A/N- This is my first story in this fandom. I have idea's for a few other chapters. The premise is from the time Mark lands back on earth to the end of the movie. He was far too well adjusted at the end of the movie. I hope you enjoy and review. This story rated because of language. Mark had one...

Mark Watney landed on Earth three days before Christmas 2037, nearly three years since he'd left the Blue planet and went to Mars.

Along with the five other members of his crew, he'd been taken to the hospital and hours later, under security, reunited with his parents. His mother let him cry just the way he had when he was a child and an experiment failed or something blew up. It was, without question, the best present the woman had ever received. In the subsequent days and months, he'd been evaluated, re-evaluated and finally, a team of very smart eggheads agreed that there were no traces of Mars cooties, he was released.

Six weeks later, all the king's horses and all the king's men were still trying to put Mark back together again.

They agreed he'd never be the same and could still be at risk for several side effects from starvation. Nightmares plagued him. He had an official diagnosis of PTSD. He couldn't live in Chicago because it was the windy city and wind was a trigger, but so were potatoes. So, his parents moved to Houston to be near him when they figured out that wind was a trigger.

After leaving the hospital, he'd agreed to one primetime TV interview where he thanked everyone for their tireless effort to bring him home and answered the reporter's stupid questions.

Then, he'd gone on vacation. He figured he deserved it after his little trip to Mars. It had even been signed off by his psychologist, justifying it as necessary. So he and his parents went someplace that was least like the red planet, Bora Bora.

While he was still on Mars, he looked forward to his daily data dump. It made him feel connected to something, kept him rooted in reality. But there was one email that he'd gotten early on that he thought about and gave him hope in his darkest moments.

It read:

Dear Shithead,

Seriously, you of all people…Mars doesn't stand a chance.

I'm not going to send you empty platitudes, mostly because you've already reached for the fucking stars. Instead, I'll just tell you to keep doing what you're doing.

You are uniquely qualified to handle this. You're a damned astronaut…your dream job… you'd never shut up about that crap. NASA didn't pick the nerdy botanist SOB because he looked good on their poster. So give Mars some Watney (that's what she said).

You'll be happy to know I started a few hashtags in your honor #donttellwatneyaboutmarstellmarsaboutwatney. I mean it's a little long, but it's the sentiment I'm going for. I've also got #Watneystrong. I knew you'd appreciate that. #botanypower is another hashtag going around the interwebs. #ifwatneycandoitsocanyou is my favorite. If only your fan base knew what a dweeb you were.

When you get home, you can buy me a beer and we can commiserate over the suck fest that is my marriage and other crap. Spoiler alert: she got the house, so you'd better call me when you get home. Coincidentally, I wish she'd been left on Mars.

A real medical Doctor,

DR. Jimmy

When Mark was was a freshman at the University of Chicago, he met Jimmy Morrin. He came to the University as an army medic and just back from Afghanistan. He was pre-med. Future botanists take a lot of biology classes so they took a lot of same classes. Jimmy wanted letters behind his name and he made sure to tell Mark that medical doctors get letters before and after their every chance he got..

Jimmy was his fun friend, or at least the University of Chicago version of fun. All the stories he didn't want to tell his parents had Jimmy in them. Mark was the best man at his wedding, and after his parents, he was the first person Mark called after he found out he had been chosen to go to Mars with the Ares III mission.

So now he stood at his apartment door, ready to take him out to that beer that he'd looked forward to from Millions of miles away.

"So," Jimmy said sitting down at the bar, "You look…" he eyed him up and down, "like…"

"…I didn't starve," Mark supplied, a grin played on lips.

"Well, that," Jimmy said with a chuckle.

"Your hashtags were great."

"I thought you'd appreciate them."

"What's going on with you and Jean?" Mark changed the subject.

"She cheated," he answered.

"Seriously?"

"Yep, I found out just after you left. Then…" Jimmy paused.

"What?" Mark asked, see the change in his friend.

"Then…" he spoke again. "My pop died…." He took a deep breath. "Then she served me papers and then… it came back…"

"Jesus Christ! What came back…?" Mark stopped, "Cancer?"

"Fucking Cancer," they said in unison.

"My yearly scans picked up cancer on my liver, stage 4. It's aggressive"

"Well, fuck. I thought I had it bad… but you're in remission again? You look good…"

"I'm not in remission, Mark," Jimmy answered flatly. "I've got six months to a year. I've stopped my practice, given over my research projects to Dr. Lynn, I've even stopped teaching."

"But you have a year," Mark argued, his mouth agape with shock. "Isn't there a treatment you can try? You're just giving up?"

"I'm not giving up. I'm just going to live out my days under my terms."

"You've spent your entire career trying to cure cancer…"

"Only to get cancer…. But I knew I had the gene twenty years ago," he paused. "The irony isn't lost on me."

A silence fell over the two men.

"You know," Mark said. "I missed the taste of beer. I had a few days where I would have loved to come inside after a long day of work and have a nice beer."

"Speaking of things on Mars…"

"Fuck Mars," Mark scoffed.

"That's funny coming from you, ."

"Ha! Funny, I haven't heard that one. I had to grow food if I wanted to come home. Now NASA wants to know all about it. Plus, there's the research I did while on Mars that I still have to write-up."

"What's the problem? You grew potatoes on Mars, that's pretty fucking amazing."

"I was there, and it was cool," he paused. "But not yet, I'm not ready to talk to more than just my therapist."

"Why the hell not? Did you not record your findings?"

"No, I recorded everything. NASA has my logs. I made it simple for anyone to figure out in case something happened."

"Then what? What is stopping you from declaring your scientific supremacy over all humans."

"I…I…I just," he paused. "I still have some stuff to work out…" Mark was interrupted by a beeping monitor, he looked at it and quickly ordered a glass of water from the bar waitress.

"What's wrong?" Jimmy asked.

"I have to wear this monitor," he said shutting it off and showing it to him.

"Are they worried about diabetes," he asked when seeing the glucose setting.

"Among other things. I gained back some of the weight on the way back, but they still want me to gain more."

"So you can eat anything you want?"

"Yep."

"That's a good problem to have," a silence fell over them again, both men in thought.

"Did you ever lose a science fair?" Jimmy broke the silence.

"Once, in seventh grade. A girl did a DNA project on unsuspecting men to see if they were her father."

"Well, huh," Jimmy nearly choked on his beer. "Nothing like some human drama. Who's your daddy? "You know," Jimmy started after a long silence, " This could just be the words of a dying man. But in my estimation, you're probably dealing with things that no other human on the planet has dealt with. There'll be studies written by you and about you for years."

"No shit," Mark nearly choked on his beer. "What's your point, Morrin?"

"Science isn't going to help me. I've reached the end of what modern science is able to do. I have enough time left on this earth to enjoy my last days. But you, you made it back, when you should have died. You've experienced something no other human has, and as a scientist, you have an obligation to help your fellow man."

Mark played with his beer label. "It's not that easy."

"I don't doubt that, but for now, you just need to begin."