SOL 7

Holding the edges of his wound together as best he could, Mark groaned as he pulled the needle through the torn flesh.

He'd done this before, in training, of course. But not on an actual person, and certainly not on himself. Even with the heavy shot of marcaine he'd administered, it hurt so much that it was hard to see straight. It wasn't doing wonderful things for his accuracy, either. The adrenaline that had helped to power him up the hill and into the relative safety of the Hab was quickly fading away, leaving him shaky and weak; barely able to concentrate on the task at hand.

When he'd finished, he had managed a crooked row of nine stitches. A ten-day course of antibiotics would keep it from developing any infection. Clean and cover, now, he told himself; then rest. Tomorrow, he'd worry about how fucked he was.

For right now, sleep. Just sleep.

As he slept, he dreamt.

June 23, 2035

"Ah, one of the guests of honor," Dr. Kapoor greeted Mark. "I believe Montrose is looking for you."

"Figures," Mark replied, shaking Venkat's hand and continuing in the general direction of the bar. Venkat shot him a sympathetic look.

Assuming that Annie had not dreamed up some new and embarrassing method of focusing public attention on the Ares Program, Mark had to assume that she wanted to say goodbye.

Tomorrow morning, he and the rest of the crew would be on a plane to Florida to await their Orion launch. In quarantine, of course. The nannies at NASA had to be certain, of course, that none of the crew was harboring any bacterial infections or viruses that could make the rest of the crew sick.

So they'd wait it out for ten days in isolation; Mark could think of better ways to spend his free time in Florida. A trip to the beach, before the launch,maybe? The Marlins/Cubs series would have been fun. But no, he was the public relations spokesman for the crew, so his last evening of freedom had been spent in this hotel ballroom, giving a speech that Montrose had written. The crew's attendance was mandatory for this meet-and-greet fundraiser, which they had dubbed the Pre-Launch party.

Then, it'd be off to Iso at KSC until launch day.

Fun times.

His business portion of the evening was now over, he hoped, anyway. It was a far cry from a beach, but it was his last night of freedom. A guy could at least have a couple of beers and relax, a little, right?

This was, after all, his last night on Earth. In a manner of speaking, anyway.

With the program concluded and the dinner (steak, of course, this was Texas) cleared away, the only thing left to do was to enjoy the open bar. Which he did. He was pleasantly buzzed, as he reluctantly went to look for Annie in the main ballroom.

He noticed Johanssen, out on the dance floor, with Beck; of course she was, Mark rolled his eyes. Just admit it already, you two, he wanted to tell them. But of course, they wouldn't, or couldn't, because there were to be no inappropriate relationships between crew. So Beth and Chris pretended to be just friends.

They pretended so hard at it, in fact, that Mark was pretty sure they didn't even realize they were pretending at it, anymore. They had, instead, created this strange alternate universe where unresolved sexual tension between friends was the new normal, giving new meaning to the saying about 'everyone can see it except for them'.

He made polite small talk with Vogel's wife, Helena, a grade school teacher from Bremen, who asked him if it would be possible for Vogel to mention her school when they did their telecast from orbit. He agreed, pending Montrose's approval.

And speak of the devil.

Annie had him cornered, holding her glass of champagne for her while she ran down all the aspects of the next week's public relations campaign for Ares III. Mark wasn't particularly interested in public relations; he'd developed his skill at it pretty much solely to give himself a competitive edge against other astronaut candidates.

Like it or not, though, it was part of his job description.

And if Montrose wanted to monopolize his last evening on Earth with all that shit, that was her privilege.

Lewis rescued him, eventually, and noted, pointedly, that it was getting late. They would need to be up early the next morning, and the less-than-subtle impression that he should be a good little boy and not stay up past his bedtime rankled.

Quite a bit, actually.

What Lewis didn't know wouldn't hurt her. She and her husband had taken a room there at the hotel, and as they made their exit, it occurred to him that Lewis was kind of a hypocrite.

Not really, but from the look that she and her husband had exchanged, they were not on their way upstairs to get some sleep.

Mark rolled his eyes, and returned to the bar for another drink. Maybe he'd close the joint down. Or maybe, he grinned, he'd just take a page from Lewis's book.

The bar was empty of people, except for a girl. She sat alone, at the far end, looking at her phone. Company issued; she worked for NASA, too. An untouched shot of something, tequila maybe, sat in front of her on the bar.

Last night as a free man, he reminded himself. Not going to see a pretty girl again (and he didn't count Lewis and Johanssen, thank you) for over a year. And what the hell, he'd had a few drinks already and was feeling pretty confident.

He'd make a play for her, why not, he grinned.

He tapped her on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, miss?" She turned around, and looked up at him. Her eyes were narrowed. "I believe you've got my chair."

She looked at him, and then at the row of empty seats. He couldn't help grinning at the sequence of expressions that swept across her pretty face in rapid succession. Confusion, annoyance, amusement.

"Wow, nice one," she complimented. "I've only ever read that one in books, it's so old."

"Thanks," he grinned. "I hang on to all of the old ones, you know, eventually everything comes back into style again. Like cars, or clothes."

"Well, good luck with that," she smirked. "Maybe another fifty years, before you unleash that one again, huh?"

He was staring at her, a little too much probably, openly admiring.

"You look surprised," she commented.

"Well, I am, actually," he admitted.

"What about?"

"You're pretty," he said.

It had been the wrong compliment, apparently.

She glared at him, tossed back her tequila, nose wrinkling at the taste, and set down the glass. She rolled her eyes at him.

"I'm surprisingly pretty," she smirked, "for someone that works for NASA? Thanks. I appreciate that. Never heard that one before, either."

"Not what I meant," he said, as the bartender poured her another. She gestured to him, questioning, and the bartender poured one for him, also.

"Okay, I'll bite," she said, gesturing with her shot glass; he clinked it with hers, and drank. He tried not to choke.

"That shit burns," he noted.

"What did you mean, then?" she asked. "And yes. Yes, it does. You're just a master of the obvious, aren't you." She smiled again. She was definitely flirting back, though. She liked him, he could tell.

"Just that, you know, from where I was standing," he gestured to where he'd first seen her, twenty meters or so away, "I thought you were pretty hot. Now I'm over here talking to you, and you're like, fucking beautiful."

His words had slurred together, just a little, but he'd delivered his line with sincerity.

She was blushing, her smooth cheeks stained with just a tinge of color.

"So," he continued, "What's your name?"

"Mindy."

"I'm Mark."

"I know," she smirked, and pointed to her phone. "Work for NASA, remember? Try to keep up, huh?"

He laughed. "Okay, okay. Fair enough. It's rough out here for an astronaut, huh? Take it easy on me. Still not used to people recognizing me."

"Aww," she patted his arm, pouting, "poor guy. World's smallest violin," she rubbed her fingertips together, making a sad face.

"Oh, now look who's trotting out the oldies," he grinned. "So what do you do for NASA?"

She opened her purse, and took out a pair of glasses, and put them on. The glasses had thick black frames, like sunglasses.

"Department of Hipsters," she replied, straight-faced. "It's pretty obscure, you probably wouldn't have heard about us."

He bent over at the waist, laughing.

"Oh, god." he groaned. "I think you and I are going to get along just fine."

They'd had a few more shots together, and she'd been thoroughly enjoying their banter, when Mark had finally gotten to his feet.

She'd been hoping for his phone number, maybe a suggestion that they could get together, once he returned.

Some recognition of the fact that they'd really seemed to click, that she wasn't imagining things. That he liked her back, as she liked him.

Instead, she'd gotten openly propositioned, by a drunken astronaut.

Nice, she thought, still a little angry about it, as the bartender poured her another one.

Her mother would have probably thought it was rather trashy of Mindy, to hang out at hotel bars, drinking way too much tequila with a stranger in the first place. But actually going home with one, that was a line that she'd never crossed.

She'd been tempted tonight, though.

The more she thought about it, the more she was regretting not taking him up on his offer.

It wasn't his fault that he was leaving tomorrow.

She could have lived without the general implication that he would have settled for just about anything in a skirt, of course. Last night on Earth, and all, but maybe she had been judging him too harshly.

She was still kind of tempted, actually.

I wonder if it's too late, she thought. Maybe he was still waiting out front. Uber wasn't that fast, not way out here in the outskirts of Houston.

Knocking back her last tequila, she got to her feet and headed to the lobby, where indeed, Mark was waiting, standing with his tuxedo jacket thrown over his shoulder, tie dangling from his pocket.

"Hey," her heels clicked on the entryway tiles. Mark looked up at her in surprise.

"Hey," he started, before she had a chance to say anything, he had held up one hand. "Listen, I'm really sorry about the way that must have sounded. I was enjoying myself, talking with you. Really, I was. It's still early, let's have another drink, or hey, whatever you want to do. Up to you."

His face told her that someone, probably his mother, had taught him to treat women with respect, and he was ashamed of how he'd acted, before.

"Please?"

Yeah, she'd definitely changed her mind. She smiled up at him, and saw the sincerity in his eyes.

"Do you want to go back in?" he asked, gesturing back towards the ballroom, where a few couples were still dancing. "It's like the sad, second-chance nerd prom in there," he observed, grinning.

"Nerd prom," she giggled, feeling the warmth from the tequila. "That is totally the nerd prom." She took his arm, as though they were prom dates.

He grinned. "So how about it, Mindy?" He did an admirable job trying not to slur his words, but he was obviously as smashed as she was. "Want t'go to the prom with me?"

"Yes," she giggled, as the two of them strode towards the dance floor.

"Yes," he smiled, "Score! I can cross that one off my bucket list. Finally! I ask the hottest girl around to the prom, and she says yes!"

Mindy was laughing, and shaking her head, as she reached up to put her arms on his shoulders, not quite sure what she should be doing.

"Why're you laughing?" he asked.

"Cause I can't dance," she confided.

"Oh, me neither," he agreed. "But who cares, right?"

"Not me," she smiled. Was it warm in here? She felt like she had a fever, and the room seemed to be spinning a bit. Or maybe that was Mark, trying to spin her around. Whoa. She stumbled, and Mark caught her by the elbows and steadied her by wrapping his arms around her.

"We suck at dancing," he observed, a few minutes later.

"John Travolta you're not," she agreed, teasing him.

"That's fine with me," he agreed, easily, "I fuckin' hate disco. Lewis listens to that shit all the time."

Mindy giggled. "Maybe we should have another drink," she suggested.

"That'll make us into worse dancers, not better,"

"But we'll think we're awesome, and that's what counts," she smirked.

"I got a better idea," he said, grinning, taking her hand and lacing his fingers with hers, sending shivers straight down her spine.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "So this is the nerd prom, right?"

"I'm pretty sure that's been established," she agreed.

"So what do the cool kids do at the prom?"

"No idea, never went to one," she admitted.

"Me neither, but you know what they do?"

She shook her head, amused.

"They ditch the prom. Cause it's lame."

She laughed.

"So, this is what I'm thinking," he wagged his eyebrows at her, "we should get out of here. We'll go somewhere else. Wherever you want." he added.

"Your last night on Earth," she mused, thinking.

"Yeah, for a while," he agreed.

"I know a place," she looked up at him, to find him giving her a searing look. "But I don't know if it's for you."

"Oh yeah? Why not?"

"Cause you might get scared."

"I'm not gonna get scared," he said, leaning down and kissing her, swiftly.

"It's not for wusses," she teased, feeling the heat of the kiss, and tequila all through her. He could really turn on the charm, this guy, she thought, dazed.

"I like a good challenge," he informed her, pulling her in for another scorching kiss.

"You'd have to be prepared to pull a few Gs."

"Okay, now you're just fucking with me," he replied, laughing.

She hadn't been kidding, though, Mark thought, as he looked over at Mindy. They were both strapped in, holding hands as they waited for the launch together.

"3… 2… 1…" the ride operator said, over the loudspeaker, "and liftoff!" Launched with compressed air, the ride vehicle shot straight up the tower, and suddenly they were looking out over Clear Lake Shores, with the lights from NASA's Johnson Space Center in the distance off to the west. A few seconds later, they plunged back down the tower, in freefall for a few seconds, hovering in their seats, before the ride bounced them back up the tower again.

"That was more fun than G-LOC training," he'd laughed as they exited the ride and he and Mindy stood, once more, on Kemah's boardwalk. Even at nearly midnight, it was oppressively hot and humid outside.

"Yeah, I think we didn't make orbit that time," she said. "Shame." She was trying to straighten out her wind-blown hair, with her fingertips, a thankless task as the briny sea breeze swept over them.

Since they'd left the hotel, they'd been making out like a couple of teenagers, and Mark couldn't remember the last time he'd been this insanely attracted to someone. He didn't think it was just the tequila talking, either, though it had certainly lowered his inhibitions.

Fuck my life, he thought, why didn't I meet this girl years ago. I need more of this. For the first time in his adult life, he was tempted, suddenly, to throw caution to the wind. Do something stupid and regrettable. Something that made no sense. He wanted to ask this girl to wait for him.

You can't do that, the logical part of his brain chimed in. Ask a perfect stranger to wait for him. To be worried about him. Absolutely not. It wasn't fair. He couldn't do that. No matter how perfect the stranger.

It's just nerves, he told himself. Because I'm leaving tomorrow and I want something, anything, to hang on to. Nothing can come of this. It would be wrong to think otherwise, even for a minute.

Tonight was all he could have, and the thought hit him like a kick in the gut.

It didn't stop him from kissing her again, when she turned her pretty face up towards his, a moment later.

"Oh my god," she laughed. She had a sultry-sounding voice, as she looked up at him, through long lashes. "How drunk are we, right now?" She ran her hands through her hair again, and just the unconscious grace of the gesture made it difficult for him to think.

"Dunno," he replied. "Can you still see straight?"

"Mm," she looked around, "is the boardwalk supposed to be... spinning, you think?"

"Not sure," he replied, straight-faced. "I mean, yeah, it is, actually, depending on your point-of-view."

"Nerd," she silenced him with another kiss. "I've got an idea."

"Yeah? What'd you have in mind?"

"Scientific documentation," she smirked, pointing at a photo booth, there on the midway. "Because I know I'm not gonna remember this, tomorrow."

He pulled her into the photo booth with him, and she perched on his lap, kissing him fiercely.

He'd handed her the strip of photos to look at, while he sent for a cab. To his place. After they'd finally managed to drag themselves out of the booth, where there had been, Mindy had to admit, a lot going on.

She was smiling the smile of the woman who had unexpectedly managed to take an awesome picture, as she looked at the photos. They were really good! She looked beautiful and confident, and Mark was looking at her like she'd hung the moon.

He hadn't been looking at her at all, in the last one, actually. Both their eyes were closed, locked in a kiss, with their arms around one another. It was an embarrassingly intimate picture to have taken, for two people who had just met, a few hours ago. But she couldn't seem to look away from it.

It struck her suddenly that she looked happy with him, and happy looked good on her, apparently.

Mark had grinned at her and taken the photo strip and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

The photo strip was the last thing on her mind, when she awoke the next morning to an empty, unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room.

Morning was not even the right word for it, she thought, grumpily, as the oncoming headache made itself known. It was like a jackhammer behind her eyes. It was still dark outside.

Mark shot back into the room again, looking for something, and darted back out, shooting her a quick smile. She was mortified to realize there was someone else in the apartment, as she heard voices, low and urgent-sounding.

There was the sound of the front door closing, and Mark had reappeared, holding her shoes.

"I've got a hell of a headache," he noted, dryly.

"Same," she groaned, sitting up.

"The rental place," he explained, pointing to the door. "Picking up their stuff so that it doesn't get locked in here, for a year."

"So I'd better get dressed, I take it?"

"Unless you'd like to be locked in here, alone, for a year," he teased. "Might get a little dusty, short on food, maybe."

Mindy rolled her eyes, then winced at the fresh pain, as she wiggled into her black dress from the night before.

"Guess I'll call for a ride home?" she reached for her phone.

He coughed.

"Already on the way," he admitted. "The van will be here to take me to the airport in like, literally, five minutes."

She nodded.

It was awkward, just as awkward as she'd imagined that it might be, but truth be told, she had no regrets. From what she could remember, at least, it had been totally worth it. A night to remember, she thought, trying not to blush.

She thought that he might just be thinking about the same thing, as he grinned down at her.

He seemed a little hesitant, as though he wasn't sure if he was still allowed to touch her, now that she was dressed.

"Oh, c'mere," she muttered, putting her arms around his neck and hugging him. She felt a lump in her throat, as emotion threatened to overwhelm her.

There were no promises, no last-minute exchange of contact information. Just this, holding one another, as she sent the man off to his destiny.

He didn't say anything, either, for a long time, just holding her close. Then there was a beep from his phone. Time to go. He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, and squeezed her hand.

"Wish me luck," he'd said.

November 14, 2035

When Mindy awoke the next morning, she opened her eyes, still sore and red, and she was a little surprised to discover that the agony of the last night had been replaced, with a sort of dull numbness. She'd dreamt about him. How it had all started. Every last detail. It was like her subconscious just wanted to fuck with her.

Never look back, she told herself.