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rambleonwaywardson · 3 months

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Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 8

Masterpost

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's Note: We're going to the moon!

Definitions since NASA loves acronyms

---

A house looks big until you climb a tree. The first time your little human limbs carry you up that rough wooden bark, so you can perch high on a branch with the breeze hitting your face just so, you feel like you’re on top of the world. An adventurer, off to discover and conquer new lands. All you need is a telescope and you’ll be a modern day Shackleton. A kid can dream this way. Can see a whole heroic future laid out before them, with the world at their disposal and the wind in their hair.

A town looks big until you get in a plane for the first time. Little buildings, little cars, little people shrinking to tiny specks, like ants roaming back and forth across a brick patio. The first time you get into a plane, you feel like you’re on top of the world. The first time you fly one, nothing will ever be the same. A young pilot can dream this way. Can look back and see the little kid they were, swinging on a tree branch, and say look where we are now. Can look forward and feel invincible.

A planet looks big until you look down on it from a space station, orbiting the world 16 times in a single Earth day. People, houses, towns are invisible, insignificant, but they’re all there, in one perfect picture through a space station window. The continents stretch across the globe between vast expanses of ocean that feel endless from the ground but look so inconsequential from the heavens above. The first time you go to space, you don’t really feel on top of the world anymore, because the world, suddenly, doesn’t feel so grand. And yet it’s beautiful, breathtaking, perfect all the same. An astronaut can dream this way. Can look backwards and forwards and think, nothing has ever been, or ever will be, better than this.

Until they go further, faster, in search of something new, somewhere that no one else has ever been. Twelve people have stepped foot on the lunar surface. Only twelve. Not a single one since 1972. And never at the lunar South Pole. In just a matter of days, all of that will change.

–

November 6

Cape Canaveral, FL

The Space Launch System, 322 feet tall with millions of pounds of thrust capability, looms over Florida’s space coast in the sunrise, an all-powerful presence that will hold the fates of four men in her hands. The rocket stands quietly on launch pad 39B, her main engines and solid rocket boosters just waiting to be brought to life. It’s been under development for many years at NASA, designed with the explicit purpose of getting humans and their cargo to places they’ve never gone before. That starts with returning to the moon. This time, the missions are longer and more complex. They’re meant to test the limits of human survival and create a sustained human presence beyond low earth orbit. Artemis 2 already successfully orbited the moon. Now if Artemis 3 can get the job done, it may open up a new chapter for the human species.

The esteemed mission commander meant to accomplish this feat is currently dressed in an Artemis crew polo-shirt but still has bed-hair, which he’d hopelessly tried to tame for the photos NASA wanted of the four crew members this morning. He’s also trying not to burst out laughing at the sight of scrambled eggs stuck to Curt’s nose. Eggs that Bucky, said commander, had just flung at him off of his fork.

“Oh, real classy,” Curt says, wiping the eggs off his face. He pops a piece into his mouth and swallows before sticking out his tongue.

“You takin’ my sloppy seconds, Curt?” Bucky asks.

Curt raises an eyebrow and points his fork at the commander. “Don’t talk about your husband that way.”

Bucky scowls. “Fuck off about my husband.”

Curt gathers some of his own eggs onto his fork and takes aim. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut in resigned anticipation, but Rosie shoves Curt’s hand down before he can fire. “No fair,” Curt whines. “He hit me.”

Rosie levels a hard look at him, and Curt angrily shoves the eggs into his own mouth. They both glance over, though, when they hear a gasp followed by a barking laugh. Alex, at the other end of the table, has one hand clapped over his mouth, the other holding his fork in the air, as he stares at Bucky, who is glaring right back at him, egg stuck in his messy hair. There’s a tense, slow-motion moment of the four men staring each other down, like they’re in a western face-off instead of NASA quarantine. Just as they’re scrambling for a weapon in this food fight, a bellowing voice shouts “NO!”

They all freeze and look at the doorway to the kitchen, like four children caught doing something naughty. One of the poor chefs who had prepared this meal had come in to see if there was anything else they may need, and the look of horror on her face is enough to make the astronauts slowly lower their utensils and apologize. “Sorry, ma’am,” Rosie says sheepishly, even though he hasn’t even done anything.

The chef sighs, crossing her arms. “Is it that bad?” she asks, knowing full well the food is the furthest thing from bad. “Nothing better to do with it than throw it at each other?”

Alex shakes his head and pointedly takes a bite. “No, ma’am.”

“It’s perfect,” Bucky says sincerely. “Couldn’t ask for a better pre-launch meal.”

Despite being given their choice of what to eat for breakfast this morning, the crew had decided to keep with an old NASA tradition that had started with Alan Shepard, the first American man in space. Before his inaugural flight, he’d been served steak and eggs, something filling and rich in protein. And so they’re eating steak and eggs, washed down with some orange juice at Curt’s request.

“Delightful,” Curt echoes. He nods his head enthusiastically as he takes a massive bite of perfectly seasoned steak.

The chef rolls her eyes and waves her hand at them dismissively. “Eat up, boys.” It’ll be several hours until they’re able to eat anything else.

–

Houston, TX

There’s a quiet sort of clamor around Mission Control, papers rustling and coffee makers gurgling and men and women hustling about as flight controllers prepare themselves for every possible outcome of today. As the last dregs of hurricane season refuse to slip silently away, the NASA meteorologists have been diligently keeping an eye on the stormy weather threatening to hit the Florida coast. As of early this morning, they were still go, but mission control continues to wait with baited breath for a call that could put a pin in the entire day.

For now, business as usual.

Gale runs a hand through his hair as he walks to his console. He takes a sip of his coffee, which is fresh from the coffee maker in the back of the room, and it just about scalds the taste buds right off his tongue. With a grimace, he sets the ridiculously hot cup on his desk, and that’s when he notices the plain white box sitting on his chair. Skeptically, he reaches down and removes the lid, revealing a neatly folded, navy blue Yankees sweatshirt, the lettering worn but the fabric as soft as ever. A note sits on top: “Happy Launch Day.” He’d recognize Bucky’s messy scrawl anywhere.

Looking around at the other flight controllers, Gale’s eyes land on Dr. Huston, who arrived back in Houston from quarantine last night. They make eye contact, and Dr. Huston nods to him. Bucky, evidently, had requested that the flight surgeon personally ensure Gale get this today.

He sets the box at his feet and sits down in his chair, the sweatshirt gripped tightly in his hand. With another glance around the room to make sure no one is watching him too closely, he presses the fabric to his nose. It no longer smells like him. Instead, it’s all Bucky. Smokey and sweet. Bucky couldn’t take the sweatshirt with him, so instead he did for Gale what Gale did for him two weeks ago: gave him something to bring him peace. Gale’s mouth can’t decide if it should smile or frown, so instead he just stares at the piece of clothing laying limply in his lap with a weird, thoughtful sort of twisted expression that totally won’t make the other flight controllers look at him suspiciously at all.

Out of the corner of his eye, he clocks someone sitting down at the console next to him, and it’s not who is supposed to be there. Marge slides into Croz’s seat and leans way too far into Gale’s personal space.

“Can I help you?” Gale drawls skeptically.

Marge hums, pursing her lips and tilting her head innocently. Gale glares at her, not liking the concerned look in her eyes. She glances at the sweatshirt gripped in his hands, then back at him. “You doing okay?”

Gale is tired of that question. Or at least, he’s tired of the general implication that he may not be okay. The rocket hasn’t even left the ground. John is not even in low earth orbit, much less on his way to the moon. He doesn’t know if he’s sick of the notion that he can’t handle his job, or if he’s sick of being reminded of the fact that he may eventually have reason to not be fine. “Yes,” he says curtly. “I’m good.”

She fixes him with that same look she’s been giving him for days, the one that says she doesn’t quite believe him and she knows he doesn’t know if he believes himself. But he is a professional. He is good at his job. And that isn’t going to change now. He levels her with a look nearly as intense and pointed as her own. “We’re not gonna talk about it. We’re all just gonna do our jobs. I told them I can handle it and I can.”

Marge leans back and crosses her arms, but she nods at him. Croz appears behind her, his own cup of coffee in hand, and leans against the back of the chair. He ducks his head low conspiratorially. “Is there a reason you’re having a secret meeting at my desk?”

“Well, that would be a secret now, wouldn’t it?” Marge smirks at him, and he chuckles, motioning for her to get out of his seat.

She gets to her feet and smooths her skirt. “Best of luck Major Cleven.” Stepping closer to Gale, she gives him a gentle kiss on the cheek and squeezes his arm. “Give Major Egan my regards.” When she turns around, she gives Croz a quick hug before returning to her own desk, where she will spend the day translating mission control speak for the public.

Harry Crosby, the Flight Dynamics Officer, or FIDO, takes his seat beside Gale. “How’s it going, Buck?”

Gale narrows his eyes at his computer screen, trying to analyze Croz’s tone to determine if that was a legitimate question or another ‘how are you feeling now that your husband is about to go to the moon and the odds of him returning are not as high as you’d like?’ Knowing Croz, he could mean it either way. 50/50.

So Gale just nods. “Good, Croz. How are you?”

“Yeah, yeah good,” Croz replies. He’s the best flight dynamics officer NASA has. He’s been a flight controller on countless missions. He was FIDO for Artemis 2, even. This is standard… except it’s not. The stakes just keep getting higher and everybody knows it. It’s just that no one will say it out loud unless they have to. “I’m good,” Croz repeats. He raises his cup of coffee to his mouth.

“I wouldn’t,” Gale warns him. When Croz looks at him funny, he explains, “hot as hell.” Croz nods gratefully and gently blows on the coffee instead.

–

Bucky, Curt, Rosie, and Alex keep exchanging meaningful glances with one another across the suit-up room. Each of their suit techs is running them through a series of checks as they put on every single piece of their OCS suits. They had these suits custom-fitted months ago, but sitting in the chairs in the suit-up room at Kennedy Space Center, everything is feeling more and more real by the second. They’re doing this. It isn’t any sort of dress rehearsal, or a fitting, or an extremely detailed dream. It’s real.

“Looking hot, Egan,” Curt calls out from his chair.

“Not as hot as you, babe,” Bucky says back as his tech helps him get the bright orange and blue outer pressure garment on over top of his liquid cooling garment, which is essentially glorified long underwear with cooling capabilities.

Suiting up is not a short process, and it’s highly detailed and redundant. These are the suits that will be worn inside Orion, including during critical mission phases like launch and reentry. It’s the suit that’s meant to keep them alive in case of a catastrophe in the spacecraft. NASA is taking no chances that one of them could fail. The techs tell them to sit, stand, clench their fists, crouch, bend, twist, and just about any other movement that could be inhibited by the suit or that could damage the suit if incorrectly worn. They do up buttons and zippers one by one, demonstrating after every single one that it’s secure.

Before putting his left glove on, Bucky rubs his thumb over his ring finger – already a habit after only a month of being married – only to remember that the ring isn’t there. No jewelry can be worn while in the space suit. There’s a brief pang in his chest, but he knows the ring is safe in his Personal Preference Kit, which he’ll take with him on board Orion. His suit tech raises an eyebrow at him and asks if he’s alright.

“Yeah, all good.” He nods at the tech, who helps him slip the glove over his hand and secure the pressure seal.

–

Gale checks the time. L-2 hours and 30 minutes. He knows that right now, the crew is disembarking from the holding room, suited up and ready to go. They’re being met with flashing cameras, the world’s first launch-day look at the first men to step foot on the moon in this century. They’re saying goodbye to their families – from a distance, to avoid any potential contamination. Saying goodbye to parents and siblings. No spouses this time, though.

Gale is the only spouse of an Artemis 3 astronaut.

A small part of him longs desperately to be there on Cape Canaveral, the SLS watching over them in the distance, the silver transport van waiting to take the crew to the launch pad. Bucky in front of him, so close he could almost touch him but just a hand’s breadth out of his reach. He wants to see those beautiful blue eyes staring into his own, that messy brown hair blowing haphazardly in the rising wind. He wants that last look.

He wants to watch the rocket climbing into the cloudy afternoon sky, watch as it carries a part of his heart away to the stars.

He’ll be with John almost every step of the way, the angel on his shoulder and the voice, quite literally, in his ear. He has nothing to complain about, really. His job is here. His job is to keep his husband safe. He’ll hear his voice again soon enough, and he’ll settle for the mere vision of John’s wild grin as he looks to the heavens, the phantom feeling of fingers brushing over his own.

Gale takes a breath and reins his thoughts in. He flicks the mental switch that pushes him into work mode, his focus nowhere but on the mission.

At KSC, Bucky doesn’t have any family to say goodbye to. He stands by as the others speak with their parents or siblings, says a few words to them himself. He takes a breath, tries not to dwell too much on the pressing need to see Gale’s face just one more time. One more time before he climbs into that spacecraft.

It won’t be long until he hears the comforting sound of his voice. Gale will be with him through the whole mission, at least when he’s on shift. He’s lucky, that way. Few other astronauts have the luxury of that closeness to a loved one. So this has to be okay.

With one final wave, the crew climbs into the astrovan, and they set off towards launch pad 39B.

–

As the crew finishes suiting up, mission control starts buzzing, flight controllers chatting, checking the telemetry data coming in from the SLS and Orion, and ensuring they can properly communicate with the spacecraft.

“Weather is holding, Flight,” a voice comes in from KSC. There’s a brewing storm off the Atlantic coast, but it doesn’t look like it will hit until well after launch. The wind isn’t against them yet. Visibility is good. Flight director Albert Clark hopes this stroke of luck will bode well for the mission.

Gale thinks about Bucky, ranting to him the other night about how this better not play out like last time. When he went to the station, the launch had to be scrubbed three times due to bad weather before they finally got off the ground. And every scrub occurred after the astronauts had already boarded the spacecraft. “Three times, Gale!”

A lot of launches get scrubbed; that’s just how things are. Whether its inclement weather or a technical concern with the spacecraft or the rocket or the ground systems. Any abnormality, and the rocket might not leave the pad. The crew has to come back down, a process in itself, then suit up and do it all again another day. In the end, everyone would rather that than a launch gone awry.

“Would you rather not go?” Gale had asked.

“You know the answer to that,” Bucky had replied, rolling his eyes. He’d give an arm and a leg to go to the moon. He’d just prefer if he didn’t have to go through the entire hours-long process of launch prep several times over like some weird version of Groundhog Day.

Gale would prefer that, too. A scrub or two could mean up to two more weeks in quarantine for the crew. Two extra weeks of Gale’s house being too empty. Two extra weeks of being on the defensive, thinking about every single thing that might go wrong and how they’ll work through it.

But the weather is holding. Now it’s up to, well, everything else.

–

Four astronauts, clad in OCS suits, rise slowly above the cape in the launch tower elevator. Destination: the Orion crew capsule, stacked at the top of the SLS. They could see for miles, if they cared to look, but their thoughts are on nothing but the rocket they’re about to board. It’s alive now, fueled and ready to go in its launch configuration. It creaks and hums in front of them, daring them to climb on.

Alex chuckles as they walk across the access arm at the top of the launch tower, 300 feet in the air. “Are we crazy?” The others can’t blame him for putting into words what they’re all thinking. They’ve all thought it before, too, the last time they each voluntarily strapped themselves onto a gigantic rocket literally meant to eject them from the planet.

“100%,” Rosie assures him.

At the end of the access arm, a few members of the closeout crew, dressed in white NASA flight suits, greet them as they enter the White Room.

“Ready to fly, boys?”

One of the closeout team members approaches and claps Bucky on the shoulder. Bucky looks at him before breaking into a grin. “Kenny, what are you doing up here?”

Ken Lemmons is one of the lead engineers for the Orion capsule and a good friend of the crew members. Bucky has known him for years, since junior year of college when Kenny transferred to the aerospace engineering program at the same university that he and Gale attended.

Kenny grins. “Wanted to personally see you off. And make sure you don’t fuck up my spacecraft.”

“Our spacecraft, now,” Curt says cheekily, even as Kenny pulls him into a one-armed hug.

“She gonna take care of us?” Bucky asks, motioning to the open hatch of Orion.

Kenny gives the same half-hug to Alex and Rosie before stepping back. “Oh yeah,” he promises. “Smooth ride, guaranteed.”

There’s an energy in the White Room, this camaraderie between the astronauts just itching to get this mission going and the closeout team whose job it is to see them off safely. This is the last human contact that the crew will have, other than with each other, for a month.

The team members do another set of checks on the OCS suits, and they help the four astronauts get their com caps situated on their heads before conducting a com check.

Bucky, as commander, is the first to climb into the spacecraft, and a support person helps him get into his seat and check that his communications gear is still properly configured. Then the bulky space helmet is sliding down over his head and the support person makes sure it’s properly sealed. She makes sure he’s strapped in, coolant hooked up and oxygen flowing, and then squeezes his shoulder and looks him in the eye. He smiles and gives her a thumbs up before shaking her hand.

Next is Curt, sliding into the seat beside Bucky before going through the same process. Then Rosie, and lastly Alex. With all four astronauts strapped into the capsule, Kenny pokes his head in through the hatch, grinning with the same excitement and anticipation that is palpable in the atmosphere around them. He takes a deep breath, taking in the sight of his friends, these four brave American men, off to make history in the spacecraft he helped design. “Godspeed, boys. Have a safe flight.”

Then the hatch closes the four of them inside.

Curt reaches over and taps Bucky on the arm, pulling Bucky’s focus away from the console in front of his face. They grin at each other and Curt lifts his fist for Bucky to fist bump. They’re really doing this.

“Whaddya say, Curt?”

Curt turns his head to face forward again. “Gonna fly like an angel,” he says. “Not die like one.”

–

Inside the launch control center at Kennedy, the test director gives the final briefing. The weather is holding. The vehicle is in good condition, telemetry is good. They relay to Houston that all systems are nominal. Houston relays the same message back.

“How we lookin’?” Bucky asks Gale over coms.

“So far so good down here,” Gale tells him, relieved to hear his voice.

“How’s that damn weather?”

Gale leans back in his chair and watches the room around him, the flight controllers running through last minute checks and monitoring every single system. “Sounds like it’s going to cooperate for once.”

On Orion, Bucky is already thinking about how his legs are going to go all numb from sitting in the same position in this seat for hours. But he tries to look out the window. All he can really see is gray-blue sky, clouds for the most part leaving Cape Canaveral in shadow. “I sure hope you’re right.”

“Launch control says the storm is still far off the coast,” Gale assures him. “And wind speeds aren’t high enough to mess with you yet.”

“Then it looks like we’re doing this, huh?”

Gale nods, even though Bucky can’t see him. “We’re doing this.”

–

L-15 minutes.

Albert Clark, standing at his console in the middle of the room, takes a good look around mission control. “Alright flight controllers, give me a go/no-go for Artemis 3 launch. Booster?”

“Go.”

“Control.” “Go.”

“GNC.” “Go, Flight.”

“Prop.” “We’re go.”

“CDH.” “Go.”

“FIDO.” “We’re go, Flight.”

“FAO.” “Go, Flight.”

“MPO.” “Go.”

“EECOM.” “Go.”

“INCO.” “We’re go.”

“CAPCOM?”

Gale, leaning on his desk with his chin resting on a fist as he follows the go/no-go, smirks to himself and nods. “We are go, Flight.”

“Launch control this is Houston,” Clark says. “We are go for launch.”

“Copy Houston.”

Gale listens in anticipation to the callouts from Launch Control. T-10 minutes. The automated Ground Launch Sequencer has taken over the official launch countdown.

T-6 minutes. “GLS go for core stage tank pressurization.”

“Orion ascent pyros armed.”

“Copy, pyros.”

“Orion set to internal power.”

“Copy, Orion internal.”

T-4 minutes. “GLS is go for core stage APU.”

“Core stage APU start.”

T-1 minute. Gale is drumming his fingers on his thigh as the chatter in Mission Control wells up to a crescendo and then dies down. They’re ready. Launch control confirms, “we are go for launch.”

Outside, at viewing areas far from the launch pad and all up and down the Space Coast, excitement bubbles as the loudspeakers echo the countdown. Thousands of spectators join in. “15, 14, 13, 12…”

Inside mission control and launch control, the launch director’s voice counts over coms “10, 9, 8, 7, 6. Main engines start.”

The rocket on the pad explodes to life, the main engines spitting gas and flames into the chamber below.

“Holy shit,” Alex mutters. The entire stack is shaking, jostling the crew inside Orion. This is by far the most powerful rocket any of them have ever been on and they can feel it. Bucky is grinning like a maniac as he flexes his fingers in and out, in and out in anticipation.

“3, 2, 1. We have liftoff.”

There is no doubt of the exact moment that the rocket is released from the pad, charging into the air. The crew feels themselves pressed back into their seats with incredible force as they accelerate upward, clearing the launch tower in a matter of seconds.

“Here we go, boys, the clock is running,” Bucky says to his crew, and Curt whoops loudly as they pick up speed and the rocket begins to reorient. Over coms to Houston, Bucky informs them, “Gale, we’re into roll.”

As CAPCOM, Gale acts as the go-between for the crew and mission control. As mission commander, Bucky is the primary contact on the other end. “Okay, John. Thrust good on all four engines. SRBs good.”

Bucky: “Looking good here… roll complete. Pitching now.”

The rocket adjusts its angle, setting it on a trajectory to reach orbit. The crew can now just barely see the world disappearing below them.

Curt: “Fuuucckkk”

Gale: “Good, boys?”

Bucky: “Good here. Curt’s just having a moment.”

Gale: “Artemis 3, Houston wants to remind you that everything you say will be transcribed and available to the public.”

Bucky: “Curt, Gale wants you to stop saying fuck.”

Curt: “Fuck Gale.”

Gale: “Thanks.”

Rosie: “Jesus, look at that.” They can see the horizon, a rainbow stretching over the ocean as the incoming rain slowly approaches the coast.

Gale has to remind himself to keep breathing as he watches the live video feed on the big screen at the front of mission control. Perfect, he thinks, willing it to stay that way. He tunes in to Croz’s calm voice. “Trajectory is nominal. Straight down the middle, Flight.”

Clark nods. “Copy FIDO.”

Gale: “You’re looking great, John, right down the line.”

Bucky: “Roger, all good from here… Hey Gale, you’re looking great, too.”

There are collective groans in the background, both from Orion and mission control. Gale can’t be bothered, at this point. Bucky grins at his console.

“Approaching max q,” Croz states, about a minute into the flight.

Gale: “1 minute 15 seconds. Coming up on max q.”

Bucky: “Copy. Come on baby, get us through.” This is, presumably, said to the rocket. Not Gale.

The entire room seems to hold its breath as the dynamic pressure on the rocket reaches its maximum, shoving its way through the atmosphere at high speed. Nothing happens. The rocket keeps climbing, and everyone can exhale. It’s not common that a rocket actually fails at max q; it’s a major design constraint that every single part and system is engineered around, created specifically to survive launch conditions. But there is undeniably a reason why it’s a major design constraint. If the slightest thing is off, everything can fall apart in the blink of an eye.

Curt: “Two and a half G’s. Trajectory good.”

Gale: “You’re through max q. All systems nominal.”

Bucky: “Engines good. We’re goin’ boys!”

Gale breathes a little easier with every second that passes, even though he knows this mission is just getting started. His eyes track the trajectory on the big screen as the rocket flies over the coastline.

Gale: “Artemis 3, you are feet wet.”

Bucky: “Roger. Feet wet.”

Gale: “2 minutes. Artemis 3, confirm SRB separation.” The two solid rocket boosters jettison from the core stage, their job done, and they plummet into the ocean below.

Bucky: “Can confirm SRB separation. Still going nicely.”

Gale: “Engines look good.”

Next the service module fairing and launch abort system are both jettisoned.

Bucky: “4 minutes and we are still go up here, Buck.”

Gale: “Roger, we’re checking systems here.”

Clark runs through the go/no-go again.

Gale: “We’re go here. Looking good, boys. Right where you need to be.”

Bucky: “Thanks babe.”

Alex: “Oh man, Buck. You really gotta feel what this baby is capable of.”

Gale: “I plan to. Glad it’s a smooth ride. You boys are doing great.”

Around 8 minutes in, the booster and control officers give Gale the thumbs up.

Gale: “Go for core stage MECO.”

Bucky: “Roger. MECO… Core separation confirmed.”

The core stage, which includes the main engines, cuts off right on time and disengages from the spacecraft, falling back through the atmosphere.

Bucky: “Entering LEO… and we can feel it up here.”

After main engine cut off, as the spacecraft enters low Earth orbit, the crew finally feels weightless. Rosie laughs as he grabs their zero-g indicator, a small stuffed bear with a NASA shirt, as it floats up and around the capsule, letting them know with zero doubt that they are, in fact, in zero gravity. He tosses it gently towards Alex, watching it float effortlessly in a perfect, straight-line trajectory, no forces to inhibit its motion.

“Bucky, check this out,” Alex says, leaning over to pass the bear to his commander.

Bucky grabs the toy and stares down at it for a moment before he scoffs. “Where did this come from?” The bear has a tiny name tag sewn onto his shirt that says ‘Beary Egan.’ Except last he knew, their zero-g indicator was a little Earth plushie.

“Happy launch day,” Gale’s voice chimes in over coms, making Bucky laugh.

“Buck,” Rosie says. “I want you to know that Bucky is currently hugging the zero-g indicator with an undue amount of force.”

“Excuse you,” Curt says dramatically. “The zero-g indicator has a name.”

Rosie nods in understanding. “Sorry. Buck, I want you to know that Bucky is currently squeezing the life out of Beary Egan.”

“I believe that’s Commander Beary Egan,” Alex corrects.

Gale chuckles, knowing that this exchange will appear in the official mission transcript. “John, please let zero-g indicator Commander Beary Egan do his job and indicate the zero-g.”

“The zero-g has already been indicated,” Bucky retaliates. But he lets go of the bear and tosses it to Curt, who bumps it around in the air, back and forth and back and forth like a tennis ball.

“Never fuckin’ gets old,” he muses.

Now that they’re in low Earth orbit, the interim cryogenic propulsion stage undergoes a burn that raises the spacecraft’s altitude, preventing it from re-entering the atmosphere so they can later perform a trans-lunar injection burn. With this maneuver complete, the crew spends the next hour or so performing systems checks and deploying and adjusting solar panels, preparing for the journey to the moon as they orbit the planet.

Bucky looks out the capsule window, where he can see the curvature of the Earth, the blues and greens and browns that make up the planet they call home, the wispy white clouds in the atmosphere that’s now below them. He’s seen this view before, from the space station, but it’s just as breathtaking the second time around.

Gale: “Okay 3, we’re coming up on TLI.”

Curt: “Copy. Go for TLI.” The ICPS fires to perform the trans-lunar injection burn, which takes several minutes, kicking Orion out of low Earth orbit and onto a path to the moon.

Gale: “Looks fine… yep we have you on target. Burn looking good.”

Curt: “Burn baby burn.”

Rosie: “Can’t believe I’m stuck in a tin can with you for a month.”

Curt: “Likewise.”

Gale: “Go for staging.”

Bucky: “Yep. We have ICPS separation.” He glances over at Curt as the ICPS kicks off as well. “We’re committed now.”

They are officially en route.

Curt reaches over and claps Bucky on the shoulder, jostling him enthusiastically. “We’re going to the fuckin’ moon!” Rosie and Alex high five through their bulky OCS gloves. On Earth, mission control is exchanging similar congratulations. Croz reaches across his desk to shake hands with Gale, and they’re both grinning from the overwhelming excitement and relief of a successful launch and TLI burn. The excitement of achieving a trajectory that’s going to put humanity back on the lunar surface.

–

That night, Gale steps out of JSC’s building 30, which houses mission control, and into a world where his husband is no longer on this planet. While he’s not inside mission control, he has no way to contact him. In this day and age, that feels like such an unthinkable thing. No texting, or calling, or emailing. Or anything. Except for the occasional video call, the only way to hear John’s voice is when he’s on shift as CAPCOM, and that’s how things are going to be for the next month.

Gale will spend an 8 hour shift on coms with Artemis 3, and then he will go home to Pepper. He will eat alone, go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. He will worry about his husband walking on an extraterrestrial body, alone.

Gale sighs and takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and lets the sticky Gulf Coast air fill his lungs. He opens his eyes when he hears footsteps beside him, and he doesn’t have to look over to know that it’s Marge. She takes his hand in his, and they just stand there. You’re not alone, the touch says, and Gale squeezes her fingers. Thank you. They stare up at the night sky together, at the stars pockmarking the blackness like little beacons in the night, at the moon that his husband is heading towards at this very moment.

Gale inhales again, bites his lip, lets himself smile the littlest bit. “It was a beautiful launch.”

And it was. If only that could guarantee a beautiful mission.

…

Part 9

#clegan astronaut au #clegan #masters of the air #mota #gale cleven #john egan #buck cleven #bucky egan #buck x bucky #clegan fic #bucky x buck

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rambleonwaywardson · 3 months

Text

Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 9

Masterpost

Author's Note: This one got away from me a bit so it's longer than usual. And I've finally started putting this on ao3, so you can also ready here.

Acronym and terminology definitions

---

November 15, mission day 9 Lunar Orbit

The crew wakes in a groggy panic to the sounds of an alarm going off in the cabin, a red warning light flashing over the console. Bucky, dressed in NASA-issue pajamas with his curls stuck up in ridiculous directions from the zero G and lack of product, struggles to unzip his floating sleeping bag, which is suspended in the middle of the Orion capsule and secured at both ends. Alex and Rosie’s seats had been stowed once they were en route to the moon in order to make more space in the capsule for sleeping, working, and generally existing without being right on top of each other, but it only helps so much. They’ve been stuck in this glorified minivan for going on 9 days now, and they are only very slightly sick and tired of each other.

As Bucky tries to drag himself over to the console, his foot catches on Curt’s arm, flipping the other astronaut upside down in his own sleeping bag. “What the fuck, Bucky,” Curt groans. With nothing within arms reach to push off of, there’s no hope of flipping himself back over, so he starts trying to free himself from where he is.

“Gotta see how we’re gonna die this time,” Bucky replies unapologetically, settling into his commander’s seat so he can see the console properly.

“What time is it?” Alex asks with a yawn.

“5:50.” Bucky silences the master alarm, bringing quiet to the cabin once again. They’re ten minutes short of their typical wake-up call.

From the other side of the capsule, Rosie rubs his eyes with one hand. “Jesus Christ, we’d be screwed in an emergency.” The unconcerned way with which they’ve reacted to this alarm is not unlike the way college students would react to their apartment building’s fire alarm going off in the middle of the night for the third time in a row. But that’s because that’s basically what this is. They’ve had a number of false alarms already in the days since leaving low earth orbit.

Bucky ignores him and switches on his coms. “Houston? How do you read?”

Benny’s voice comes back. “We read you Bucky, loud and clear.”

Curt slides into his seat as Bucky squints at the silenced alarm still flashing bright red in front of his face. CO2.

“Looks like we’re suffocating again, Benny,” Bucky informs him.

“Copy that.” There’s a pause as Benny checks with the Emergency, Environmental, and Consumables Officer. “Our readings look fine. Don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Can you confirm up there?”

Curt and Bucky glance at the carbon dioxide meters on the console, and Curt shrugs, sighing in exasperation. “Looks fine here,” Bucky agrees. “Another false alarm.”

This is the third time the carbon dioxide alarm has gone off without cause, but at least this time it happened relatively close to their normal wake-up time. On mission day 4, the cabin pressure sensor had jolted them all awake around 2:00am GMT. They spent nearly two hours sorting that out with Helen on CAPCOM, checking every square inch of the capsule and every line of telemetry data for an explanation. Turns out it was just some bad wiring, and Houston had to walk Alex through the steps to repair it before it would stop going off.

Fortunately, Dr. Huston and Jack Kidd, as Flight Surgeon and Flight Activities Officer, found a way to work some extra sleep into their schedule that day. Unfortunately, instead of just having a faulty wire, the CO2 sensor itself is fucked.

“We’ll get those sensors checked out when you come back Earthside,” Benny promises. “Unfortunately, our electricians have not agreed to extend operations to the moon. At least, not without a hefty house call fee.”

Bucky laughs tiredly. “The audacity of some people. What has the trade industry come to?”

“I could just break the sensor,” Curt offers.

“That’s a negative, Curt,” Benny responds. “EECOM says no.”

“Maybe EECOM should try wakin’ up to this fuckin’ alarm at all hours of the night.”

Benny kindly reminds them, “EECOM is wide awake with you.” Mission Control operates on GMT, along with the crew, meaning that while it’s 5:50am mission time, it’s actually 12:50 AM in Houston. These flight controllers just started their shifts fifty minutes ago. During a mission, normal work schedules simply don’t exist for the team on the ground any more than they do for the crew in space.

Before either Bucky or Curt can say something snarky back, obnoxious pop music is blasting through the cabin from Bucky’s tablet, which is their designated alarm clock on board Orion. “There’s our wake-up call,” Bucky mutters.

“I got it,” Alex calls over to him, floating across the cabin to get the tablet, which is velcroed to the wall.

“Hey hold on!” Curt reaches his hand out. “Give it a minute!” He starts obnoxiously singing along, jamming out beside Bucky to the point that he loses his grip on his seat and starts floating away.

“I’m a real tough kid, I can handle my shit, they said babe you gotta fake it ‘til you make it and I did.”

The other three join in despite their exhaustion, Bucky and Curt not even bothering to switch off their coms. “Lights, camera bitch, smile, even when you wanna die. He said he’d love me all his life.” Bucky is, admittedly, very pleased when he realizes he can hear many of the flight controllers singing along in the background. It’s a small thing, but their wake up music choices make everyone’s day just a little better. Alex shuts off the alarm.

“Hey Benny,” Bucky says. “Can you ask Gale if he’ll love me all his life?”

“Ask him yourself in… five to six hours.”

“But that’s too long,” Bucky whines. “I need to know now.”

“He’s asleep. Ask your wedding ring, you idiot.”

Bucky grabs at the wedding ring that’s dangling – or, rather, floating – on a chain around his neck. Astronauts often choose to wear rings on necklaces like this in space, since it’ll be easier to grab them if they float away. Bucky has only lost it once so far, which everyone is quite impressed with. He rubs his thumb over the silver band, and Curt makes a gagging noise beside him.

“Astrofag,” he coughs.

Bucky gives him the middle finger.

With the false alarm and the morning shenanigans out of the way, Benny composes himself and gives the crew a proper morning greeting as Alex and Rosie put on their coms. “Alright, rise and shine boys, big day today!”

“We’re in space. Every day is a big day,” Rosie points out, unimpressed, before starting to fold up and stow the crew’s sleeping bags. He isn’t wrong. Every day in this space-traveling RV is something new. Every day is a little closer to something historic. Every day is something else that could kill them. But today is the day that Bucky and Curt say goodbye to their crewmates and descend to the lunar surface for a week-long all-inclusive stay. So yes, it is a big day.

“How about a news update,” Benny offers.

“The news is too fucking depressing,” Alex complains.

Benny agrees. “How about a JSC news update, then? Let’s see…” The crew can hear him as he muffles his com and calls out to the other flight controllers in Mission Control, “Who has news?”

Then he speaks to the crew again. “Croz’s kid turned one year old yesterday. A very happy birthday to the little guy. I’m sure you’ll see pictures when you’re home, he smashed a huge piece of cake right into his face.” Bucky smiles and relays his birthday wishes. “Perhaps more importantly,” Benny continues. “Meatball turns five next week.”

“I know for a fact you don’t know Meatball’s birthday,” Bucky interjects.

“Well, the vets think he’s about five, and I just gave him a random birthday.”

“Naturally.” Bucky double checks their trajectory on the console, taking note of how long they have until Starship has to undock.

“Hey, don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same,” Benny says defensively.

“I know my dog’s birthday.”

“Not all of us are perfect pet parents, John. Some of us win our dogs gambling.”

Bucky snorts. “A great slogan for a pet food brand.”

Benny moves on. “We’re having good weather in Houston this week. Looks like we saw the last of hurricane season on launch day. Blue skies – well, not now. It’s midnight-”

Curt situates himself back in his seat and tries to rub the tiredness from his eyes. “Benny why do I give a shit what the weather is in Houston? Ain’t gonna be there for another 20 fuckin’ days.”

“Fine,” Benny says. “The weather at the lunar south pole looks… unremarkable. 24/7 sun except in the shadows. Hot as hell in the light and cold as hell in the dark. Landing conditions look as acceptable as can be expected.”

“Wait, is Hell hot or cold?” Curt asks. “You’re sendin’ me mixed messages here.”

“That’s it. No more news.”

Bucky chuckles and pushes up and away from his console, floating across the cabin to the food ration storage. “Thanks for the update, Benny.”

As usual, Benny tells them all to get some food in their systems before they reconvene to go over the day’s mission plan. Bucky pulls some silver rehydratable food packages out of storage and squints at the labels. Pickings are slim, but not all together awful. “Alright crew,” he says, holding one of the packages up. “We’ve got oatmeal, wheat chex, or scrambled eggs. Take your pick and eat up.”

—

Nassau Bay, TX

Gale wakes around 4:30am, not alone as would be expected, but instead with two cold, wet noses nudging at his face, attacking from all sides. He and Benny have once again gotten into a habit of co-parenting Pepper and Meatball so they’re not alone for too long during the chaos of Artemis 3. The dogs get to hang out together 24/7, moving from Gale’s house to Benny’s and back each day depending on who's on shift at Mission Control. With Benny on the early shift, Gale has them from about 8pm until he leaves in the morning. Benny will drop by to pick them up once he gets Gale updated on mission activities and leaves JSC.

Nothing about human spaceflight is normal, not even for those on the ground. They work weird hours, sleep weird hours, and no one ever knows what’s about to happen at any given moment. Gale works the Red shift, from 8am CST until 4pm. This corresponds to 1pm to 9pm GMT, the time zone that the crew and Mission Control operate on. Helen then takes over and works the White shift from 4pm to 12am CST. Benny is on Blue shift from 12am to 8am. Even this is misleading, though. There’s up to an hour of overlap between each shift for one shift to get the next up to speed, resulting in a ten hour work day seven days a week.

Today, that’s all fucked up anyway. Gale has to go in two hours earlier than usual so that no shift change has to occur between Starship undocking and landing, giving the crew a constant Mission Control team through the entire process.

So he yawns as he looks out at the dark, pre-sunrise morning, and he shoves the huskies off the bed so he can get to his feet. After stretching out the sore muscles in his back, he rubs one hand, covered by his sweatshirt sleeve, over his face and pauses to inhale the scent still barely clinging to the fabric. He can imagine John going on and on, wondering how Gale doesn’t get hot at night all bundled up like that. But right now, Gale doesn’t have his space heater of a husband to keep him warm, so he needs to make up for it somehow. He’s been sleeping in the Yankees sweatshirt nearly every night since launch, and he’s dreading the day he can’t pick out John’s scent anymore. For the moment, he smiles softly to himself, assured that it’s still there, and he gets on with his morning.

Opting not to take a jog before it’s even 5am, Gale takes himself through a quick bodyweight workout in the bedroom. Squats, push-ups, sit-ups, planks, all while fending off two massive dogs insistent on shoving into his space. Then he takes what can only be described as a military shower, in and out, before scrambling to find a clean button-down shirt and tie. After starting the coffee maker, he turns the TV onto the news story he’d recorded last night.

“Tomorrow, The Starship Human Landing System will undock from Orion to carry John Egan and Curtis Biddick to the lunar surface.” Marge, as Artemis PAO, is sitting across from an NBC reporter, explaining the details of the Artemis 3 mission plan.

“And how long will it take the lander to reach the lunar surface?” the reporter asks.

“About half a day,” Marge replies. Then she goes on to outline the landing process.

“Our two astronauts will perform a controlled burn that will decelerate the lander enough to fall into the moon’s gravity well. This means that they will depart from the current Orion orbit and instead descend into low lunar orbit. From low lunar orbit, they will perform another burn that will slow them down enough to fall towards the lunar surface, where they will land near Shackleton crater.”

“And the remaining crew members in Orion will stay in their current orbit?”

“Yes, Orion will remain in NRHO, a near-rectilinear halo orbit. This means that their orbit is balanced between the moon’s gravity and the Earth’s gravity. It’s an elliptical orbit, taking about six and a half days to complete, where they fly very close to the moon at one end, and very far from it at the other. This period of time will correspond to the surface mission.” A window pops up on one side of the screen showing a simulation of Orion in NRHO, complete with Starship undocking and heading for LLO.

“So when Orion next completes its orbit, Starship will dock with it again?”

Marge nods. “Yes. They’ll meet up again in about a week.”

“And Shackleton crater. That’s at the moon’s south pole?”

The display window on the screen switches to a map of the Shackleton landing site. “Artemis operations are focused on the lunar south pole, where there’s near constant daylight for mission activities and power generation, as well as craters and valleys that are in constant or near constant shadow. So there’s parts of the surface there that have never been exposed to sunlight. Our astronauts will be performing a lot of experiments on the surface, such as studying lunar geology and searching for water ice.”

Gale pulls out his phone and texts Marge. “Look at you on TV.”

A reply shoots back immediately. “Please bring caffeine.”

Gale rolls his eyes, and then heads back into the kitchen to make up two cups of coffee, one black and one with an unhealthy amount of sugar. When he arrives at JSC, Marge greets him at his car, as is their typical routine. She greedily grabs the coffee cup he proffers and takes a desperate sip.

“You’re welcome,” Gale deadpans.

Marge glares at him. “Thank you.”

“What’s up with you?”

Marge blinks rapidly and pinches the bridge of her nose. Makeup conceals the dark circles that are starting to appear under her eyes, and Gale knows he has them, too. “This mission will be the death of me,” she declares.

Gale doesn’t press, because yes. Yes, this mission will be the death of them all. He wonders if the stress level they feel, the inconsistent sleep and the constant demand to always be at their best, is reminiscent of the Apollo days, when nothing about a single mission was standard. In many ways, Artemis is just as novel, if not more so, to the current NASA team than the later Apollo missions were. Every single person involved has trained hard; every component of this mission has been tested. And yet there’s a vague sense nestled in the back of everyone’s mind that they’re kind of out here winging it.

For what it’s worth, Mission Control is calm this morning. Flight controllers diligently monitor their designated systems, updating or reworking things as needed, an idle chatter popping up in this or that corner of the room. The new shift is filing in, getting themselves up to speed. Gale pats Marge on the shoulder as they enter, and they part ways.

“Morning,” Gale mumbles as he stops beside Benny at the CAPCOM console. “Are they ready?”

—

Low Lunar Orbit

John Egan and Curtis Biddick have landed a lot of jets in their lifetimes. They’ve landed a lot of jets in very precarious circumstances, in all manner of environments. They’ve flown them high and low, fast and slow, day and night, with and without landing gears, and sometimes on fire. They’re good pilots. Some of the best NASA has to offer, many might say.

The Starship Human Landing System is about as opposite of a jet as you can get.

Starship is nothing like the Apollo lunar module that today’s astronauts grew up dreaming about, though in their own ways they may be equally unwieldy. Instead of being small and low to the surface, the Artemis HLS is a tall and narrow vehicle, more akin to what science fiction would describe as a spaceship, with the crew seated near the top. When it was first proposed, there was concern over landing such a tall vehicle, especially with no atmosphere and little gravity to help balance it. But the engineers, the testing, and even the sims claim that it gets the job done.

Commander and pilot spent months in the simulators, learning how to handle this awkward thing of a rocket-turned-space-habitat, and neither of them have enjoyed a single moment of it. “It’s like ridin’ one of those giant unicycles,” Curt said once. He’s never been on one himself, and there’s a damn good reason for that. “It’s too fuckin’ tall.”

“You’re a fuckin’ pilot, Curt,” Benny had admonished him. “Figure it out.”

So here he is, figuring it out. “I’m an Air Force test pilot and this is what I get for it, tryin’ to land in a fuckin’ pringles can.”

“Yeah, sure that’s one way to think about landing on the moon,” Rosie rebukes from Orion, which is still in NRHO now somewhere far away from Curt and Bucky.

Bucky sighs longingly. “I could go for some pringles,”

Curt scoffs. “We got wheat chex.”

Gale: “Curt, think of it this way, only the best pilot could land a pringles can in one-sixth G.”

Curt: “Tryin’ to butter me up, Gale?”

Gale: “Whatever gets you on the ground safely.”

Bucky: “No. No buttering.”

Curt: “5,000 feet.”

Bucky: “Trajectory good.”

Curt: “It better fuckin’ be.”

Curt takes a deep breath, eyes locked on the console in front of him. He hates this. Not being able to clearly see where he’s landing, even if it’s half computer automated, which he also hates. He didn’t become a pilot or an astronaut to be a passenger princess, and he sure as hell isn’t trusting his life to a computerized landing module.

From the windows at the top of their silver tower, Bucky watches the lunar surface grow bigger and bigger beneath them, its curvature disappearing entirely as they approach their landing site at the south pole. He sings quietly to himself. “For here, am I floating in a tin can, far above the moon.”

Gale: “Starship, be advised, you seem to be on VOX.”

VOX meaning Bucky’s coms are currently voice activated, as opposed to Push to Talk, or PTT. Every time he says something loudly enough, his coms pick it up and transmit it to Houston. It’s been a minor (major) issue for the entirety of the mission so far, but if nothing else, amusing to the flight controllers.

Bucky: “Your point?”

Gale: “Our flight controllers here in Houston would like me to tell you you have a lovely singing voice.”

Bucky can hear the sarcasm, and seriously? From his own husband? The man who is supposed to love and support him unconditionally? Bucky can almost always make Gale laugh, no matter how moody he’s being, by singing a little off-key and pulling him into a reluctant dance.

Bucky: “They should be so honored.”

Gale: “Houston would also like me to remind you, once again, that everything you say is being transcribed.” He relays these words, but he sounds defeated and unconvinced. He’s right to be. If Houston hasn’t convinced the crew to stop being little shits by now, it won’t happen for the rest of the mission.

Curt: “Fuck Houston.”

Gale: “Still on VOX.”

Curt: “If I were on PPT I’d still say that over coms.”

Gale: “I know, and I’m starting to think we’ll need someone to go through and redact these transcripts cause of your language. Top brass isn’t pleased.”

Curt: “I live to displease.”

Curt squints at the console in front of him, running the numbers in his head before he points out the discrepancy he’s seeing to Bucky. Bucky glances out the window.

Bucky: “Houston, we seem to be entering a roll.”

Gale: “... Come again? Didn’t quite catch that.”

Bucky switches his coms to PPT to make the transmission clearer. “A roll. We aren’t supposed to be entering a roll, are we?” He waits as Gale discusses with Bubbles, GNC, and Croz, FIDO.

Gale: “That’s a negative. We’re working on sorting out why the control software authorized that. Can you course correct?”

Curt: “I’ll try.” He fires the thrusters and manages to stop the roll. “Fuckin’ computer.”

Bucky stifles a laugh as he reads out their coordinates. 1,500 feet to go, and he can see Shackleton Crater ahead. The part of Bucky that isn’t a highly qualified professional is buzzing with ‘are we there yet’ energy, trying to keep his heart rate from spiking in anticipation.

Curt: “What are the odds of this thing tipping over on us, Gale?”

There’s a mildly concerning pause.

Gale: “We don’t have exact numbers on that. Is ‘low’ a good enough answer?”

Curt: “I’ll take it.”

Bucky: “Coming up on Shackleton. I can see the site.”

Curt: “500 feet.”

Bucky: “Jesus, that’s something, isn’t it?” The vehicle flies right over the massive crater like it’s nothing more than a pothole in the road. A pothole that’s 13 miles across. Below the rim, it’s completely consumed by darkness.

Gale finds himself holding his breath in Mission Control, something he’s been doing a lot this mission. He hasn’t yet sorted out if he’d be doing that no matter what, or if it’s because Bucky is on that lander. He twists the wedding ring around his finger as he listens to Croz calmly relay Starship’s altitude. The thrusters lining the top of the lander fire, controlling its descent at the top of a ridge near Shackleton.

Curt: “Easy, easy babe.”

Starship sets down on the surface, barely any harder than a bird landing on a tree branch. Everyone, in Mission Control, on the lander, and on Orion, can breathe easy again. Bucky leans his head back in his helmet and pumps a fist.

Curt: “Houston, we have touchdown at Shackleton crater.”

—

Houston, TX

Later that night, Gale leans back against the bartop at the Hundred Proof, glass of soda in hand. On the TV behind the bar, there’s another news story playing about the upcoming moonwalk. By the end of Gale’s shift today, Bucky and Curt were settled on the lunar surface, preparing for the week ahead. They would take the night to eat, rest, and do some basic housekeeping. Tomorrow they will take their first steps on the moon.

Gale looks around the Hundred Proof, taking a sip of his drink. Much of Red Shift, as well as some of Benny’s Blue Shift, made the pilgrimage to the bar to decompress tonight. Croz, Bubbles, and Jack are playing pool in the back. Gale’s seen a few of his other team members milling about with drinks in hand, playing darts or watching sports on the other TVs. Even Clark has taken the time to join his team in letting a load off, laughing as Croz fails miserably to make an eight ball shot.

For just a few hours, no one would even know that these men and women have the weight of the world on their shoulders.

“It’s fuckin’ crazy, what we’re doing.” Benny joins Gale at the bar, leaning back against the counter as he sips a beer.

“The two of us are just on the ground,” Gale replies.

“Takes a village.” Benny crosses his arms over his chest, his beer resting against his bicep. He’s dressed in a dark lightweight sweater and jeans. Gale, on the other hand, is still wearing his button down and slacks, his tie loosened and his top button undone the way that always makes Bucky grin and grab onto the tie, dragging him in for a kiss. Bucky’s on the moon, though. And Gale’s just tired.

“It’ll be you next, anyways,” Benny adds, tilting his head to glance at Gale. “You know how jealous I am?”

Gale can’t help the way the corner of his mouth turns up in a little half smile, but he shrugs. “You were just on the station. Too soon to send you back. If you’re lucky, we’ll survive past Artemis 4 and you’ll get yourself on 5.”

Benny takes another swig of beer, and Gale mimics him, sipping his own drink. He rubs his thumb over the condensation gathered around the sides of his glass. “We’ll survive,” Benny asserts.

Gale really hopes so. Seeing Artemis end so soon would break his heart. But you never know what tomorrow will bring, and he wonders if Apollo-era astronauts felt the same way. He thinks they did. “What makes you so sure?”

“Sure is the only thing you can be around here, isn’t it?” Benny shrugs. “And if we’re not sure, we have to act like we are.”

Gale knows he’s right. If they don’t believe in a future here, then no one else will. He glances around the bar, at his coworkers and friends joking and drinking and having a good time. Every single one of them believes wholeheartedly in what they’re doing here, and every single one will fight to keep it going. Come what may.

The Hundred Proof has this transcendent, timeless quality. Classic rock plays through the speakers, and a vintage charm seeps from the walls, lined with NASA memorabilia like a time capsule over half a century old. It’s hardly changed a bit since its early days, with the exception of new televisions and perhaps new drinkware, although no one is really sure about that one. Just about every astronaut who has ever suited up for the United States space program since Apollo has walked on these floors and sat at this bar. Tonight, as it offers its comforts to weary flight controllers ahead of another history-making shift, it feels as if time has stood still. It could just as easily be 1969 or 1972 or 1995. It could just as easily be another era, another mission, and another unknown.

Gale wonders if flight controllers like him and his friends sought out this place in decades past, preparing themselves for the next shift, the next landing, the next moonwalk. If they had the same fears and the same hopes. He wonders if this place looked the exact same as it does right now, harkening back to a past that was too long ago, a hope for the future that NASA has dragged itself back to tooth and nail.

It’s possible that no space mission in this lifetime will ever compare to the way Apollo 11 captured the attention of an entire nation. Of the entire developed world. When Neil Armstrong stepped foot on the moon – “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” – nearly every household and every TV-owning establishment in the United States was tuned in. Everyone dropped what they were doing to stare at the fuzzy black and white video feed and watch a man walk on an extraterrestrial surface for the very first time. Everyone who remembers that day can tell you exactly where they were and what they were doing the moment those first footprints were pressed into the fine lunar soil.

After that, though, moon landings were seen as routine. By the time Apollo 17 came around, the glimmer of futuristic hope and novelty was fading. Anyone who knew anything about it would tell you that there’s not a single thing that’s routine about landing on the moon. But it didn’t matter; for the public that would never be in that Mission Control room or on that space capsule, it lost its grandeur.

The funding stopped.

No one in power wanted to prioritize a lunar program anymore. America had made their point. They’d proved they could do it, proved their superiority in the space race. And dreams of landing on the moon were left to children with stars in their eyes and adventure in their hearts.

Children like John Egan and Curtis Biddick.

John Egan has wanted to be an astronaut for as long as he can remember. A little boy with unruly hair and an even more unruly spirit, climbing trees so he could be as close to the sky as the Earth would allow. He went to sleep with his ceiling covered in glow in the dark stars and built model rockets with his dad on the weekends. Almost every decision he’s ever made has been with this end goal in mind.

He told Gale the first time they ever met that he intended to be an astronaut. He went to school for engineering even though he and mathematics didn’t get along, forcing him to forge through calculus and physics with a blind determination to get himself to where he needed to be. He joined the Air Force ROTC. He became a pilot. He took to the sky and never looked back, always more at home in the clouds than on the ground. Other than Gale Cleven, sitting in a cockpit was the only thing that could settle Bucky’s wayward energy. When the time was right, he applied to NASA, just like he always said he would. It took two tries, but they accepted him. He became an astronaut candidate. He flew on the international space station. He even did it all with Gale at his side. He did everything he’d always dreamed of doing, except one thing:

Step foot on the moon.

But after tomorrow, he’ll have done that, too.

Mission Control will be packed tomorrow morning; almost every flight controller on every shift will be there to watch the Artemis 3 crew leave the first footprints at the lunar south pole. Gale will be there, as a flight controller, as a NASA astronaut, and as a husband. He will watch his husband emerge from the Starship hatch and step down onto that lunar surface. He’ll be sitting in a front row seat to see the culmination of nearly two decades of watching John Egan work his ass off to accomplish his dreams. He’ll be right there, his voice guiding John through every step as his legacy is broadcast live to the entire world.

He couldn’t be more proud. Even if he has no fucking clue what will come out of John’s mouth when his boots hit the ground. He can only hope it’s nothing catastrophically embarrassing.

–

It was only weeks ago that Gale walked into their living room, Pepper trotting at his heels, to find Bucky laying on his back on the floor in front of the couch with his hands covering his eyes. A notebook and pen were haphazardly on the floor beside him.

“What are you doing?” Gale had asked, as Pepper took over her role of protector and started licking Bucky’s face, trying to bring him back to the living.

Bucky had just groaned loudly, pulling his hands away from his face to stare up at Gale forlornly. So Gale bent down and picked up the notebook, which he wasn’t aware Bucky even owned. Flipping through pages of chicken scratch writing, he sat on the couch and tried not to laugh as he read through the brain-dump words. “Are these things to say when you land on the moon?”

Bucky sat up and crossed his legs, which Pepper took as an invitation to lay half in his lap. “Yep.”

There has been absolutely no shortage of people reminding Bucky that he will be the first person to set foot on the moon since 1972. It’s a big deal, and it will be broadcast live to the entire world. He’s been wracking his brain for things to say at such a significant moment in human history, knowing he has massive shoes to fill but not wanting to sound too cheesy, too outdated or philosophical, too… anything. How do you measure up to Neil Armstrong without sounding like you’re trying to be Neil Armstrong? Sometimes Bucky feels like nothing more than a little kid playing astronauts in the yard, pretending to be his childhood hero.

No one ever expected him to get this far, and now the world is watching. Most of them adore him. Others hate him. If we’re lucky the fag will die up there. Planet Earth is a tumultuous place, but Bucky’s grit and determination have never faltered. He just never expected to be anyone else’s hero.

What words are there to bring a world together when every day it feels like it’s crumbling? Does it even matter what he says? Is it enough that he’s there? Do people actually care about what comes out of his mouth? Will his first words be stuck to him for the rest of his life – a legacy or a shackle? Will they print them in the history books, resound them for future generations? Or will they fade into obscurity like the words of every Apollo astronaut that came after Armstrong? Just a few more words said by another guy whose name most people won’t remember a few decades from now.

“‘With a single step, we return to the unknown for all mankind,’” Gale read from the notebook. “That’s… not bad?”

Bucky shrugged. “A little on the nose.”

“‘As we step onto the lunar surface once again, we bring with us all that we know, and all that we love, to move forward into a brighter future.’”

Bucky made a face as Pepper nudged at his hand with her wet nose. He stroked the top of her head gently, thinking that she had him trained and not the other way around. “Feels sappy.”

Gale glanced down at him. “You are sappy.”

“You’re the only one who knows that.”

Gale rolled his eyes and flipped a few more pages. Bucky closed his eyes as he waited for what was coming, knowing he’d been slowly devolving into madness. Gale choked on a laugh. “‘Hello world, I’m on the fucking moon.’ ‘To all the professors who tried to fail me, who’s laughing now.’ ‘I have the high ground.’ – God, you’re a nerd.” Bucky stuck his tongue out at him before he could continue. “‘Welcome to the shit show.’ ‘Hold on, let me take a selfie.’ ‘We’re here and we’re queer, fight me.’” Gale squinted at the page, running his thumb along some concoction of supposed letters. “I can’t read this one.”

Bucky leaned his head back against the couch so Gale could hold the notebook in front of his face, pointing to a barely legible scrawl across the top of the page. “We’re back, bitches.”

Gale nodded thoughtfully. “Alternatively, the bitch is back.”

“And then I’ll lower my visor like sunglasses,” Bucky nodded. “Stare off into the lunar sunrise. Make a moment of it.”

“Probably not the moment NASA wants,” Gale acquiesced, throwing the notebook to the couch cushion beside him. “You could sing Into the Unknown from Frozen.”

“Oh sure.” Bucky chuckled, scratching at Pepper’s ears. “I can see the headlines. ‘NASA Sends Crazy Queer to Space.’”

“We’re all mad here.”

“This ain’t Alice in Wonderland.”

“It’s true though.” Gale reached his hand down, making a grabbing motion until Bucky noticed and twined their fingers together, letting Gale tug him up onto the couch to Pepper’s dismay. Bucky settled against Gale’s side, mindlessly fiddling with Gale’s fingers like he often does. Gale smiled and leaned his head against Bucky’s, pressing his lips into soft, dark hair. “I’m a fan of welcome to the shit show.”

“Something tells me NASA won’t be.”

A few moments passed, and for those few moments, they weren’t anyone special. They were just a married couple curled up together on the couch.

Then Gale said, “Maybe something about why it’s so important? Why we’re going back at all.”

Bucky thought for a moment, staring out the window at the night sky beyond. An entire universe that they’ve barely cracked the surface of, worlds and worlds that they may never get to explore. Both Bucky and Gale have always been endlessly fascinated by the infinite unknown.

“We return to the moon not as a final frontier, but as a stepping stone on humanity’s expedition to explore the wider universe.”

“Mmm.” Gale tilted his head, considering. “That might be too optimistic. Don’t want to be making promises on NASA’s behalf.”

“In case we can’t get our shit together?” Bucky scoffed. Gale nodded, and Bucky had to agree. “Okay, how about, ‘this is the best fucking day of my life.’”

Gale frowned, pulling away to look at Bucky more directly. “I thought marrying me was the best day of your life.”

Bucky’s hair brushed against Gale’s cheek as he turned to look at him, too, letting himself drown in perfect blue eyes as he lifted his hand to cup the side of Gale’s face. “It was,” he breathed out. He kissed Gale then, with a gentle passion that carried with it a silent promise of you are my everything, you are my home. I will come back to you. When Bucky pulled away, he stroked his thumb over Gale’s jaw and let himself marvel at this life he’d made for himself. He’s doing everything he’s ever dreamed of, and he can’t ask for much more. But somewhere along the way, he’d gotten so damn lucky even on top of all of that. This man in front of Bucky, holding him in his arms with such love and warmth, has always been, and always will be, the best thing to ever happen to him. “Gale?” he whispered.

“Yeah?” Gale’s voice came out in a puff of breath against Bucky’s cheek.

“I love you.”

–

So that’s what Gale thinks as he watches the screen at the front of Mission Control, which is showing video feed from the camera Curt is holding as he follows John to the hatch. It’s what he thinks as he watches the hatch open and John – not physically recognizable because of his bulky EVA suit and yet unequivocally John – stops at the top of the steps that are lowering to the surface. I love you. I love you I love you I love you.

He can feel everyone in Mission Control holding their breath again. The whole world is holding their breath, crowded around TV screens and computers and phones, waiting. Waiting to see John Egan and Curtis Biddick step foot on the lunar surface. Waiting to hear what John will say to commemorate this moment.

Gale is pleasantly surprised, and admittedly relieved, to hear the words that Bucky has chosen to speak into the world. As the Artemis commander grips the side of the hatch, he looks out at the lunar surface beyond, at the untread terrain that they have the honor to explore. “It sure took us a long time, but we finally made it back,” he remarks. Then he takes a deep breath and hesitates, and Gale knows that, despite Bucky’s cocksure attitude and impulsive personality, he wants to get this right.

“As we step foot into this beautiful unknown once again,” he says. “We do it not just for ourselves, but for the people of planet earth. We do it for everyone who dares to dream of a brighter future. Everyone who dares to step with us.”

Then he steps delicately onto the surface, and his boot sinks into the fine lunar soil below. One foot, and then the other. One step, and then another.

He’s on the moon.

“How’s it look, John?” Gale asks.

Bucky turns slowly, open-mouthed, thinking that he feels like he’s on another world before his brain catches up and remembers that it is another world. They’re at the top of a massive ridge connecting two even more massive craters. The sun is just above the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the surface where it hits the crater rims. It’s silent. Peaceful. Like he just wants to sit right down on the ground and take it all in for a while.

“John?”

“Hi angel,” Bucky says, too in awe to realize he just called his CAPCOM “angel” on a globally televised broadcast. Neither of them will ever live it down.

But Gale only chuckles. “You okay up there?”

Curt, stepping down off the lander behind Bucky, adjusts the camera so he can record their surroundings. “I think we’re just a little in awe, Buck,” he says, since Bucky seems incapable.

But Bucky manages to find his words again as he steps further away from the lander, Curt recording him from behind as they both test out the gravity on the surface, taking a few bounding strides forward. “It’s incredible,” Bucky breathes, raising his arms out to the sides as if he can somehow absorb this experience into his mind and body.

He motions to Curt, grabbing for the camera so he can get some airtime, too. He records as Curt bounds a few long and ungainly slow-motion steps away, trying to work out the best way to move in this new environment. Bucky follows behind clumsily.

“See that, world?” he says as he pans the camera around, giving visual of their lander stretching up to the dark sky, the beautifully foreboding crater some distance behind it, the rocky terrain on all sides streaked with long shadows, Curt dropping to his knees into the rough and sandy regolith. “You’re looking at the lunar south pole. No one has ever stepped foot on this part of the moon, but you’re seeing it right now. It’s incredible, isn’t it?”

“It sure is, Bucky,” Gale tells him, as their only link to the rest of the planet.

“Buck,” Curt interrupts as he lets a handful of the soil, fine and sharp like grains of glass, sift between his gloved fingers. “Can confirm the moon is not made of cheese.”

“Alright, Curt,” Gale replies, all too serious. “Thank you for that observation, we’ll note it down. Just please don’t taste it.”

“No promises.”

After a few more minutes of bounding around in wonder and narrating what they’re seeing, Curt and Bucky sign off from their live broadcast.

“O2 levels look good,” Gale informs them. “How’s the pressure feel?”

“It’s fine,” Bucky replies. “It’s dropped just a bit. A little easier to move. I expect it’ll keep improving as we get going here.”

A suit that decreases pressure in increments was NASA’s solution to their decompression sickness problem. When the body is too quickly exposed to low pressure environments, gases dissolved in bodily fluids, namely nitrogen, bubble out, causing a whole host of health issues called ‘the bends’ or decompression sickness. Designing a space suit that maintains the same pressure as the crew cabin – which is the same as mean sea level pressure on Earth – would result in a stiff suit that is impossible to move in. Typically, astronauts on the ISS spend many hours before an EVA pre-breathing – breathing pure oxygen to allow the body enough time to naturally purge the nitrogen – making it possible for them to safely wear EVA suits with a much lower pressure. To shorten this amount of time, astronauts may do physical activity while breathing pure O2, making the body rid itself of nitrogen even faster.

NASA wanted to reduce pre-breathing time as much as possible on Artemis. So on top of some time spent pre-breathing during exercise, the suits are equipped with oxygen regulators, which gradually decrease the suit pressure over time as the crew is out on the surface. Their suits are at a higher pressure when they first start the EVA, and as their nitrogen levels drop during the EVA, the suit pressure decreases, making it much easier to move around.

NASA didn’t come to the moon to play. They’re here for the future. To learn and to work and to push humanity to new heights. It’s a testing ground of sorts, to see how extended extraterrestrial missions may be feasible. The mission is designed for maximum productivity, and they have a lot to do here in the next week. Every single element has been designed with that in mind.

“Good to hear,” Gale says. “Now let’s get to work.”

…

Part 10

A3’s planned flight path for those interested:

(Image from NASA)

#Curt: “I live to displease”#clegan #clegan astronaut au #masters of the air #mota #john egan #gale cleven #buck x bucky #bucky egan #buck cleven #clegan fic #curt biddick

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