I have spent the past two years denying that I have the exact same tastes in music that Commander Lewis does.

Oh well.

This story is very loosely Thanksgiving-themed. For my readers in other countries or just those who don't generally celebrate Thanksgiving, take a second to think about something that you're grateful for and enjoy anyways! (:

I listened to "The Unknown" by Athlete while writing this. It's a great song, and I found that it fit the tone quite nicely even if it isn't associated with The Martian soundtrack, or Thanksgiving for that matter, lol.

XOXO, Helix.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Martian or Party City.

"Grab a hold of him!"

"Hey, handsome!" Mark cried earnestly, patting his hand weakly and floating in.

"Beck, close the hatch," Lewis ordered gently.

He did so, smiling so big he felt like his face was going to split right in half.

Mark was home. They'd actually done it.

Johanssen appeared in the little airlock window, smiling brilliantly-Beck's heart leaped-and waved a dainty hand. Martinez and Vogel bobbed behind her. They were grinning from ear to ear.

Mark spotted them immediately. "Hey, guys!"

Lewis laughed wetly while Beck helped her detach from the jet-pack. He could hardly undo the latches properly because Mark was back.

As soon as the airlock re-pressurized, B2's hatch lowered, letting the rest of the crew in. They all latched onto Mark instantly, sobbing and laughing.

"Hey, hey! Oh, man, I've missed you guys so much!"

Martinez grabbed Lewis' helmet while Vogel removed Mark's, and they groaned lightheartedly.

"There's a little bit of a smell going on in there, bud!" Martinez crowed.

"I know," Mark moaned self-deprecatingly, and taking it in with, what seemed to Beck, anyway, an amazing stride. "I haven't had a shower in a year!"

They all laughed with him, like yes, they can relate. And Beck sat back and drank it in. It was like his senses were being overwhelmed with an unreal happiness.

You know, he mused, and did a mental tally, if you think about it, we kind of represent the five senses. Except Mark, since there's six of us...maybe he's a combination.

While he reveled in the joy, his mind drifted for a moment, wondering.

(You might think that Martinez personifies smell, because he can always be counted upon to sniff out any possibility for a bad joke. And coffee-an Earthly commodity that was quickly turning into a luxury on the Hermes. Thanks, Watney.)

Martinez is sight, because while he did remain faithful that they'd bring Watney home alive, he wouldn't be able to believe that he was crammed into this airlock with them if Martinez wasn't looking at him with his own two eyes.

(You could be right in thinking that Johanssen is sight, because she is a Super Nerd Queen and it would help her pick out little mistakes in her coding...but wait. Her coding is never wrong. Besides, she's actually as blind as a bat-she just wears contacts.)

Johanssen is touch. Her fingers tearing across her keyboard at practically lightspeed is an addictive feeling, of course, but she is touch simply because the one thing she cannot live without is hugging. She really can't wait to hug Watney-but she thinks that she'll still prefer Beck's hug anyway.

(You could assume that Vogel is touch, but he is definitely, definitely not. He knows this because this whole ordeal has made him even more desensitized to feeling fear than he was before the mission. He can get nervous sometimes-like when your Commander tells you to build a bomb in your only ride home-but he can't feel fear. Especially not fear. He is German, after all.)

Vogel is hearing. He knew that he was not the most talkative of the crew, but he had finely-honed listening skills after helping raise five relatively-little children. He would listen attentively whenever one of the crew needed to get something off their chest without being interrupted. Before he knew that Watney was still alive, he would have given near anything to hear him joke again about how he just knew that Johanssen and Beck were bound to get together on this mission, protocols be damned, or else. Sometimes, though, he wished that he couldn't hear them taking Mark's advice and renewing their membership to the Million-Mile-High-Club. That would be nice.

(You might think that Lewis was hearing, because she seems to hear everything that she really kind of shouldn't-like Johanssen and Beck-but she is not. Why? Well...her choices in music are enough proof, isn't it?)

Lewis is taste. She has spent a good chunk of her life eating things that weren't exactly gourmet. The military had prepared her for space food, to an extent, but she didn't quite expect the sheer amount of the vacuum-sealed foodstuffs she'd have to consume in her lifetime. For Watney to be alive (again) and back on her ship, though, she would have done it a million times over. Even if it meant the freeze-dried orange chicken and powdered milk for seven more months.

(You could speculate that Beck was taste, considering how much he liked kissing Johanssen, and flavor of the cinnamon gum he had fought NASA fiercely to be able to bring up to the Hermes. He was pleasantly surprised when they had remembered to send more up-since they had been adamant on not sending it in the first place-on the Taiyang-Shen supply rendezvous. He had also noticed that they had forgone potatoes for carrots for their upcoming Thanksgiving.)

Beck...he's smell. He was addicted to the burnt metal smell of pure space that lingered in the airlocks during supply dockings, and on Earth it was the hot tarmac during his F-35's preflight checks, blueberry pancakes with whipped cream and black coffee, and Beth's hair had recently been added to the list. He was even kind of surprised to admit that he was almost looking forward to smelling Watney again. He wasn't trying to be weird-not at all-but if it meant that Watney was here and rescued, well...

Thanksgiving is certainly gonna mean a hell of a lot more this year, he thought.

He beamed and cried and laughed like the rest of them-according to Martinez, Watney did stink-but he kept his helmet on, enjoying the sweet recycled air in his EVA suit for now, and musing that Mark wasn't a combination of the five senses at all, but the exception.

Their sixth sense.

And how could he not be? His intuition and wits had kept him alive on Mars for longer than they could have ever dreamed, and now Mark Watney was home, with them-his little family.

Beck was prepared for the stink, knowing he'd be the one to have to help bathe him soon enough, but he found that he didn't even mind at all. In fact...he was grateful.

So he smiled, and gave thanks to God right there in that airlock, and it was Beck's best Thanksgiving ever.

Even if it was still only May.

If you feel inspired to do so, please review! (: