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One Giant Leap

Chapter 43

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Log Entry: Mission Day 898

Jesus Christ, I forgot about this old thing.

I haven’t looked at this in ages. And the only reason I’m looking at it now is because I’m combing through all the files on my laptop to make sure everything important is transferred over by the time we

By the time we go home. We’re heading home.

We can see Earth through the windows. The Hermes is going to stay up here, of course, and we’re going to hop over into NASA’s probe that’s going to take us home. Unlike the ISS, the Hermes actually goes out on missions- to places like, say, Mars. So it’s more fuel efficient to send up a pod like a resupply probe for whenever the crew needs it, instead of just lugging one along with us the entire trip.

Everything is all cleaned up and cleared away- we’re not taking anything back with us besides ourselves- and we’re all stuck in the clothes we’ll be wearing on the descent. We’re down to the food packs, no one’s had waffles in about a month and a half. (That might also be because of the waffle incident, but we don’t really need to get into that. Also for the record, that wasn’t my fault.)

I want to say I can’t believe I’m going home today, but

No, yeah, I can’t believe I’m going home today. It’s been two and a half years since leaving Earth. And we’re going back. I’m going home.

It’s going to take a while, and these are our last few hours technically aboard the Hermes. We got the pod connected yesterday, and we ran all the checks. So today we’re going to get inside, and then just count down until it’s time to head back. I’m a botanist, so I don’t know all the logistics, but I trust Martinez not to kill us all by crashing that thing into the dirt.

I don’t know what else to put here.

Everyone here is fine? We’re right by Earth, so we can video message our families again. Martinez’s kids are adorable, and so are Vogel’s. And I got to see my parents again. I absolutely didn’t cry like a little girl.

(I cried like a 44 year old man seeing his parents again for the first time in two years. Sue me.)

(Don’t actually sue me. Sue NASA.)

(Don’t actually sue NASA. Or, if you do, don’t tell them I told you to. I kind of owe them for saving my life.)

God, I’m terrible at this. I haven’t written a log entry in ages. And I’m certainly not going to keep making these back on Earth. I only made them here because Chris told me it would be good for my head.

Speaking of which, Chris and I were talking. And I’m starting a garden when I get back home.

Yeah, yeah, NASA’s gonna want me to stick around for a while- first to do all sorts of fun prodding tests, then to do a psych eval, then to figure out just how many types of space cancer I have. And even after that, they’re probably going to try to hire me there as a teacher, or something. Or offer me a position somewhere, doing something boring. After all, I made a great showcase of my fantastic math skills, with the whole staying alive thing.

But I don’t care. They could offer me the position of head of NASA and I’d still say no. Well. Maybe head of NASA. But if they offer me a teaching position, I’m going to say no. And if they want me to go back into space, I’m going to say hell no.

I’ll keep in touch, obviously. And I’ll have to make a few speeches, and I’ll probably end up having to write a book about everything, and I’m going to have to order groceries to my house for like a month, but after all that, I’m just staying home.

And Chris and I have been talking. I always wanted to have a garden, a proper one. With fences and poles and everything. I’ll make shitty glitter glue labels for all of my vegetables. But I’m going to do it, and it’s going to be amazing, and Chris and I have been talking.

Because, see, we’ve pretty much been living together for the last seven months- living together and living with four other people, too. So living with just the two of us would be even easier, right? And I think it could work. We’d have more space to share, I’d have a garden in the back, and we’d have a whole living room and a kitchen and a real bedroom and we wouldn’t have to worry about rationing supplies and it sounds amazing.

God, I don’t even know we’re going to adjust back to being civilians on Earth. Or how I’m going to adjust. I mean, buying groceries and figuring out how to eat, after having two years on ration packs and potatoes? Do you know how many brands of peanut butter there are? How am I supposed to choose? Jesus, I haven’t even gotten back yet and I’m already worrying.

But maybe if we’re together, it’ll be easier. Wow, that sounds cheesy. But really, I think it’ll help. If I want to stay in all day and not go out and talk to anyone, that’s fine. But I won’t feel like a lonely useless piece of shit while doing it. And we’ll have twice the grocery buying power. And if my head’s fucked up enough that I’m already worrying about buying groceries, then maybe his will be not-fucked-up enough to pick up my slack.

I don’t know if it will work. It might. It might not. I think it will. I hope it will. I hope he hopes it will.

But I was talking about getting a garden, and he said in his stupid doctor voice that it would be “good for my health” or whatever, and

[EDIT: But I was talking about getting a garden, and he said in his wonderful and knowledgeable doctor voice that it would be an excellent idea, and]

For the record, that last one was Chris and he’s 100% reading over my shoulder right now.

[EDIT: For the record, that last one was me and he’s somewhere else doing very important doctor things right now.]

[EDIT: For the record, Chris isn’t funny and this is a very serious log.]

[EDIT: For the record, we’re late.]

[EDIT: Shit.]


 

“Only you two,” Lewis said, “would be late for your own homecoming launch.”

“Well, technically we won’t actually be launching for another few hours,” Beck pointed out.

Lewis rolled her eyes as they shuffled into the pod, heading to their respective chairs. As they strapped in, Johanssen and Martinez started to giggle. Clockwise facing one another, they sat: Lewis, Vogel, Beck, Watney, Johanssen, and Martinez. Martinez was checking the control panel, checking one last time that everything was in order. Beside him, Lewis tore her eyes off the panel and turned to Beck and Watney, eyes narrowing.

“What were you even doing?” she asked shrewdly.

“Each other,” Watney said, not missing a beat. Beck, who had just strapped himself in, pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Beck and Watney, sitting in a tree,” Martinez crowed. “F, U, C, K, I, N-”

“Thank God we’re going back today,” Johanssen groaned. “I don’t think I could have stood another day surrounded by you idiots.”

“Aw, but that was cute,” Watney said, grinning over at Martinez, who winked back at him.

“That’s one word for it,” Beck muttered.

“Hey, he was right,” Watney pointed out.

“True.” Beck nodded. Watney snorted, and Beck laughed in turn. He reached over and took Watney’s hand, entwining their fingers.

“Oh, gross,” Johanssen muttered, trying to look away.

“Houston to Hermes, we are clear to detach. All systems operational?”

“Martinez to Houston,” Martinez said, “that’s a go for Hermes. Flight systems operational. All members secure, we are go to detach.”

“Roger, Hermes, loud and clear. Prepare for detach, two hours.”

“Roger, Houston,” Martinez said.

The hours passed in tense conversation.

“I think you should have known before you strapped in,” Watney said, as they reached the end. “there’s something on your ass.”

“What?” Beck scrambled around with his belts, trying to unfasten himself from the seat. “What? What is it?”

Watney’s eyes gleamed. “My eyes.”

Five people groaned.

“Commander,” Vogel said, “may I exchange my seat with Martinez?”

“Oh, fuck no,” Martinez laughed. “I’m not sitting next to that.”

“Affirmative,” Lewis repeated, “fuck no.”

“Houston to Hermes, all systems prepped for launch. Confirm?”

“Confirm!” Martinez returned. “We are go for launch!”

“Copy, Hermes,” Houston said, and six heartbeats thrummed in excitement. “Thirty seconds to detach.”

“Copy, thirty seconds,” Martinez said.

Mark blinked, and the control panel blurred into one hazy grey shape. He blinked again, and it swam into focus.

“Getting teary eyed on us?” Chris teased, squeezing Mark’s hand. Mark rubbed his thumb over Chris’s palm.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

“Ten seconds,” Houston called.

“You ready?” Chris murmured, looking over at Mark.

“Five.”

 “Yeah,” Mark said. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Four.”

“Because we’ve still got time if you change your mind.”

“Three.”

Mark snorted. “Are you sure?”

“Two.”

“Mmhmm.”

“One.”

And as the transporter pod lifted off and began to drift, as the vision of Earth through the tiny window became bigger and bigger, as the Hermes grew smaller and smaller, their eyes met. Mark squeezed Chris’s hand, blinking back tears.

“Let’s go home.”

Notes:

Fin.

 

 

((*falls over* ohhghod
thank you again to everyone who's commented, kudos'd, bookmarked, or ever given this dumb gay space fic a view or two
without you this never would have happened <3 I love you all <3 <3 <3 ))

((mark gets home and starts a garden and creates an instagram account and it instantly gets more popular than NASA's official instagram (because half of the pictures also include chris but shhhhh)
they name all of their plants. every single one. chris helps.
it takes chris time to adjust to the fact that they have to eat some of the plants even after they've named them and mark isn't that a little weird nahhhh its fine
they get a cat and mark names her Sojourner (Soji for short)
they never stop making plant, space, and mars related puns (*mark makes a space pun* wow mark that was a great Opportunity you had there)
they all keep in touch and get together, but after a very memorable afternoon, the rest of the Ares crew learned to call them ahead of time instead of just barging in because WOW, Martinez did not need to see that
mark is fuckging happy
the end))