It was Mark's first real Christmas in four years.
The first year, had everything gone according to plan, he should have spent on the Hermes with his crew on their way back to earth, celebrating a job well done. Obviously, things hadn't gone according to plan and it had been a shitty Christmas all around. The crew had been very subdued in their celebrating; their science schedules had been cleared for the day and NASA had sent a special meal, but they were all painfully aware of the empty chair at the table. Mark's parents had gone to the traditional Watney clan shindig, but despite the brave faces they put on, they fought back tears and wondered if Christmas would ever feel the same. Mark himself, the first man to celebrate Christmas on another planet, tried hard not to notice; Thanksgiving had been unavoidably painful—after all, it was the potatoes that saved his life—and he figured it would be easiest to forget about Christmas. All in all he succeed, staying too busy trying not to blow himself and the HAB up with hydrazine to notice.
The second year, everyone was in higher spirits than before. The crew celebrated their second consecutive Christmas in space, the first ever crew to do so. They were able to talk to their families and they were excited to be going back to get Mark, no matter how long it took. Mark's family was happier too, knowing that, if all went well, they would be seeing their son again in just one more year. They tried not to think about the alternative. Everyone at NASA was mostly just relieved to be back on a regular work schedule that included holidays off with their families after the massive stress and overtime it took to get Iris and the Taiyang Shen ready in time. Mindy still stopped by on Christmas day to personally check the latest satellite images, even though she had the day off and one of the interns could have done it, and Venkat was quick to respond to her email update. Only Mark didn't celebrate. He had long since lost track of the date on Earth, caring only for the number of sols that slowly ticked closer to him leaving the damn hunk of rock forever. With Pathfinder fried, no one was able to contact him to remind him and he spent the day re-running tests and figures and trying to Tetris all his supplies into the rovers.
The third year, Christmas happened to fall just a few days after they had finally returned home and everyone was ecstatic. The entire world was still in celebrating the safe return of Mark Watney and the rest of Ares III. The crew itself was still stuck at NASA's hospital for the standard barrage of testing. They still had nearly two weeks, and even longer for Mark, of being poked and prodded and examined before they were supposed to be released, but NASA had flown all their families in and allowed them to visit for an hour before they were herded out once more. Mark had been overjoyed to see his parents but he had been somewhat relieved when the emotion-filled hour had come to an end; the excitement combined with the myriad of aches and pains caused by atmospheric reentry and readjustment to Earth's gravity had left him exhausted and he wanted nothing more than a nap and a quiet dinner with his crew.
But this year, this year would be a real Christmas.
"Merry Christmas, buddy!" Martinez shouted as Mark opened his front door.
"Hey, man!" Mark pulled him into a hug and his German shepherd barked a greeting from somewhere behind them. "It's good to see you."
"You ready to go? You know how Lewis'll be if we're late."
"Yeah, let's go." Mark snagged a casserole dish off a chair by the door, herded his dog out the door, and headed out into the Florida sunshine. He missed Chicago and snowy winters, but it made more sense to stay close to NASA until all the post-mission press conferences and medical evaluations and whatnot had wrapped up. They were even starting to approach him about teaching now.
"You sure your parents don't want to come?" Martinez asked as they walked down the driveway.
"No, they're fine," Mark assured him. "They've been here all week and we had a nice Christmas Eve last night, and they know how important this is for us. Besides," he winked, "they know I'm too old for them to chaperone my parties." Martinez laughed.
Martinez's SUV chirped as he unlock the doors and he slid into the driver's seat as Mark pulled open the back door. "Up, girl," Mark ordered and his dog leapt onto the back seat.
"I swear, Watney," Martinez threatened as Mark slid into the passenger seat, "if your dog messes up my car…"
"Relax, Martinez. She's better behaved than you are."
"I still can't believe you named her Rover. That's like the most cliché dog name ever."
"Fuck you," Mark retorted cheerfully. "It's a joke. She's not black so Sirius wouldn't work and she's not nearly ferocious enough to be a Cerberus. Now stop talking shit about my dog and drive or I'll throw you under the bus when Lewis complains that we're late."
"Jeez, when'd you get so bossy?"
"Well, I am Pirate King of Mars, after all," Mark said loftily. "It's my job to order around you peasants. And I said drive, not kill us at high speeds. Who thought it was a good idea to let a crazy driver like you be a pilot?"
"We really should have left you on Mars," Martinez sighed dramatically. "And you're one to talk; you drive slower than my grandma."
"Hey, you spend three months driving 3200 km across an empty desert at a snail's pace and see if it doesn't turn you into a cautious driver."
"Fine, fine," Martinez said exasperatedly. "There's no winning with you is there?"
"Nope," Mark grinned, popping the p.
Mark and Martinez finally arrived at Lewis' house, fortunately only a minute or two late.
"About time you two showed up." Lewis greeted them at the door with a hug, then knelt down to scratch Rover behind the ears.
"A king is never late. He arrives precisely when he means to," Mark said, mock offended."
"Lord of the Rings, Watney? Really?" Beck called from the couch where Johanssen was curled up next to him. "Nerd."
"Not as big a nerd as your girlfriend," Mark snarked back, then quickly ducked the pillow Johanssen threw at his head. "Besides, you're enough of a nerd you got the reference." Martinez laughed.
Vogel was missing, but he was home with his family in Germany. Martinez was the only one visiting from out of state, leaving his wife Marissa and son David with her family in New York for the holidays. Beck and Johanssen had decided to stick close to NASA too and had an apartment nearby, which meant Mark got to visit them a lot.
"This looks really good, Watney," Lewis said, pulling the casserole dish out of his hands as he toed off his shoes. "You didn't have to bring anything, though."
"It's not a big deal," Mark shrugged. "I get way more out of my garden than I can eat by myself anyway. And green beans are my favorite." They heard an indistinct shout from Lewis' husband Robert in the other room.
"Food's ready," Lewis announced. "Everybody go in and sit down." The five of them trailed into the dining room, Mark pausing along the way to hug Beck and Johanssen. Mark found and empty chair and was momentarily distracted by the huge ham Robert was carrying in. And then he gaped the multitude of side dishes spread across the table.
All potatoes. Baked potatoes and twice-baked potatoes. Mashed potatoes and potato salad. Scalloped potatoes and au gratin potatoes. Fries and tater tots. Shepherd's pie and poutine. Onion roasted potatoes and homemade chips. Nothing but potatoes.
"Oh, hell no," Mark said when he found his voice again. "Fuck potatoes. I hate all of you so much right now." Everybody laughed and after a few moments Mark found himself smiling despite himself.
"Seriously, though," he said, still smiling, "you all can eat your fucking potatoes and I'll be just fine with my green beans." He stood and leaned across the table to grab the entire dish and thunked it on the table in front of him.
"Relax, Watney, it's not all potatoes," Beck assured him, too kind to let him suffer. More dishes were produced with rolls and cranberry sauce, salad and asparagus, olives and carrots.
"Oh, thank God," Mark sighed in relief. Martinez led them all in grace and without further ado, they dug into the meal. Even Rover was given a plate of the ham.
Three helpings of food later, they were all getting comfortably full and Mark had yet to touch a potato.
"Watney, are you sure you don't want any potatoes?" Lewis asked, straight-faced. Mark just ignored her, not even dignifying the question with an answer.
"Come one, Watney," Johanssen pleaded, "you have to at least try one of the potatoes."
"Uh, no. I most emphatically do not. Never again."
"Of course we won't force you," Beck added, "but most of them you can hardly taste the potato. It's all cheese or gravy or seasoning."
"But it's still potato!"
"Are you really going to let the potatoes win?" Martinez teased.
"Oh, screw all of you," Mark said finally, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. "I'll eat a fucking potato if you'll all just leave me alone." He glanced around the table and finally grabbed the mostly empty dish of shepherd's pie. He took the tiniest scoop, being careful to get more meat and vegetables than dreaded potato and thoroughly mixing it all together. The others watched him carefully as he brought a tiny forkful to his mouth.
It wasn't that bad. Actually it was pretty good. Not that he was going to tell them that.
"Oh, I suppose I'll survive," he sighed after a long pause.
"Yeah, he likes it," Martinez gloated.
"Shut up."
Immediately the crew started heaping tidbits of all the dishes on to his plate for him to try. He point blank refused the baked, roasted, and mashed potatoes and the potato salad, but the poutine and chips also received his grudging stamp of approval and he was able to choke down some au gratin potatoes and fries.
"Okay, enough with Watney torture time," Mark announced finally. "Tell me there's pie or some kind of dessert."
Two slices of pie apiece later, they were all back in the living room. Martinez had claimed the recliner and Lewis and Robert were seated comfortably in the loveseat. Mark was propped, half asleep, in one corner of the couch as Beck leaned against him and Johanssen leaned against Beck. Rover sat at Mark's feet with her head resting against his knee. The only light came from the soft white bulbs on the Christmas tree and the flickering light of the TV. It had taken them a long time to decide on a movie, but eventually Johanssen had managed to sell them on Love Actually, one of her favorites when she was little, claiming it had enough storylines that they all had to like something.
It had been a rough four years, what with training, the journey to Mars, the entire shitshow that was Mars itself, the journey home, and the resulting months of press conferences, physical therapy, and mental therapy. But in this moment, safe and happy with his friends, Mark knew he would do it all again if it meant he got to come home to this.
A/N: Hey! This is my first attempt at fic writing so I hope you enjoy it. Obviously The Martian and all of the characters are not mine and belong to the brilliant Andy Weir. I tried to keep it as accurate to the book as possible but please excuse any errors that I missed. I based the timeline off the book and Laura Burke's infographic found in this article: content/inside-spaceflight-martian/3251 Happy Holidays, everyone!