I keep a dose of my morning and evening meds in my backpack just in case I’m over here late. Do you have anything we should head over to yours for?”

“Nah, I’m okay. Fortunately, I can mostly survive without extensive medical intervention,” Mark retorts, feeling calm enough to tease you again.

You roll your eyes and fail at hiding your laughter at his jest before quipping back at him, “I should’ve coughed up a loogie in your tea, you are so rude--” you’re interrupted by your mutual laughter, Mark snickering out a grating cackle while you laugh so hard you start to wheeze.

☆☆☆

Despite having spent nearly two years of your life in Chicago, you're still not used to the biting cold the winter wind brings into the city. You shrink into your parka as you slowly shuffle your way across the ice on the sidewalk. You step on a rounded piece of ice, smoothed over by foot traffic and the municipal snow-clearing vehicles, and nearly take a spill--sliding into a lunge with your arms spread out in a t pose to help you retain a semblance of balance. The sound of Mark’s snickering just slightly behind you makes you whip your head around in surprise, still on edge from nearly wiping out on a lump of ice.

“Next time I see you eat shit on your skateboard, I’ll laugh at you just like that” you spit out, giving him a pouty scowl from over your shoulder--invoking Mark’s recent addition to his methods of locomoting through campus that he got halfway through the semester--before carefully righting yourself and continuing your slow inching forward to the subway station ahead of the two of you.

“Oh, come on; you gotta admit it’s a little funny,” Mark says still walking slightly behind and to the side of you almost like he’s spotting you. You try to shake the idea of him possibly trying to protect you from falling flat on your ass, feeling heat rise to your cheeks from both embarrassment and something more that you refuse to acknowledge, “Two years and you still aren’t used to the ice.”

“Some of us aren’t winter weather aficionados-- woAEUH!--” You feel your feet disappear from under you again and start falling backward. You squeeze your eyes shut, heart hammering against your ribcage as you anticipate the inevitable crack of your skull against the ice and compacted snow. Your preemptive wincing, however, is met with a much warmer, softer surface and the feeling of even warmer hands holding steadfastly onto your elbows. You crack open one of your eyes to see that you’re still upright somehow, but now your weight is being supported by something warm and solid behind you. You look up and see Mark looking down at you, a slightly panicked energy electrifying the green in his eyes. The small puffs of water vapor leaving his nose and mouth catch the sunlight starting to peak through the clouds and make him look like an angel.

“You okay?” he asks after a spell of silence between the two of you, helping you put your weight back on your feet, his hands still on you--one moving down your arm to wrap around your own and the other offering firm and sure support at the small of your back.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you make sure your footing is as secure as possible before looking back up at him. You’re given pause by how prominent the green in his eyes seems, though, wondering why it seems so prominent now and not when you were leaving Hana’s apartment. You get your answer as your gaze traces down towards his cheeks and see that they, like his nose and ears, are exceptionally rosy, offering a contrast that brings out the color in his eyes. “Thanks,” you finally complete your sentence, chalking up his suddenly ruddy cheeks to a reaction to the frigid air.

After nearly falling another two times after that, you resolve to just hold onto his arm closest to you, clutching the rough texture of the khaki cotton duck layer of his Carhartt overcoat as securely as you can without hurting him. You see him look at you in your periphery, but your pride prevents you from meeting his gaze and the most you can manage is a curt, “not a word.” you feel him huff out a silent chuckle before he shifts the arm you’re holding onto slightly, allowing you to loop your arm around his and get a more secure hold onto his infuriatingly more stable frame.

Reaching the subway station, you two settle into a spot in the terminal close to one of the support pillars on the platform. You feel Mark situate himself behind you, the warmth radiating off him seeping through your jacket and into your bones. For a devastating moment, you feel an intense urge to lean back into him and sink into the plush of your parka and the front of his flannel, now exposed from under his coat after escaping the wind’s harsh bite. You catch yourself before your muscles can act for you, but the thrashing your heart does inside your chest is making it hard to act normal.

Looking off across the tracks for a distraction from Mark’s presence behind you, you see a man with what looks like an earpiece, looking down at his phone and about to walk into a support pole. You gently nudge Mark with your elbow, making him look up from his phone and curiously follow your gaze at the oblivious suited man. Predictably, he does indeed beam himself on a support pillar, making you and Mark twitch with poorly contained laughter while you watch the older man walk off, grumbling about something just beyond the range you could hear over the chatter of the other commuters at the station.

A few moments later, Mark nudges your back and you begin to look up at him before he leans down by your ear and tells you to look to your left, just past the pillar the two of you are next to. You swallow down the soft tremor his whisper nearly elicits from you and look over to your left to see someone with their back to the tracks talking to a slightly shorter figure in front of them just out of your line of sight. Slung over their back is a small backpack with a little window--probably one of those cat backpacks you remember getting popular almost a decade ago.

“Wait for it…” Mark says under his breath, straightening back up and looking in the same direction. Not more than 30 seconds later, you see a tiny cat poke its head above the bottom edge of the backpack’s window--one of the cutest domestic shorthairs you’ve seen in a while, with what looks like mismatching ears, looking back at the two of you with a level of curiosity in its large eyes that’s only achievable by a young kitten.

“Oh!” you respond in a hushed voice, covering your mouth in shock and awe at the adorable creature looking back at you. You slightly raise your other hand and give the little beast a small wave that it silently meows at, filling you with the most intense glee you’ve felt maybe all week. Feeling your heart swell, you look up at Mark and the two of you exchange a look of mutual understanding and shared happiness at seeing the little marvel stare at you from beyond its little plexiglass bubble.

After boarding the train, it takes close to 25 minutes to reach the Conservatory and Central Park station, which isn’t surprising--you don’t remember a single time the L ran completely on time in the 730 days you’ve been in Chicago, the poor CTA being regularly plagued by delays. As soon as you’re back on the icy surface of the unprotected sidewalks, your arm is immediately back around Mark’s, not wanting to risk getting a concussion from your clumsiness.

Closer to the entrance of a large glass building that you assume is the conservatory, the terrain becomes more snowy, the fresh powder allowing you to be more sure-footed and let go of Mark. You do notice an unfortunate melancholy at letting go of him, but you force your brain to focus on the glittering wintery landscape ahead of you. That is until you feel the harsh smack of what you can only assume is a snowball hit your shoulder and the side of your neck given the chill it delivers as little ice crystals glide their way down your collar. Your shoulders scrunching up in defense, you snap your head in the direction the offensive powdery sphere came from and find Mark snickering and trying to look as casual and innocent as he possibly can--which, unfortunately for him, isn’t very much at all.

Deciding that you’d very much like to play this game he’s started, you duck behind a snow-covered bush while he’s not looking at you, and start building a small armory of snowballs. You hear him stop walking and call out your name questioningly before starting to slowly retrace his steps to see where he might’ve lost you. Waiting until his back is to you and he’s close enough, you dart upwards from your hiding spot and lob a snowball into his shoulder blade before ducking back into your hiding spot, your brief stint of baseball in elementary school finally proving itself to be useful for you.

Hearing Mark yelp in surprise at your attack makes you break out in a fit of giggles, revealing your position to him. “Oh, I see how it is--” you hear him say from on the other side of the bush. You can hear the soft crunches of snow as he tries his best to run around the barrier separating the two of you and pick up some snow to make another snowball at the same time. You scramble to move around the bush and evade him, but you don’t escape getting nailed in the center of your back. You pick up two fists full of snow and whip around to find that he’s hot on your trail. Gasping, you fall backward, not paying attention to the integrity of your footfalls, and Mark crashes into you, following you into the snow bank after reaching out toward you and losing his footing. Momentarily relieved that the two of you didn’t accidentally headbutt each other on the way down, the two of you stare at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter

“Ah--fuck--I’m so sorry, are you okay?” Mark asks, concern plainly visible through his laughter.

“I--yeah, sorry,” you flounder, surprised by Mark's proximity and still trying to recover from your laughter. “I’m, uhm, I’m peachy” you finally get out, punctuating your sentence with a short laugh. Mark shuffles back to his feet and helps you stand up with him, the two of you dusting snow off each other’s shoulders, still getting caught in fits of giggles, before continuing your trek to the conservatory’s entrance.

☆☆☆

Mark’s attention on you is unwavering as you walk into the lobby and acquire a reservation for the two of you--which is still possible to get as a walk-in, though the subsequent wait in line is certainly non-trivial. He spends the time standing idly next to you, searching for a tell, something in what you do and how you carry yourself that would give him an idea of your impression of the conservatory so far. You’ve been mostly mum after you two entered the conservatory, the outdoor spaces of which are thoroughly frosted over and dead save for a couple of trees, so unfortunately he can’t rely on just listening and observation. This, however, is a common pattern between the two of you at this point; Mark has to get over his internal hurdles blocking him from just asking you something since you don’t volunteer information to just fill the silence. It’s something that Mark’s grown to appreciate--that he can just be present with you and have that be enough--but he’s still getting used to having to use more direct and active communication to learn more about you. He can tell that this is something that you’re also working on internally, having opened up more over the time he’s known you, but you naturally require more work to learn about.

Just as he finds the right moment (and the courage) to ask you what you think of the place, the two of you enter into the first mini-biome beyond the lobby. Your visible awe makes Mark’s heart leap in his chest, the sparkle of curiosity in your eyes being enough to mostly extinguish his worries about you finding the conservatory to be wanting in any way. He watches you slowly walk into the lush, artificially tropical environment, sunlight streaming in between windows in the melting snow atop the glass panes making the palms’ fronds look like they’re glowing different viridian shades while the two of you walk through the meandering paths in the Palm House.

The humidity in the room and the stunning density of flora in the conservatory bring back a familiar excited prickle to Mark’s skin. He recognizes a particularly vibrant red specimen of T. spathacea when you capture his attention with a pat on the side of his arm. “What kind of palm tree is that? I can't find the label anywhere,” you point upwards to an older-looking palm, nearly the tallest in the room, a thick husk of old leaf bases forming the trunk and massive feather fronds that sagged under their weight.

“That,” Mark responds, injecting a pause for dramatic emphasis, “is Attalea phalerata, also known as a Scheelea Palm; these have been at the conservatory for a little over a century--well, not these specific ones, just in general, they’ve been here since 1926. They produce edible fruit, but I think we’d get in trouble if we tried to eat anything in here.” he whispers the last part conspiratorially, causing you to snort lightly.

“Have you ever had any of the fruit?” you ask, looking up at him slightly and raising a curious eyebrow.

“Unfortunately, no, but I imagine they’d taste kind of oily because of the seeds,” He answers, chuckling at the ‘makes sense’ grimace of understanding that your face twists into.

You take a look around at the different trees and Mark can feel another question brewing in the silence between you. He follows you silently as you start to wander further down the path. You point between another Scheelea and a Bismark palm before asking another question. “Why do their leaves look different? Are they even called leaves?” you ask distractedly, gently taking a few leaves in your hand from the Bismark Palm.

He situates himself next to you before answering your question. “Well, what you’re holding are the leaves, but the larger,” Mark gestures chaotically at the large fan sprouting out of the stout, woody plant, searching for an adequate word to describe what you’re asking about, “... structures are called ‘fronds;’ as a whole, they maximize the amount of sunlight the palm can access with its leaves as well as making a canopy to shade the trunk and ground directly below it--which is important for making sure the roots don’t dry out. The different shapes correspond to different environmental conditions; entire fronds that arent separated like this have more surface area that can do photosynthesis, but it’s also more susceptible to getting scorched, and fan-shaped fronds like this are more prone to getting damaged by strong wind even though they’re less likely to get fried by the sun.” He punctuates the end of his sentence with a light slap on the fan-shaped frond you’re holding.

“I,” you let out a breathy laugh and look back up at the canopy of different palm fronds before continuing, “That’s awesome…” Mark could weep, looking at you gazing up at the foliage encasing the two of you with so much awe and wonder it makes him kind of jealous of the plants you’re looking at.

Wait, he thinks, frowning slightly, why would I be jealous of the--

“This your favorite room?” your voice cuts through his thoughts, pausing his internal spiral into strife and snapping him back into the present moment.

Mark flounders silently for a moment before composing himself and answering, “No. No, it’s fantastic but it’s not my favorite. I’m,” Mark starts to waddle around you and backward deeper into the conservatory, his hands shoved in his pants pockets, “trying to work us towards that direction, but I also want you to get the full experience. Like, the reason why my favorite room is my favorite room won’t have the same…” Mark twisted up his face in concentration, trying to find the right word, “Oomph? Yeah, oomph, that it has for me. Having seen everything else. Yeah.” He nods resolutely and punctuates his sentence with a bright cheeky smile that makes you nod and laugh, the sunlight streaming in through the foliage twinkling in your eyes while you look at him.

Mark regards you for a moment and his previous grin warms into a fond, yearnful thing of a smile that feels rusty but not unfamiliar on his face. You have this uncanny, as Mark is deciding to describe it, effect on him; inexplicably, with a nonchalant look or an otherwise perfectly mundane gesture or touch, you manage to peel back the layers of masks that Mark has spent years building. He’s built a persona that’s helped him garner confidence from those around him--he isn’t just another twitchy, pencil-pushing engineer, he’s Mark Watney. Confident and unflappably plucky, yet brilliant. You invariably blew this completely out of the water though, thoroughly surprising him with how much your presence affects him. You make him wear his heart on his sleeve, your habit of getting to the foundations of things both in your work and in your interactions forces him to confront things about himself that he isn’t used to acknowledging outside the comfortable and protective boundaries of a series of journals that he fully intends to never let see the light of day.

Sensing that the length of his reverie is bordering on the shorter side of ‘far too long to be normal,’ Mark motions behind him and starts stepping deeper into the trail leading through the greenery and pleasantly warm humidity surrounding you, tacitly beckoning you to follow him into the living maze behind him.

“This is the Fern Room,” Mark begins, looking at you from over his shoulder and gesturing lazily to the green, vivacious space surrounding the both of you. “If memory serves me right, this was built back in… 1906? I think?” Mark scrunches up his face in concentration, fully annunciating each syllable in ‘nine-teen-oh-six’, each with a unique distortion to his countenance that he can hear you softly snort at. Smiling back at you, he continues, “The guy who built the place wanted to give people a glimpse into what Illinois was like millions of years ago.” Mark motions to the entrance the two of you came in from while continuing his explanation, “That winter wonderland we just shivered our way through used to be a bustling tropical paradise about 300 million years ago.”

“...You’re joking,” you respond, dawning a blank, incredulous stare. Mark gives you a satisfied shake ‘no’ of his head before you look up at the snow still coming down outside, starting to settle again on the glass above you. You look back down and stare at him for a moment, making him have to stifle a laugh before you continue, “I mean… I know that atmospheric and… literal physical placement of things, continentally speaking, were different, but I’m genuinely having a hard time imagining the spot I nearly wiped out on a chunk of ice was more similar to the Bahamas than the North Pole.”

“It was indeed, and it was probably filled with plants like these;” Mark points up and around to the creeping ferns and un-dismissably tall cycads dominating the space they just walked into. “Ferns, liverworts, mosses, and these ancient cone-bearing plants that need a more humid and hot environment to survive. Oh! Actually, now that I think about it,” Mark starts nearly speed-walking towards a stone outcropping at the back of the room covered in a large and beautifully thriving bundle of D. marginalis before continuing, “A little random, but how do you think ferns reproduce?” he calls slightly above his normal speaking volume as you walk over to his new position, raising an eyebrow at his enthusiasm.

“I… don’t know. Don't they have… seeds or something? Or are they all just the same plant and have sprouts at different locations?”

“Good guess, but no--take a look at this,” Mark beckons you closer and lifts the frond of one of the plants to expose the undersides of its leaves. Mark smiles mischievously as he watches your face distort into a confused grimace at the small, powdery maroon clumps that lined the outer edges of the frond.

“What are those????” you ask, freezing in your tracks, seemingly not wanting to get closer to the strange plant.

“Spores!” Mark exclaims excitedly, beaming at you while still holding the fern, “They get picked up by the wind and get dropped, like a mushroom! Ah, well actually,” Mark lets go of the plant finally and props his hands nonchalantly on his hips while he corrects himself, “Mushrooms--but specifically the ones with gills, basidiomycetes--spread spores by flinging them from the sterigmata they’re attached to, and then they get carried around using atmosphere. But still,” he shrugs, failing to notice your bewildered expression before continuing, “like mushrooms. Kinda. Pretty cool, right?” he punctuates his question with a smirk and a wink, trying and failing to not bite his lip while looking at your curious expression.

Mark smiles down at you with a lopsided smile when you respond with an amused, “Surprisingly, I had no idea that anything other than fungi had spores.” If Mark didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn he saw your eyes flash down to his lips again. He manages to banish this thought to the back of his mind, ignoring the fluttering skips in his heartbeat to answer the question hidden in your response.

“I mean if you want to get technical, all plants are spore-bearing, even seed-bearing ones--they just are heterosporous, the two types of spores turning into male and female gametophytes that combine to make seeds.” he subconsciously steps closer to you and repositions himself next to you while the two of you continue down the path through the Fern Room. “But, all non-flowering plants produce spores, so mosses, ferns, of course,” he nods to the ferns he was just showing you, “liverworts, certain algae--all of those use spores to reproduce.”

“hm…I wonder if this happens in humans too, in some weird way.”

“That’s completely outside my jurisdiction, unfortunately, you’ll have to ask a biologist that.”

At this, you let out a hearty ‘Ha!’ before clapping your hand over your mouth in embarrassment at the sudden outburst of joy, making Mark laugh in return.

“Ah, finally something familiar,” you exclaim, just barely loud enough for Mark and Mark alone to hear as you enter a room that’s much dryer and sandier than the previous two you explored. Mark notes that the air feels much lighter in here, but the temperature is still warm.

“If this is that infamous dry heat you’ve told me about, I’m not sure I’d last very long in the Southwest.” Mark laughs out, eyeing the dry skeleton of a saguaro standing tall amongst the other desert flora adorning the Desert Room.

“Oh, this is nothing,” you scoff, looking at the yucca and prickly pears with a warm nostalgic smile, “this is pleasant compared to how hot it can get in the summer.” you turned back to him and dawned an impish smile before continuing, “you ever see the road start melting because the temperature outside’s hot enough to melt asphalt?”

Mark gulps down his mild horror at the mental image your question is conjuring in him before responding with a terse “nope,” and picking up his pace slightly to follow you, enjoying seeing you explore and tell him about the different cacti and succulents you recognize from ‘back home.’

You two reach a particularly impressive-looking cactus you identify as a Buckhorn Cholla before he does--eliciting a surprisingly strong sense of pride in him as he tries not to notice the heat rising to his cheeks. You turn to him and continue, “I’m sure you already know this, but the spines on these cacti are modified leaves--they use them both for protection and to dissipate heat more effectively. Apparently, this happened in other plants too, though,” you look away from the stately cholla and something catches your eye. Mark’s about to ask you what you’re looking for when you take his hand in yours and tug him along to the other side of the room, the suddenness of it nearly making him topple over his own feet.

“These,” you stop the both of you in front of a prickly plant that looks almost like a cactus but is just slightly off. “I can't remember what these are called, but I remember learning about them in elementary school. Their spines are modified branches instead. G-d, what are they called--”

“Euphorbs? I think this one specifically is Euphorbia virosa, but I’m not 100% on that.” After recovering from the shock of being led around by you, Mark registers that your hand is surprisingly cold. He instinctively draws closer to you and his previously passive grip on your hand becomes more sold and steadfast, trying to pass some of his warmth to you.

“Yeah, I think that’s right…” you pause for a bit, looking deeply troubled for a moment before looking down at your feet, “I don’t know why I did that, you obviously already know all of that.”

Mark frowns at this and angles himself to stand between you and the prickly euphorb, searching for your gaze as he responds. “Hey,” you reluctantly look up at him and search his face; Mark does his best to open his expression up to what he’s truly feeling, to give you no reason to think that he might be hiding something from you. “I still think it’s cool,” Mark searches your face for any apprehension or discomfort before continuing--still holding your hand but now passing his thumb soothingly back and forth over the skin on the back of it. “I didn’t know you learned about all of this as a kid.” he admits, shaking his head slightly, “I’m glad I didn’t try to explain how cacti work to you. Which, in hindsight, would’ve been incredibly embarrassing, considering I’ve never seen a cactus in its actual home biome before.” Mark laughs out, internally kicking himself for how out of breath he sounds while standing so close to you.

“Wait, you’ve never seen a cactus, like, outside? Have you been out west before, even on vacation?”

“No, I haven’t traveled much, my family’s all pretty much in different spots in Illinois, so,” he shrugs, ending his sentence with a hushed huff of a laugh at your bewildered expression.

“... You have to promise me that one day you’re going to take a visit out west. Look at what a living saguaro looks like--in situ.” Your grip on his hand loosens and Mark lets go finally, lamenting the absence of your touch. “They’re massive, each one has a different personality. Sometimes the arms look like they’re reaching out to you, or like you caught them in the middle of a game of twister. And the amount critters that live in them is astounding. It’s easy to see why they’re a protected species.” you’ve got a faraway look in your eye as you recover what must be memories of a childhood field trip to the natural spaces of Arizona and the other four corners states, having so much of the Earth’s natural history available to you essentially right next door to your childhood home.

“Maybe one day--if you’re offering to show me.” Mark finally responds, sticking his hands back into his pockets. “Until then, though,” he meanders around you and starts walking in the direction of the exit, “we’re losing light, and I still need to show you my favorite room,” he says, looking back at you over his shoulder and punctuating his sentence with a well-placed wink before slipping into the greenery of the next room.

Passing from the Desert Room, to the admittedly quite adorable Children’s Garden (despite the shocking amount of boisterous toddlers there are in there, the screams and squeals of which are still audible through the thick layers of foliage and the door you passed through), and into his favorite garden in the conservatory, Mark is struck by how bright it is in the room. Makes sense, he thinks, giving a soft pat to the front of the large stone that greets them at the entrance with ‘SUNLIGHT’ etched into its face. His skin prickles slightly at the temperature increase the sunlight brings with it as the clouds part and the snow stops falling above them, outside the protection the conservatory’s roof brings.

Mark looks back and slows his gait to fall into step with you while you look around, combing through every detail available to you visually with the same scrutiny he’s seen you regard circuit diagrams and chemical equations. Mark takes a moment to look at you trying to silently work something out in your head, patiently waiting for your inevitable question. “I can’t figure this one out… everything in here’s so different; there’re air plants up there,” you point up to a particularly lush bundle of Epiphytes growing on a stump currently hanging from a chain attached to one of the structural ribs of the curved glass ceiling, “but water lilies are floating in that puddle of a pond over there,” you lazily gesture over to one of what he knows is many small bodies of water in the whole exhibit and he smiles fondly at your exasperation. “I mean, those are two very different conditions, this isn’t just one environment…”

“True. Some species of water lilies prefer tropical environments, and that’s one of them. But, yeah, there are lots of biomes represented here. What do all of the specimens have in common?” Mark asks, trying to lead you to the answer and resisting the urge to gush about the room’s theme right off the bat. You hum at this and take a moment to think about it while you take in the verdant environment around the two of you and work your way to the back of the room, trying your best to avoid puddles of water escaping from a small waterfall that visibly surprises you as you walk past it.

The two of you meander into a small outcropping in the middle of the room and find a moment of stillness among the foliage and still premature blooms of cacao and banana trees, the full and unbroken fronds of the latter slightly dampening the sounds of the rest of the visitors on the trails around them. You look up and around, and Mark is silently amazed by the flecks of color in your eyes that he failed to notice any of the other times the two of you found yourselves in each other's personal space bubbles--which, now that he thinks about it, is more often than is probably normal for friends. He ignores that thought for now, though, seeing you lift one of the banana leaves to marvel at the juvenile bulb that would become a flower once the weather warms more and brings with it more light and nutrients for the tree that’s sprouting it.

“The only thing I can think of that everything in here has in common is that they’re all plants,” you say disappointedly. Mark can feel little sparks of joy bubble up from his heart and into the apples of his cheeks as a smile blooms across his face. He nods excitedly, making you smirk and scoff at him. “Don’t tell me that’s it; your favorite room is the ‘plant’ room?”

“Yes, precisely!” Mark begins, his hair falling slightly into his eyes as he nods more emphatically. “There’s a near infinite amount of diversity within the plant world, but the one thing that unites them all is how they get and process energy, it’s one of the things that makes life possible on Earth.” Mark pauses for half a moment to catch a small leaf falling slowly from one of the trees making up the canopy above the two of you, “So, animal cells, they take O2 and glucose and convert it into ATP, CO2, and water, right?”

“For aerobic cellular respiration, yes. There’s also anaerobic cellular respiration that uses just glucose to make ATP and lactic acid, but,” you nod, looking to the side before back at Mark, “yeah, that’s the important part for most cellular respiration, at least in humans,” confirming with a curt nod. “Don’t plant cells do the same thing though? At least not when doing photosynthesis?”

“Yes, but--I, wow, okay, I had no idea that anaerobic cellular respiration was a thing, we’ll have to return to that sometime--but, okay, so photosynthesis, right? What does that produce?” Mark feels like he’s positively buzzing with excitement as he watches you smile at him and shift your stance to sit your weight slightly into your hip.

“Well, I don’t remember the nitty-gritty of it, but don’t plants take CO2 and make ATP and O2?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

“And glucose! It’s almost a perfect inverse to the animal cell respiration process. They take in water--that we as animals produce, at least in part--”

“A small part, considering we live on a planet whose surface is two-thirds water--”

“Yes, yes, but that’s outside of the scope of my point,” Mark says, waving his hand dismissively and making you chuckle. “They take in water, CO2, and sunlight and use it to make ATP but also glucose and oxygen--both things we members of the kingdom of Animalia need to perform cellular respiration; it’s probably the most beautiful nugget of syzygy that this planet has to offer,” Mark waxes poetic just loud enough for you to hear, nearly out of breath from the pride and joy he feels from being a part of this wonderful web of life that evolution’s curated on the ball of rock and water the two of you call home. And, if he’s being honest with himself, from forgetting to breathe a little bit. He finds himself staring at the leaf he caught and twirls it around between his fingers before looking back up at you, your gaze bringing him back to this moment between the two of you. “It’s my favorite room because of that. It reminds me just how fundamental and necessary for our existence plants are. How truly connected all of… this,” Mark gestures the the general world the two of you inhabit before continuing, “really is.”

Mark is suddenly aware of just how close you two are standing to be able to both fit on this small rounded platform in the middle of the room. He feels his breath catch in his throat when he finally notices your gaze is fixed on him, potent like a live wire and consuming in the same way a wildfire is; burning back fodder and dead brush, clearing away the tired and frivolous to take the Earth back for next generation of seedlings and helping pinecones that need heat to open their prickly exteriors and grow into evergreens. He feels heat rising to his cheeks, almost like they’re being licked by flames, as he takes in a bated breath and can smell a faint floral something mingling with your usually quite grounding and calming scent. His gaze flashes down to your lips just in time to see you lick them slightly before uttering a soft, “I see,” just loud enough to be heard, but hushed so as to only be shared between the two of you. For a flash of a second Mark thinks he sees your own eyes blink quickly to his lips before looking back into his eyes before you continue, “... remarkable.” your eyebrows are sinched together slightly in the way Mark tries not to have a crisis about every other day the two of you see each other; the way where they make little dimples appear just above your eyebrows. Having you so tantalizingly within reach has a profoundly troubling effect. He slowly becomes aware of the blood rushing through his veins and can almost trick himself into thinking that he can feel yours too, that maybe the back-and-forth rhythm he’d find there would match his own. It’s altogether too much for him; the muscles in his arm twitch slightly as he tries to resist the urge to reach up to your face and smooth out the tension from your brow, to run his fingers through your hair and let his hand find gentle purchase on the skin he finds beneath it and pull you into a kiss.

Carefully, like a tentative prayer or a step near the edge of a cliff, he says your name and watches your lips part slightly before he begins to speak again. “...I--”

The bubble of tension between the two of you collapses when a grating screech from what sounds like a toddler erupts through the previously still air of the exhibit room. This is confirmed by the voice of their parent telling them that it’s time to go home--upsetting the child that doesn’t want their fun trip to end just yet.

Your shocked grimace at the auditory intrusion makes him crack first, a snicker sneaking through his restrained smile. The floodgates open, however, when a rogue banana leaf falls on top of both of your heads, and the two of you explode into peals of laughter.

You wipe a small tear provoked from you in your glee before saying, “We should probably start heading out, it’s gonna get dark soon,” trying your best to speak around bouts of giggling as your two figure out what to do with the banana leaf that just, effectively, just fell out of the sky.

Mark nods, agreeing with a short and slightly wheezy ‘yeah’ while you clumsily transfer the large leaf into the brush beside and slightly below you.

☆☆☆

Stepping through your door, you kick off your shoes and stretch and crack just about every joint you’re conscious of having before tossing your keys into the nest created by the pillow and blanket you left in your papasan chair after Mark visited a few weeks ago. Collapsing onto your couch with a muffled ‘oof’, you bury your face in the cushions and pillows that meet you there and are left, finally, to quietly let your thoughts and memories from the day wash over you. Turning your face to the side to not suffocate, you contemplate the train ride back home, acutely feeling the embarrassment that you’ve found comes with letting your thoughts wander leashless around your memories of Mark.

You can still feel the warmth from the Sugar from the Sun exhibit lingering under your skin, can feel your heart still racing since you noticed how close he was to you. Seeing his eyes light up felt like going through a religious ecstasy, and for a moment you thought you understood what it would be like to be loved by the botanist expounding on the intricacies and beauty of photosynthesis to you. Regrettably, you wanted--and kind of still do, if you’re being honest with yourself--to take his rosy cheeks into your hands and pull him towards you, and you feel heat rise to your face as you imagine what it would be like to kiss him. You imagine how warm his lips would be if his hands were any indicator of how warm the rest of him is. How it would feel to be wrapped up in his arms again. You remember feeling the soft puffs of his breath halt while looking at you, how close you were to falling into him, the moment so liminal that you could almost feel the sensations from alternate universes where you’d been braver than you are in this one. You groan at yourself, the sound lightly muffled by the cushion below you, not knowing whether or not you regret not acting on your desires at the time.

Looking internally for a distraction, your mind wanders to a different memory, choosing to think instead of the short conversation the two of you had after you got to the bus stop just before your block. The ride there was spent mostly in silence--one that you found surprisingly calm and natural, given the moment the two of you had in the conservatory not too long prior. You remember staring out the window at the brilliant sunset that began to unfold in front of the two of you while you rode the L and hearing Mark let out a soft gasp at the glazed layers of pinks and reds that blended in with the deepening blue of the rest of the sky, darkened by the edges of the Earth’s shadow catching up with it.

The sky started to mature into deep purples blending into indigo and black by the time you reached your usual station and found out Mark, in fact, does not live on the same block you do. Your suspicions started when you saw him start to walk in the opposite direction of your block, notice this after he didn’t hear your footsteps beside him, and whirl back around to start walking in the other direction, citing his ‘autopilot’ for the strange error. You smirk and chuckle at the memory of confronting him about it, still endlessly delighted at seeing him flounder while trying to explain why he couldn’t name the building he and Colin are in without immediately exposing his fib. He blamed his need for it on not liking that you were walking back by yourself in the dark, apparently not thinking about whether or not you’d be any more comforted by the idea of him not reaching home until the wee hours of the morning because he decided to take it upon himself to make sure you were safe.

Suddenly, you feel a jolt of panic rip through you--recalling that the two of you had promised each other that you would text when you both got to your respective homes. You sit up and quickly fish your phone out of your front pocket and check if Mark made it back before you did, and seeing that he hasn’t texted you yet, you quickly open up your messaging app.

Made it back, safe and sound |>

You pause before sending the message, impulsively opening your camera and taking a selfie, the camera pointing down from an elevated point of view and setting it to a wide-angle zoom. Sending the message with the ridiculous selfie, you wait patiently for Mark’s reply and toss your phone onto the cushion next to you, curling back into an approximation of the position you were in and hoping your brain winds down enough to even think about resting later as a possibility. Not more than 10 seconds later, though, your phone vibrates with a text notification from Mark, making you pick your phone up from its position beside your head and swipe up the lock screen.

The next texts he sends you are each separated by a few seconds of ellipses, first revealing a rather shaky image of his boots walking through what you assume must be the entrance to his and Colin’s unit. This is immediately followed by a picture that was also taken at a wide-angle zoom of the top of his head, making it look like his eyes were staring gleefully off in two different directions.

<| like, literally just got in, lmaoo, his next text says, making you snort lightly.

<| hope you had fun today

<| I definitely did ;)

You feel the warm, pleasant kind of static sensation characteristic of oxytocin washing over your brain as you read and re-read his last series of texts while failing to suppress a small giggle. Once you compose yourself enough to do so, your fingers fly across your phone’s keyboard to respond.

Most definitely, thank you for-- |>

You pause mid-sentence, a flash of panic spreading through your chest as you almost type out ‘taking me out’. Out? Out on what? You quickly delete the previous three words and send just the ‘most definitely’ with a thumbs-up emoji and a reciprocating winky face, mentally chastising yourself for the thought that maybe you and Mark just went on a date. Best not to encourage that line of thought.

You’re debating whether or not to send him another text and keep the conversation going when an incoming call from Hana disrupts your screen, making you frown. She usually doesn’t just call out of the blue--and it was certainly out of the blue. Right about this time, she and Vanessa usually spend the evening crossing movies off their ‘to watch’ lists together--the dinner last night being a planned disruption of their usual routine, especially given that Vanessa was still out of town for work; now that you think about it though, Vanessa was supposed to come back home today, and you assumed that she arrived sometime after you and Mark left for the conservatory. Accepting the call, your brain goes a million miles per hour trying to deduce and mentally prepare for what was so urgent that she needed to call you, your stomach dropping from an eerie dread as you answer the call with a brief, “Hello?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list:

@oliviabelova

@anna-withnn

@chelseyyouraverageluigi

@celesoba

@red-ace-in-space

@izzilovesyou

DM me to be added to the tag list!

#the martian #mark watney #andy weir #the martian(2015)#mark watney x reader #mark watney x gn!reader #gn!reader #no use of y/n #academic rivals #two body problem #the martian fanfic #the martian fanfiction #reposting because there was an HTML mishap :')

20 notes · View notes