Dr. Chris Beck looked a little bit out of place, wearing a lab coat thrown over his NASA uniform, but since he hadn't had a chance yet to go home, it would have to do. He'd pored over the available information in Mark's chart a dozen times by now, even if a lot of it was contradictory and didn't make very much sense. But he knew the main reason for this sudden reassignment from NASA-they meant for him to be one of Mark's "anchor" people as NASA psychologists attempted to determine his mental state and reintegrate him. The prevailing theory that Mark had spent an entire year alone, in zero-G, did not bode well for his friend's future.

Muscle atrophy, check. Weakened heart. Dangerously low blood pressure. Low bone density. There was a laundry list of problems to monitor, not to mention the psychological aftermath of being abandoned on Mars, more than once. What does that do to a man? Kapoor and Sanders had both reported that Mark seemed in reasonably good spirits earlier in the day when they had conducted their brief interview. He knew that he would have a chance to read over what Mark had said, when the transcripts were available later that evening, but he'd have to conduct this next examination mostly in the dark.

He took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked in. Mark was awake, and appeared to be examining his hands. He looked up briefly, and smiled.

"Beck! They told me you were hanging around this place! NASA doesn't have anything better for you to do these days, huh?" He glanced down at his hands again, carefully crossing his arms across his chest. "So how much did they tell you, so far?"

Beck smiled back, the happiness at seeing his friend again was more than he could contain. The professional veneer was completely cracked. "They threw me in here blind, man! I don't get to read your transcript 'til tonight at the earliest. It's really good to see you, Mark." Now the veneer was falling away in shards; he sank into a chair, putting his head in his hands. "This is so unbelievable."

"I know, right? I spent all those SOLs, trying to get home; now that I'm here..." he trailed off, overcome.

Beck stood up once more, still unable to keep the huge smile at bay. He took a deep breath and attempted to restore some of his professional demeanor.

"So! I have a vested interest in getting you well again, because right now you're in no shape to go out drinking. And I owe you a beer. Let's get started, here."

"I take it that there's not much good news in that chart." Mark deadpanned.

"What have you been doing to yourself, man? Did whatever spacecraft you highjacked not have a gym? You know you're supposed to do a couple of hours of exercise every day when you're in zero-G, Mark."

"Dr. Bossy Beck." Mark laughed. "I was in extremely cramped quarters. There wasn't anywhere I could stretch out without banging my head on something. Let alone exercise. And now I'm too weak to lift a spoon. I guess I've earned that." He looked at Beck, ruefully. He knew that he shouldn't share too much about his journey home, before they'd had a chance to get what Kapoor called "the narrative". But surely some basic, medical-oriented information wouldn't be frowned upon.

"You know they were doing all sorts of examinations while you were unconscious, the first day you were here? You've been through the MRI, had blood drawn a half dozen times-" Beck glanced down at his chart. "And they were very interested in your fingernails."

Mark glanced at his hands again. His fingernails looked normal to him. Some white spots on the nail beds, maybe. And some ridges he'd never really noticed before.

"Really? That's what they were interested in?"

"Yes, since you were zoned out, and they were dying to ask you how you got home-you didn't give us much to go on, pal. Anyway, the ridges right here," Beck motioned to a horizontal ridge across Mark's thumb, "This would indicate that you had a sudden turnaround in your health. About 10 or 11 months ago."

Mark nodded. "Yes, I had rations for the trip home. It wasn't anything good, but it beat the alternative."

"What were you eating?"

"Honestly, I'm not entirely certain. My-" Mark's hands were clasped together again, as he fumbled for the correct words, "crewmate, on the voyage home, shared their rations with me."

"But you didn't have enough to eat? You're still very thin."

"Oh, I had enough. It was pretty nasty. And I did put some weight back on during the trip home. It's just that I was practically a skeleton by the time I left the Hab."

Beck paused. "Okay." He blinked, made a notation on the chart, and shook his head. His eyes closed for a moment, and he took a deep breath. "Okay, so... once you were on your way back to Earth, you were eating regularly, but not exercising. Any idea what your calorie intake was, during this period?"

Mark thought for a minute. "I'm not sure. I'd estimate, 1500 calories a day? It didn't exactly have metric labels."

Beck shook his head again. Unbelievable. This was not happening. "Okay, 1500 or thereabouts. How about sleep, what was your schedule like?"

"Eight hours out of every twenty-four, I think. I had the time and date on my laptop to go by, and I tried to keep my sleep schedule on as even keel as I could. I wasn't perfect about it, to be honest though. At first, I was sleeping way too much, but by the second month of the voyage I was suffering from insomnia pretty bad."

"Did you take any sleep medications, to get back on schedule?"

Mark laughed. "No. I didn't have access to anything like that. Well. I don't know. Maybe I did." He trailed off, lost in thought for a moment. "Anyway, no. I don't think so."

"Don't think so." Beck muttered, consulting the chart again. "Okay. So you know you're going to need a lot of physical therapy, right?"

"I assumed so. When do you think you'll have me back on my feet?" Mark grinned. He was anxious to get started. "And how about hooking up a crewmate with some actual food, huh?"

"Easy, tiger. It's Jell-O and chicken broth for you, for at least another day. Then we'll see."

Mark sighed dramatically. "You're killing me, doc." He grinned at Beck. "Do you have to leave right away? There's so much I want to hear about, from you. How are things with Johannson? When are they going to tell the rest of the crew?"

"I need to go feed the information vultures their morsel." He waved the chart, with an arch expression. "Then I can come back, and we can hang out for awhile. Tell you about life with my nerd babe. You feeling tired?"

"No, I'm good. For the moment." Mark smiled again. "It really is good to see you. It feels so normal, talking with you."

Beck grinned back, "Okay, sit tight. I'm just down the hall. I'll be back in a little bit."