Dear Mark,

First things first.

We are so proud of you, son. We always have been.

We love you.

We miss you.

We're looking forward to the day that we'll all be together again.

REDACTED

Please try not to worry. It will all work out. Be safe, and be smart like you always are. Let us know if you have any questions and we will answer them the best we can.

Love,

Mom & Dad

P.S. We are getting a little old for all these surprises you keep pulling on us. Dial it back on the drama, huh, kid? ~ Dad

P.P.S. If you do anything that makes your Dad any prouder, his head might explode. He's been insufferable since he heard about those potatoes. I've had to listen to him go on and on about how farming runs in his family. You know how he gets. Please come home safely and save me from this. You're my only hope here. ~ Mom

Mark read the entire message at least a dozen times as he sat in the rover. He had people to talk to now, and it was blissful to have emails to read, again. He had a message from the President, even, though he'd merely skimmed over it when he'd seen that it was twelve paragraphs long, with pretty much nothing to say except 'congrats on not being dead'. It's the thought that counts, he mused.

There was the twelve-minute delay between direct messages, of course, which made messaging with NASA inconvenient. But he had the daily data dump to look forward to once again, and this time, he was damned well going to take advantage of it. He was already planning what he'd like to say to each of the crew, back on Hermes, just as soon as NASA okayed direct communications.

Good god, though, an actual message from his parents. Out of all the messages he'd received, this was the one he kept going back to. It felt indescribably good to see the words on the screen. It felt like warmth was spreading through his chest and all the way through him, to his fingers and toes, just to read his mother's words. We love you. We're proud of you.

It was such a relief that they were okay. They weren't that young, and he'd been worried about them, way more than he liked to admit. He didn't like to think of what he'd already put them through already, and it would be a long time before he was safely home, if he ever managed to make that actually happen.

The middle of their message had been... censored... though. What the hell was that about? Could it have been something about the crew? Since NASA wasn't allowing direct communications between them, yet, maybe his parents had been trying to pass along a message from the crew, and the NASA nannies hadn't liked it?

Dear Mom & Dad:

Actually, just Mom. I'm not speaking to Dad until I get an apology for the green fucking beans he sent to Mars in a lame attempt to be funny.

Those cans expire soon, and I'm going to have no choice but to eat the damned things. You guys know that, right? And tell Dad that as far as my farm goes, there are no pigs here in the Hab, so it's not anything he'd be familiar with.

NASA censored you, by the way. Were you trying to get me involved with you two selling state secrets to the Chinese again? I've told you over and over not to do that shit.

Actually, you were probably trying to tell me something about the crew. Henderson is sending them the news today. Now that they'll (finally) know I'm alive, hopefully we'll be cleared to shamelessly gossip about them behind their backs, from here on out. Yay.

I really miss you guys, too. It's going to be a long wait.

Write me a lot, okay? Write excessively. Tell me about anything and everything that's going on back home.

It's been seriously lonely.

I'd say that I love you guys and all, but that would just be lame.

Mark

P.S. Love you guys.

Hermes

"What do you think Henderson meant, when he said that they had reestablished communications with Watney?" Chris asked Beth, as they laid, snuggled together in his bunk.

Chris was still riding the high that had come with the unexpected news from Henderson that… unbelievably… Watney was still alive. He found that he simply couldn't keep a smile off his face; and the change in Beth was… well, she looked like Beth again, and not some sad stranger wearing her face. It was as though some deus ex machina had rolled back the hands of time. It was euphoric, just to think about. His arms stole around Beth's waist, and he gave her a quick squeeze, without even realizing that he'd done it. He could see her smile, in the semi-darkness, and she cuddled back against him, leaning into the embrace.

He hadn't yet started the next episode of the show they'd been watching together, one episode each evening. It was an epic historical series about Suleiman the Magnificent, spanning over a hundred hour-long episodes, all painstakingly subtitled from the original Turkish. He'd already dimmed the lights in his small cabin, when his mind had snapped back to that amazing revelation, again, that Watney was alive. Alive. He still couldn't quite process the day's events.

"That part doesn't make any sense to me," he continued, "because, you know, in the uplink footage, the dish…" he trailed off. Half of the dish had shattered on impact, as it hit the sand with Watney impaled on the com array. What the hell was he using to contact NASA?

Beth was quiet for a long time.

"I… I guess… maybe Watney found all the pieces of the com dish and repaired it, somehow?"

"Maybe so," he said. "I'm going to add that to my list of questions for Henderson."

"I want to ask him how exactly they plan to modify a MDV," her voice turned incredulous, "to make an overland trajectory from AP to Schiaparelli."

It was a fair question, considering that the MDV didn't produce enough thrust to even lift its own weight in the thin atmosphere of Mars, let alone go flying thousands of kilometers and perform a second soft-landing.

"I know, right?" he chuckled. "It's like everything they tell us just keeps getting more and more unlikely and farfetched."

"Hey, I wonder what…" she trailed off, grinning, as though she were thinking out loud. "Probably none of my business," she concluded, ruefully.

"Got another question for Henderson?" he asked.

"Well, not actually. I was wondering about that girl, the one in the picture that Watney's mom sent us. You think she was actually his girlfriend? Wonder what she's thinking, right about now?"

"Pictures can be deceiving, I guess," he replied, doubtfully. "It sure didn't look like they were just friends, though, to me." He was venturing into dangerous territory, now, talking about being just friends, as he laid next to her with his arms around her, in the dark. His heart slammed into his chest, as he fought to keep his breathing even.

"Maybe they just kept it on the down-low," she said, softly, all-too-aware that they were no longer discussing Watney and his mystery girlfriend.

Chris was silent for a moment as he found himself unable to form a response, as she wiggled around to face him. Oh my god, he thought, heart 'd casually slung one of her legs a little ways over his , and there was no help for it; his body started to react. The heat of her breath against his face, the length of her body, flush alongside his... Fuck.

He was going to have to… what, push her out of his bunk? There was nowhere for him to go; he was laying there with his back against the bulkhead as it was, and she was pressing in, up against him. He couldn't possibly get his body to cooperate with any plan that involved leaving this situation, anyway. He wanted her, way too badly, and he reflexively tightened his arms around her.

"Maybe," he choked out, a little desperately, "they've just been waiting for the right time. Like-" he couldn't even think, as her lips were mere centimeters away from his throat, "when they're back together on Earth," he bit out, gasping as her mouth brushed against the sensitive spot beneath his ear.

There was no way he was misinterpreting this. His head was spinning, at the rapid change of events.

What the hell was she doing?

He tried to focus on her face, then, as she favored him with a sort of devious, sultry smile. It didn't help, not at all; her face was too goddamned beautiful in the low light, and the expression on her face could only be described as come-hither.

Then, with her eyes locked with his, Beth slowly, deliberately hooked her leg around his hip, drawing him into direct, heated contact with her.

"I'm not a fucking saint," he swore out, as she raised her head, lifting her face towards his, snaking her arms around his neck. She was about to kiss him, he thought, panicked, and, oh my god, her pupils were wide and black, as she stopped, suddenly, with almost no distance at all between their mouths. "Beth…" he trailed off, waiting for her kiss. Anticipating, needing it, what was it going to feel like, to finally...

And when it didn't happen, he froze, for a moment, trying to understand why. Why had she just stopped there, with that amused, sexy look on her face, one eyebrow quirked.

Oh.

She was waiting for him, he realized. He had to meet her, halfway, on this. It had to be a mutual decision. One of his hands came up, to delicately stroke across her cheek. "You're sure?" he whispered, asking, "because this... I don't think I can stop this, once we-" she was nodding, and pressing up against him eagerly. What little amount of resolve he'd still had fell away, as his mouth claimed hers. It felt like he was surrendering to his fate; they both were.

This had been brewing for far too long, and they both gave themselves over to it, joyfully. Beth made a low-throated moan as he turned the tables on her, pushing her onto her back, throwing his leg across hers now, pinning her down. His hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they greedily sought the bare skin exposed at the waistband of her sleep pants, pushing the hem of her sleep shirt upwards.

He lowered his face to hers, stopping to whisper against her mouth, "You want this?" he was teasing her now. "You're sure?"

"Oh, I don't know," her voice was weak and hoarse, as he pulled her shirt over her head. "Maybe we should just watch TV instead," she sassed. He growled as his response to that ridiculous notion, as she writhed beneath him.

Johnson Space Center

Houston

Director Sanders was actually speechless, a rare turn of events, as Henderson detailed the contents of the email he'd intercepted and censored, to the shocked conference table.

Keeping her head down, listening intently, Mindy tried to look busily at a sheaf of satellite images, biting the insides of her cheeks, keeping her poker face firmly in check, as Henderson continued.

"That's what it said," Mitch concluded, sardonically. "Watney had himself a fling with a random girl, right before we put him in the tank. The girl is pregnant, and they just wanted," Mitch made air-quotes, "to let him know about it."

Annie's jaw seemed to be out-of-alignment, as she exhaled, heavily. "Fucking Christ." She didn't have anything else to offer, apparently, besides that sentiment.

Dr. Kapoor's eyes were wide. "Do not send that message," he ordered Mitch.

"I wasn't planning on it!" he retorted. "I sent out a censored version, of course."

"Wait, what if it's true?" Annie asked.

"Then I'm still not sending it! Keep my team in the dark whenever possible, that's my motto!" he glared at Kapoor, and Sanders, too, for good measure.

"Have you talked to his parents?"

"No!" he growled. "I don't want anything to do with this clusterfuck."

"Doesn't he have the right to know? And what about the girl," Annie mused. "The girl's going to have to be dealt with. Quietly."

"You deal with it, then." Mitch leveled a baleful look at Annie. "This is a public relations problem, not the goddamned Flight Director's problem. Watney's part of your department. He's your pet, you clean it up when he takes a shit."

"We'll have it investigated, and if it turns out to be true, we'll get to the girl before she goes public with it, and we'll convince her to keep quiet about it," she finished.

Dr. Shields leaned forward. "I'll talk with Watney's parents," she volunteered. "I would have spoken with them soon, anyway, to keep them apprised on his condition, as his next of kin."

Annie nodded. "Mitch, who else on your team saw that message?"

"Just me," he asserted, although Mindy got the distinct impression that he wasn't really sure. As always, she carefully avoided eye contact with Henderson. The last thing, seriously, the very last thing she needed right now, was for him to realize where he'd seen her before, and why.

"This situation," and Annie was looking directly at Mindy while she was saying it, "does not leave this room. Is that understood?"

Mindy managed a small nod.

"K," she said, meekly.

This is never going to work. I am going to get fired, she thought. Annie get your gun.

"As interesting as Watney's personal life undoubtedly is," Sanders had apparently bounced back from Henderson's revelation, reverting to his usual snark, "let's move on to the more pressing matter of the EagleEye3 booster. Bruce?"

Bruce Ng, live from Pasadena via teleconference, began to roll out his updated information on the progress of the various JPL teams involved in producing the Iris probe, and if he had any thoughts on Watney's personal life, he kept them to himself.

"Dr. Irene Shields," she introduced herself, shaking hands with Caroline and Richard. "I'm the flight psychologist for Ares III."

"You've had yourself an interesting year, I imagine," Richard quipped.

It was true. It was the first time in history that a space flight psychologist had had to deal with the fallout of a single lost crewman. Not to mention the ongoing fallout from when said crewman had turned out to be not quite so dead as they'd originally thought.

Irene didn't think that the Watneys would have seen that footage, captured with Johanssen's EVA suit cameras. Not many people had. It was still absolutely stunning to think that Watney had, somehow, survived.

And then there was the minor matter of Watney himself, stranded on Mars. Finally in tenuous contact with Earth again. Watney was resilient as hell, but he was living, literally in a pressurized vessel. It was a delicate situation.

Support and encouragement from his parents would be one of the keystones to Mark making it home alive.

"I've had my hands full," she agreed. Understatement of the year.

"And now we've just made your job even harder?" Caroline guessed. She smiled, apologetically.

"My job is always hard," she sidestepped, with a disarming smile. "So. Why don't we start with the message you wrote to send to your son."

"I wrote it," Caroline volunteered.

"And, to the best of your knowledge, it's true?"

Caroline nodded. "We only found out about it after Mark was already out-of-contact."

"The young lady in question sought you out, at Mark's funeral?" She sounded skeptical. "And you're sure she's not, er… trying to, umm…" She trailed off, trying to phrase her thoughts tactfully.

"No," Richard said. "We recognized her, from pictures we found, in our son's apartment. They were, briefly-"

"She works for NASA," Caroline began, "and she's worried for her job, and her privacy, if this should become public."

Irene was surprised, frankly, to see how instantly protective Caroline Watney was of the unnamed girl. She didn't sense any resentment or suspicion. Interesting, she thought.

"I promise to keep it confidential," Irene assured them, "and flight command, and the team that handles public relations are onboard with that." She paused. "As the flight psychologist, however, I'm going to have to look at this situation very carefully."

"Understood. So far, the messages we've gotten from Mark have been very upbeat."

"I'm going to need to speak with her, directly. We'll do our best to keep her name out of it; I agree with you, there. Also, we'll need to be as certain as possible that your son is in the right state of mind to hear about this. There will have to be a psychological survey, at any rate."

"How long do you think it'll take?" Richard asked, concerned. "Because the baby is due soon, and we feel very strongly that he should know about it, beforehand."

"A month, perhaps, depending on how much access I can get. He already knows that psych will be monitoring his mental condition. It'll be very important for him to get regular messages from you," she continued. "Even if you have to censor yourselves about the pregnancy situation."

"And we can put you in touch with her," Caroline volunteered, showing Irene the picture of Mark and Mindy together, on her phone.

"Mindy Park?" She recognized her, immediately.

Oh, my.

"Well, I guess I don't need an introduction, after all," she smiled, sheepishly. "She's pretty high up, in SatCon, isn't she? I've met her before, at the Head of Department meetings."

No wonder she didn't want people to know.

She could sit in on confidential meetings and get the best and newest information on Watney's status straight from the horse's mouth, as long as nobody outed her! Good grief.

What kind of soap opera have I gotten myself entangled in, here?

Watney's parents just nodded. They understood. On the Holmes and Rahe scale, poor Watney had now been tagged with just about every one of the worst stressors on the list. Adding the knowledge that he'd unknowingly gotten someone pregnant could be his breaking point. They just couldn't know. She needed more time, to make a non-emotional decision on the matter.

And she was going to need to speak with Mindy Park, privately.

Feeling rather as though she'd uncovered a secret agent in their midst, she found herself chuckling about it, unwillingly. Cheeky little thing, Miss Park; she'd sat right there, nodding and taking notes, as Annie and Mitch had been discussing her, hurling curses and passing the buck on how they thought she should ought to be handled!

When it came to surprises, Watney had better hope that he could take them just as well as he could dish them out. That was her studied opinion.