Present

Beck kept pedalling as Johanssen finished running and got off the treadmill. She gave him a small wave before beginning her climb out of the gym. He was working on 15 miles on the bike and figured he might as well make it 20.

He liked Johanssen, sure. She was cute in a tiny way, like a chipmunk. Beck smiled to himself, knowing how she'd react to being described as such. She was a force to be reckoned with when it came to computers and in her field there was no one better. He'd read up on her resume; her body of work was impressive.

From what he knew of her personally, she was fierce and determined. Taking on a marathon? In space? Wow. Beth was decidedly independent but he knew she had her weaknesses too.

Houston - Johnson Space Center

Crew Selection Celebration. NASA probably had some fancy official title for the event on the invitations, but everyone knew that was the heart of it. The psychologists had wrapped up their evaluations, the trainers and directors had compared notes, the forms had all been stamped, and these six people were going to Mars.

Beck smiled ruefully looking around the room at his newly minted, super-official, media presented crewmates. He was sure they'd been as anxious as he getting the unbearably vague series of calls: approved candidate, potential Aries III crewmember, short list, and finally the life-changing call that simply said, "You're in."

Now, secrecy finally over at this media reveal event, they could finally party.

Watney came over to him, also dressed smartly in black tie. With his boyish face and mischievous eyes, he looked more like a high school senior at prom who had spiked the punch than a serious astronaut. "Have you seen the training schedule for the rest of the month?" he asked, tapping his flute of champagne against Beck's in greeting. "I'm going to need some serious coffee to get through the endless lectures and lab time. It's going to be enough to make me wish myself back to PT days. The vomit comet at least kept me awake."

Beck nodded, sipping his drink. "The specifics on the science experiments shouldn't be too bad. It's not like you've never watched plants grow, which must be like watching paint dry."

"I guess, but still... Whoa!" Watney stopped short. "Did she not get the memo?"

Beck followed his gaze across the room. Johanssen was waltzing with her father on the small dance floor. She was looking quite lovely, Beck noticed, in a long-sleeved, rather tight fitting dark green evening dress that set of her red-brown hair perfectly. "What's wrong with...?" he started, but Watney was already gone, stalking across the room towards her, picking up another champagne flute as he went. Beck sighed and followed him.

Beck had to hand it to Watney's timing; he arrived at the edge of the dance floor just as the music stopped and Mr. Johanssen escorted his daughter off the floor. Beck stood slightly behind and watched. Mr. Johanssen noticed Watney mock-scowling at his daughter and looked down at her, eyebrows raised. She looked at Watney then smiled back at her father and shook her head slightly, ruefully. His smile returned and he nodded, leaning down to kiss her forehead before turning away and walking back to his wife.

"Problem, Watney?" Johanssen asked.

He nodded, glaring at her. "Did you not get the memo about the after party?" She stared at Watney, uncomprehending, and looked back at Beck who shrugged. He had no idea what the man was talking about either. Watney continued, "How do you expect to get a tattoo if it would take a pair of Beck's trauma shears to get at your skin?"

Beck frowned at him. "What the hell are you talking about? And stay away from my shears!"

"We all agreed," he said with an exasperated grin. "We're all getting our Mars number as a tattoo for crew unity. Tonight is the best chance we've got, before they slowly kill us with boredom."

Johanssen's face went white for an instant then recovered just as quickly. "Who, exactly, decided this?"

"Well, Martinez suggested it and Vogel wasn't opposed..." he started.

"And I approved it," said Commander Lewis, smiling as she walked up to them. She put a hand on Johanssen's shoulder. "As your future commander, I order you to at least come with us, Johanssen. It'll be fun to see some of these characters faint when they see the needle coming at them." She grinned at Johanssen and the younger woman smiled faintly back. "Come on, Martinez has the car ready."

"Wait, what? We're going now?" Johanssen gulped.

"We sure are!" Watney smiled and grabbed her hand. "Lead on, fearless leader," he said to Lewis, "we've got her." He motioned to Beck and he put his hand gently on the small of Johanssen's back to push her gently forward.

"We're all going to fit in there?" he asked, looking at the 5-seat SUV Martinez had idling a millimeter away from the curb.

"Yep!" Martinez said cheerfully. "Pack 'em in. Just climb on top of the guys in the back, Johanssen, it's not far."

When she looked up at Beck, he shrugged again and said, "Make it work, I guess." So Johanssen threw her high heeled shoes in the trunk and climbed in after him, settling onto his lap as Vogel rather solemnly accepted her knees and feet stretched out over his.

As Martinez put his foot down and sped away, Johanssen quickly put her arm around Beck's shoulder and he automatically put an arm around her waist to keep her from sliding. Watney smirked at Beck from the other end of the bench seat and Beck glared back at him as Martinez shot around a corner at warp 8 and his arm saved Johanssen from slamming into the car door. She let out a small 'oof' and threw him a wry, apologetic smile as he started to lose feeling in his arm.

"Here we are!" Martinez sang out, stepping hard on the brake to powerslide the car into a parking spot.

Vogel said calmly, "While I appreciate the desire to keep this outing brief, I would have been content to get here less quickly."

"Says the man about to be stuck in a motel room in space for the next year," quipped Watney.

Beck carefully opened the door behind Johanssen's back and helped her to spin around in her long dress to exit the car as gracefully as possible. She ducked her head back into the car past him to look at her shoes in the trunk; Beck caught a whiff of light perfume and just a hint of hairspray. Johanssen decided against retrieving her heels and backed out of the car to hike up her skirt to clear the trailing hem.

"Need a lift?" Watney asked, appearing around the back. "Beck and I can do a pretty wicked fireman's lift."

"Or a seat lift, if you want to avoid being slung over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes," Beck added with a laugh.

Johanssen looked like she was going to protest when Watney said, "Great idea, let's go!" He grabbed Beck's wrists and Beck hastily latched on as Watney scooped their near arms under Johanssen's legs and caught her back against their other arms as she stumbled backwards. She gasped at how suddenly her feet were off the ground and sent a look at Commander Lewis. She, safe and comfortable in her loose, knee length evening dress and kitten heels, shrugged back at her and laughed. As Johanssen relaxed into their hold, Beck noticed a small tightening around the commander's eyes as Watney and he carried Johanssen up the curb and through the door held by Martinez. Johanssen giggled and waved at Vogel and the receptionist like a queen in a parade.

Lewis greeted the tattoo artists by name and quickly got down to helping Vogel pick out a font and location. Martinez and Watney looked through books of the artists' work, cracking jokes and discussing additions to their prospective tattoos.

"Ever gotten a tattoo before?" Beck asked Johanssen. She shook her head, starting to pale again. "Hey, you okay?"

She tried to nod, but failed. "I've, ah, just seen some things on YouTube, and I went with a friend to get hers... She screamed like they were murdering her and I... Have you ever gotten one?" she asked, looking up at him hopefully.

"No," he said. "Is it the safety or cleanliness you're worried about?" Beck asked. "This looks like a pretty organized place; I'm sure Lewis wouldn't take us anywhere that wasn't up to code."

Johanssen sighed. "No, I'm not worried about that. I've seen the commander's tattoos, they look fine and she didn't have any bad side effects..."

Watney's head bolted upright. "The commander has other tattoos? Where? What of? Oh come on, Johanssen, now you have to spill!"

She turned bright red and looked down at the edges of her sparkly dress pooling on the floor. Watney was about to press her further, but Beck shot him a look that plainly meant 'leave it', and Watney said instead, "So what are you worried about then?"

Beck looked at her and said slowly, "You're worried about it hurting?"

Watney was incredulous. "You've been flipped upside, spun through the air, been knocked about a model spaceship, and not turned a hair. All of that and not even an 'ouch' out of you, Johanssen. And now you're worried about a few needle pricks?" He wasn't being sarcastic or mean, Beck could tell, just in complete disbelief.

Overhearing this, Lewis walked over and said kindly, "It depends where you get it done, Beth. Some places, it's no more irritating than scraping your knee."

She nodded gratefully and went to join Vogel and the artists to look at fonts.

Lewis turned her gaze onto Beck, Watney, and Martinez. Beck was slightly worried by the severity in her eyes. "Alright, boys, listen up," she said grimly. Martinez and Watney looked up, startled. "We need to have a talk."

"Here?" Watney asked.

"Now," she said. "I'll discuss this with Vogel too, but he's not the one I'm worried about. I want to make it very, very clear," Lewis said firmly, "that there will be absolutely no harassment of Johanssen. No flirting, no hitting on her, no sexist comments, no inappropriate touching. Hell, if I thought it were possible I'd say no touching at all," she grumbled, almost to herself.

Martinez protested, "Why are you worried about me? I'm happily married!"

"You and Watney are too much in cahoots," she replied. Watney snickered at her choice of words, but did not contradict her. Fixing them all again with a steely glare, Lewis said with deadly calm, "If any of you try it, or make her uncomfortable in any way, shape, or form as a female, you will be off the mission. Full stop. No second chances." The men stared at her in consternation. Lewis smiled a sinister smile. "Not to mention incurring my personal wrath and retaliation. I mean it, gentlemen. I will not tolerate any of it and any evidence thereof will be met with the harshest of consequences, not the least of which will be castration. Johanssen is completely off limits. Don't forget it." Lewis inclined her head at them and walked back over to Johanssen and Vogel.

Watney was first to speak. "Well alright then. No need to tell me twice."

The others were heading back to the party. Beck and Johanssen were the last ones to get tattooed. Lewis asked Johanssen, "Do you want me to wait and hang out with you? You don't absolutely have to get this done, you know."

Johanssen said over Watney's protests, "I know. I want to. It didn't look quite so bad, watching you all go through it. Besides, I don't want you guys all to be here when I pass out."

Beck said, "I'll be here. I can resucitate her if needed, commander."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but Johanssen, unaware, said, "Yeah, that'd be good. Beck's got the best bedside manner, anyway."

Lewis nodded slowly, saying, "Well, if you're sure, Johanssen..." When Johanssen nodded once more, the commander shot one last glare at Beck to make sure she'd made her point and exited with Watney, Martinez, and Vogel, all nursing small spots of soreness under their tuxes with the new ink.

A remaining artist named Rick said, "Alright, last round. Want to do this at the same time, or separate?"

"I'm up for either," Beck said, looking around at the tired guys around them. "Johanssen?"

"We might as well do it one after the other," she said. "I might need you to hold my hand."

"Alright then," Rick said, looking at the rest of his people. "Thanks guys, you can clean up and head home. I'll get these two taken care of."

As the other artists packed up and Rick set up the machine and ink pots, Beck whispered, "Me or you first?"

"Me," she said quietly. "That way I can't chicken out. The others will never forgive me if I don't."

Beck nodded as she settled into the chair. "What'll it be, darlin'?" Rick asked.

"Just a basic black '15' in the typewriter font," Johanssen said.

"Where at, hun?" Rick prompted, pulling over the rolling table with the equipment on it.

"Left forearm," she said quietly. "Just above where my wrists hit my keyboard."

"Sounds good," he said, laying the stencil on her arm, rubbing it on, and then pulled it off, leaving the neat, simple characters on her skin. "Does the placement look good? Straight, even, where you wanted it?"

She nodded grimly. Beck took a step forward and gently put a hand on her shoulder as Rick propped her arm on a towel. Johanssen reached up and gripped his hand with her right one. He grinned and removed all but 2 fingers from her grip. "No breaking my hand now," he said lightly. "I'm going to need it."

"I'm glad you're here, anyway," she said, and closed her eyes.

A/N: As usual, thanks to warrior4 for his beta skills, even though he had very little to do with this latest chapter. This will probably be the longest chapter of the story, if that helps anyone. All rights belong to Andy Weir. Please review, and thanks for reading!