Orion

"And we have liftoff," came the familiar voice once again. "Orion has cleared the tower here at the historic Launchpad 39 on Merritt Island, and the Mission HRM-377 astronauts are on their way to rendezvous with Hermes, and greet the returning crew of Ares III."

Orion, mounted on top of a towering eighty-meter missile, soared straight through the cloud coverage and off to the east in a plume of white against the grey morning skies. Despite the clouds and morning fog that day at the Cape, conditions had been favorable enough for a launch, and the crew was just relieved that there would be no delay.

Five orbits would be all that Orion needed to catch up with Hermes; to match speed and position with a series of small thruster burns. Orion was the workhorse of the Ares Program; NASA had produced and maintained a fleet of them, over the last twenty years. When Hermes was in orbit around Earth, between missions, there was a near-constant launch schedule of supply and refurb missions. Every two weeks, on average, another Orion launch went up with supplies and a new crew.

They had their next few years of work cut out of them. Hermes had flown too long without proper maintenance; not to mention the ongoing reactor output problems, and a VAL that would now require a total rebuild.

Hermes

"I've got eyes on Orion," Beck could hear his own voice sounding out over the comlink, as Johanssen and Martinez watched the telemetry screen from the flight deck.

"That's 1.8 meters per second," Johanssen called out in reply with Orion's relative speed to Hermes. "Fifteen seconds to auto-capture."

Orion slowly made its way, micro-thrusters firing, into the VAL. The docking mechanism, which was thankfully, still in working condition, grabbed onto Orion and locked it down. Both crews gave a sigh of relief when the airlock was able to cycle properly, and the HRM-377 mission commander began the process to pop the hatch that would allow them entry to Hermes.

Dr. Beck was the first on hand to greet the new arrivals.

In long-standing space tradition, first, he greeted each one with a handshake and a "Welcome aboard," and next, of course, as the greeting astronaut, it was Beck's duty to inquire about the traditional crew poker game.

"Who came out on top?" Beck asked their commander, even though he already knew the answer.

Even way back before the days of the Apollo missions, it had been a good-luck ritual for each crew to play a game of poker shortly before launch. Five-card stud. A lot of people knew that, Beck supposed. But it was more of an insider's secret that the pre-launch ritual also specified that the crew would be playing five-card until the commander had lost all his chips. That was the way things had gone down for NASA's very first launch, and to this day, NASA astronauts kept that tradition alive. Even if that meant that the commander had to lose on purpose.

"Aw, you know these guys did," the commander greeted him back, with a big smile.

"Did you hear that, Commander Lewis? Sounds like this guy had a run of bad luck. Got beaten out by his crew."

"Copy that, and my condolences to Commander Wyrick," Lewis replied, with a smile in her voice.

And with that, the final traditional astronaut greeting on Hermes got underway, when the crew member who was lowest in the chain of command handed over the white hand-towel that they had carried, tucked into a special pocket. For Ares III, it had been Watney, Beck remembered, as he took the towel.

"Useful," he noted, to the final crew member who had handed it over, with a huge smile on her face.


Strangely enough, Mark found that he didn't really want to talk to them. The refurb crew were the first new people he'd clapped eyes on in nearly three years, but after the requisite handshakes and hellos, and posing in a group photo, he found himself distinctly uncomfortable around them.

Several of them had seemed to make a special effort to seek him out. He just didn't want to engage with them, and he wasn't really sure why.

He suited up in his now-empty and overheated bunk room. He had shared Beck's former bunkroom with Martinez for the trip home, but the flight suit kept him cool enough to finish packing his personal kit, as the minutes ticked down until it was time to board Orion for home.

Home. It seemed like a strange sort of concept now. He didn't really have one, when he thought about it. His apartment in Houston had been reassigned to another candidate after his "untimely demise" and his plan, at this point, would be to stay with his parents, temporarily.

It was Mindy's house, and Henry's, and Mark really hoped that he would be able to make it his as well.

He was feeling pretty confident that his old-school, long-distance wooing of Mindy had been, so far, largely a success. But now, the time had finally come for Mark Watney to go get the girl, and that was a role that he'd never yet played.

It was scary. To think that she might say no. When he'd spent the last two years dead-certain that she was the only woman for him.

She might say no.

Unwilling to dwell on that possibility, Mark snapped his personal preference kit closed, and walked it down to the VAL to put it with the other crew PPKs. He hadn't brought very much back from Mars with him. Every kilo had mattered. But nevertheless, he'd brought back the tiny American flag he'd made by clipping a picture of the flag out of a mission book, and attaching it to a short length of the com array that he'd removed from his gut. And he'd also brought back tiny versions of his rock samples. He'd brought back a 1 gram sample taken from each of his larger samples, collected from across the surface of Mars as he'd made his way from the Hab to the MAV.

And a much larger sample from the Schiaparelli Basin. Because Mark was no geologist, but he had a pretty good idea of what NASA had accidentally stumbled onto. Or would have, anyway, when they'd chosen their Ares IV base. That mission would wind up delayed for four years, while they scrambled a new MAV. And in four years, NASA could do a great deal of research even with this small sample.

The ashy-looking regolith of Schiaparelli was clearly going to make far superior cultivated soil than the sandy, gravelly grit of Acidalia Planitia had. He was willing to bet that the Schiaparelli sample would prove to be exactly what NASA needed to kickstart interest for more Ares missions, and beyond.

Because not only was it the right texture for growing, it was also pretty clearly high in silicon. There had been ongoing research about forming Martian regolith into blocks by melting them into a liquid and then quickly cooling. The blocks could be used to provide protection from radiation, much like Hab canvas did, now. It was estimated that Martian regolith blocks would be stronger than alloyed steel, at a fraction of the mass. And this site was so far superior to anything else they'd encountered on Mars so far, that it would have been almost criminal to not bring some of it back with him to help the researchers prove their point.

A whole crater full of the makings for it. It would probably prove to be quite the discovery.

Commander Wyrick's voice came over the com, now that Lewis had given over command of Hermes. Orion was ready to board, he reported.

Mark made his way towards the nose of the ship, propelling himself through the rounded corridor, nearly weightless. A couple of the refurb crew waved at him, and gave him a thumbs up as he passed.

He'd been on the refurb crew himself, once upon a time, and he knew that it was the honor of a lifetime to even make it this far, for them. He shook their hands, as he made his goodbyes, knowing full well that he'd never be able to remember their names.


"And we are… away." Martinez said, quietly, with a little more emotion than they were used to hearing from their usually unflappable pilot.

Slowly, slowly, Orion floated away from the VAL, propelled by a tiny push from side-mounted springs between the two hatches. Mark couldn't feel any movement at all, for several minutes until the first stage thrusters kicked in.

But it was quite a view, through the horizon windows. For a long time, they could only see the reflected blue light from Earth, and then the cabin was quiet as they caught view of Hermes, not far behind them, through the horizon window.

Mark looked to his left, then, at the swirling clouds and barely-visible land masses beneath. So much blue. Beautiful blue.

Hello again, blue.

Mark couldn't help noticing that Orion's nav menu suddenly had Earth time again. It was now December 23, and there were thirty minutes, still before landing. No more Mission Days. Just a regular clock and a regular calendar.

The re-entry burn went off without a hitch, and the crew murmured amongst themselves excitedly, in the few minutes before the dramatic part of their return to Earth began in earnest. Much like the MDV ride down to Mars, Orion skipped across the atmosphere at an incredible speed, and the tiny craft jolted and jumped for the next twenty minutes, as the horizon windows eventually covered over with the orange glow of plasma as the ceramic plating of Orion became superheated.

Mark just closed his eyes, and tried not to worry.

No astronaut has ever been killed during re-entry, he thought. Not on Orion, anyway.

It helped, as he tried to keep his breathing even. I'm not gonna get scared.

He felt heavier, in his seat, as the gravity of Earth began to make itself known. Just a trace, as it started its familiar pull. Slowly, at first, and then it seemed to multiply on him, pressing him into his seat, feeling so familiar and amazing and just right.

Gravity.

Who'd have thought he'd ever be so grateful to feel gravity beneath him once more?


Texas

They didn't hear it, but they certainly felt it, when the first of the parachutes deployed.

WHOMP. Mark's heart leapt into his throat as the gravity quadrupled for a few moments. The rest of the ride down was smoother, from that point, and eventually they floated down for a soft landing, in the deserts of west Texas. Through the clouds, and then blinding shafts of clear blue skies became visible in the horizon windows. Right before the moment of impact, the seats in Orion shifted forward a few inches, and then, just as quickly, retreated to their former positions.

They weren't moving anymore.

As the crew's engineer, unbolting Orion's hatch, propping it open, and letting in the fresh, clean air was one of the most enjoyable tasks he'd ever undertaken, even if it was to be his final moment as an astronaut.

The air that swept into Orion was colder than he'd expected, somehow.

NASA was on the site pretty quickly, and the crew had just about finished with the surprisingly complicated landing procedure checklist as the first helicopter landed nearby, kicking up dust and more thundering noise than Mark's ears had thought possible, anymore.

Space was quiet.

Helicopters were loud, and Mark gratefully took the noise-cancelling headset when the chopper's pilot passed it back to him.

They were an hour in the sky, and Mark watched the landscape beneath change, interestedly, seeing it all with new eyes as the desert sands changed to grassy scrub lands, and then to the outskirts of Houston, and finally, the swampy bogs of the bay area, as they touched down on the rooftop helipad of St. John's hospital, where the NSBRI awaited them.

There were a dozen doctors milling around inside as the crew was checked in for their two-day observation.

One of the doctors, though, a tall guy with dark hair and a neatly-trimmed goatee, glanced around suddenly, as if he were about to do something naughty, and then he quickly slipped something into Mark's hands.

"Uh." Mark looked at him for a moment.

"It's from Mindy," the doctor replied, under his breath. "But you didn't get it from me, 'kay?" He smirked, as he went back to his chart.

What the fuck, Mark thought. He looked down to see that it was... his phone. He'd last seen it in his apartment, the night of the pre-launch party. It was powered up and it had service, and full bars, and…

Oh my God, he thought, I can call people with this. I can talk to anyone! Anywhere! In real time! How totally surreal, he thought, as he pocketed it. He didn't think anyone would take it away from him, it was his property, after all, but none of the other crew had theirs, and wouldn't, until after they were released.

He nodded his thanks.

"It's all good, man," the doctor replied, shrugging, as though Mark were one of his best friends, or something.

Mark spotted the NSBRI identification badge, hanging at the doctor's waist, and he tried to sound out the last name.

"Dan-ar-main?" he guessed.

"Nah," Davin smiled. "It's Dun-army-inn."


Christmas Eve

Mindy was pacing, actually pacing, around the house, as the minutes ticked by.

She'd checked the time on her phone, and her appearance, in the mirror, at least a half-dozen times in the last ten minutes, as they waited for Mark to put in his first appearance at the house.

And it wasn't like she was trying to be all obsessive about her appearance, lately; she'd been overdue for a haircut anyway, and treating herself to some highlights and getting her eyebrows shaped, while she was at it; well, that was just stuff that she would have had done, automatically, before she'd gotten so busy with work and motherhood.

The dress, also, had been a Christmas present to herself. She'd seen it when she'd been shopping for new clothes for Henry. Dark red cut velvet, with a flirty scooped neckline, it had been so flattering, and festive, when she'd tried it on, that she hadn't been able to resist. And anyway, it had been ages since she'd had anything new and pretty to wear for the holidays.

The new lingerie from Victoria's Secret, well, that had been on sale.

She'd worn her favorite black kitten heels for the first time in ages, when they'd caught her eye in the closet this morning.

It was a good combination, she noted, checking herself out in the mirror for the fourth time. She'd gotten her eyeliner just right, and the black kohl and the deep red of the dress played with her eyes, turning them to a clear slate blue. She felt pretty, for a change.

The last time Mark saw me, I didn't look this good, she assured herself.

The last time Mark had seen her, she'd been hugging him goodbye, right before he'd left. With her hair mussed up, face smudged with last night's mascara, and wearing her crumpled little black dress from the evening before. This was definitely an improvement.

"That's the car," Caroline yelled from upstairs.

Mindy tried to take a deep breath, as Richard had apparently been unable to wait for Mark to make it to the front door. He was already outside, voice booming something at Mark, and Mindy just sat there, frozen in place.

Is this really happening, she thought, as Caroline whooshed past her, to accost Mark, who still hadn't it made it past the front yard.

Mindy helped Henry to his feet, and whispered to him, "Daddy's home, you want to go see him?"

"Da-da?" Henry asked.

"Yep," she assured him, "You go give him big hugs, okay? Now go on, scoot!" She pointed him towards the front door, and he toddled off towards the tall stranger that was now standing in the doorway. Henry was shy with new people, usually, but the novel sight of his Grandpa, with his arm around the man, stopped him for a minute, and he stood there, gazing up.

"Hey, little guy," Mark dropped to his knees, so that he could look at Henry, face to face. His voice was thick, as he held out his arms, hesitantly, obviously unsure how Henry would react to meeting him.

"Da-da?" Henry asked, again, and he looked back at Mindy. She nodded her encouragement, and Henry bravely stepped forward, right into Mark's arms.

"Yeah," Mark's voice was choked, as he held his son for the first time. "I'm your dad," he agreed.

Three generations of Watney men were together there, on the welcome mat in Mindy's living room, and she didn't even know what to say, except that she wanted a picture of it. Mark holding Henry, Richard's arm around Mark, as she snapped a couple of pictures with her phone. It was a moment she wanted to remember, forever.

Eventually, Henry grew impatient with all the hugging, and tried to wiggle free after a minute or two. "Da-da," he fussed, as Mark set him back down, carefully.

"Da-da," he said again, conversationally, looking up at Mark again with a quizzical expression.

"D'you know any other words?" he asked, grinning, wiping at his eyes.

"No." Henry replied, delighted when he realized that he'd made Daddy laugh. He giggled too, carried away with the happy sound of the laughter he'd created. Mark snuck in one more quick hug, before releasing him.

"Little rascal," Richard patted his grandson, as he trotted off on chubby legs.

Mark straightened and looked around the room, his eyes trained on Mindy now.

As though they had agreed on it beforehand, and now that Mindy thought about it, they probably fucking had, damn them, Richard and Caroline had disappeared into the kitchen with Henry. And there was nothing else for it, as Mindy stood there, blushing like a lunatic. Alone with Mark for the first time since that morning after.

They spent an awkward few moments just looking at one another, as Mindy's cheeks flamed. Mark had made it back home in surprisingly good condition. He was leaner than he'd been before, of course, but he'd acquired more of the rangy look of a distance runner, and it looked good on him.

Finally, she sat down on the sofa and patted the seat next to her, as she seemed to be unable to summon any words.

"I thought about you, every day," he began, as he sat down.

She bit her lip, not wanting to spoil the moment by crying. "Me too," she whispered.

"Especially on the way to the MAV," he continued, "I thought about you all the goddamn time. I think it was the only thing that kept me from going crazy. I'd imagine what it might be like, to see you again, if I made it back. I kept replaying that night, in my head, over and over. I'd pretend you were there with me, sometimes, and I'd talk to you. Is that kind of weird?" he asked, a little wistful.

Mindy's eyes widened, as the depth of what he'd alluded to earlier began to sink in.

"I liked to think that you were watching me. My favorite thing to imagine though…" he trailed off, his eyes meeting hers, "was that you were waiting for me." He looked at her, hope in his eyes. "I figure, hey, you did actually turn out to be watching over me, all along, like some kind of astronaut guardian angel. So that fantasy turned out to actually be real." He took her hand in his, then, lacing his fingers through hers, the familiar, long-ago gesture brought a fresh round of tears to her eyes.

"Any chance the other one was real, too?"

She didn't even have any words; she just nodded, and put her arms around him.