Summary: "No matter what, wherever you go, I want to stay with you."
The Ares 3 evacuation was the start of many events. The worst emergency that NASA had ever faced. The grandest rescue operation in human history. The most absolute test of the limits of human ingenuity. And even, on a smaller scale, the worst scar that some people had ever experienced in their entire lives.
But above all, it was a tale about holding on to your friends and never giving up, because that was how miracles were made.
Rating: T
Word Count: 121,891
Status: Complete
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22982515
Chapter 1: Sol 7
"Johanssen, can you hear me? I know you're knocked out, probably hurts a fuckton on your end, but it'd be nice if you woke up."
…
"Johanssen. I, uh, really mean it. It'd be nice if you woke up now."
…
"Johanssen, I'm not fucking around for once. I'd really appreciate you waking up so I know you're okay."
…
"Johanssen?"
…
"Johanssen?!"
…
"JOHANSSEN, WAKE UP!"
Johanssen, surprisingly enough, still slept for another second. It took her another second to slowly rise into consciousness as her mind registered the almost violently strong cry as normal. Two drawn out blinks turned out to be enough to wake her up. She slowly tilted her face towards the general direction of the voice she heard.
As she felt her short brown hair swerve with her head, she took a squint towards the man sitting to her right, trying her hardest to not doze off. Her mind worked in what she felt was overdrive until she eventually pieced together the identity of the lightly tinted blue eyes gazing back at her.
"Morning, Watney. What was that for?"
"I… just wanted to wake you up," he replied, still ever so slightly distraught.
"Was the yelling really necessary?"
"Kinda," he replied, somewhat subdued. "You're just a bit of a heavy sleeper."
Despite her exhaustion, Johanssen registered everything as off.
Watney woke her up. Not Commander Lewis or Martinez, both of whom were almost always the first ones up. Watney tended to wake up early reluctantly at best or outright refused like a smartass at worst, a saving grace for when Commander Lewis would graciously ignore her in order to address Watney's loud morning mouth. She could scarcely think of why Watney would be the one to wake her up.
Second, there was something in Watney's expression that felt off kilter. For a man who was almost always cracking jokes, him being concerned was, quite frankly, really fucking bad. There had to be an issue.
She just wasn't sure what the problem was.
Shortly thereafter, the sysop turned her attention to the steaming mug sitting in the botanist's lap. She took a quick look, and yep, that was coffee. This was probably the morning, and hot coffee was sitting right there. Pretty nice. Alright, things might have hit the fan, but coffee was more important. Once she was a little more awake she could-
A dull pain in her upper right arm was a wonderful way to start the day. She had barely lifted it three inches before she felt the light ache within her bones. To her right, Watney sat there, looking ever so slightly concerned.
"Johanssen, that might be a bad idea. What the fuck are you even doing?"
"Don't worry Watney," she said while moving her arm forwards. "I'll just grab that coffee from you, and then I'll be- Gh!" she finished with a shriek.
With delicate maneuvering, Watney quickly put the mug down, and crouched to the sysop's side. He tenderly grabbed the lower part of her right arm as she bit her lip.
"So why don't I guess how your thought process went? 'Holy shit, my arm hurts! Instead of putting it back, why don't I keep using it?' "
Johanssen reluctantly let out a sigh.
"Fine, you dorky botanist. You were right and I was wrong. Happy now?"
"Definitely," he said with a faint grin. "Want your arm back?"
"Yep. I want it back down."
"Got it."
Once he let go, Johanssen brought her arm back down onto her bed, where it thankfully stopped hurting. She took another second to quickly pull her fingers out. They seemed relatively fine compared to her arm, which admittedly wasn't saying much. Her main issue was that her right arm was broken, and probably her left as well, given how it felt compared to her right. When the hell did she manage to break both of her arms?
Once she was finally comfortable, she was pleasantly surprised with the mug of coffee right in front of her lips.
"Smart idea, huh?" Watney remarked.
"Definitely," Johanssen said as she took a sip. And then another. She slowly settled into a healthy rhythm, and managed to make her way through the cup.
As per usual, she took in the rush of caffeine and distantly admired the sharp flavors of the coffee. From personal experience, she knew the taste would grow tiring if she focused on it too hard. She slowly worked her way through the cup, all the while taking the occasional gaze at Watney, who was in fact sitting on the floor to the right of her. He patiently held the cup, and when she was finished, returned it to his lap when it was empty.
"So. Good morning," he greeted, bringing his hands together. After Watney's impromptu remark, silence hung over the pair. Johanssen slowly sat up in the bed, and she could practically feel her first question already lingering in the air.
"What happened? Why's the commander not here?" On that note, she took a precursory glance across the Hab. "Or anyone, for that matter?" She felt just a hint of desperation building within her.
"We got fucked," Mark bluntly replied.
"Watney, could you please elaborate?"
"We're both pretty much fucked. That's all I've got."
Johanssen felt the hairs on her neck flare up in worry.
"Mark. Please. Just tell me what happened, really. Can you take the jokes down a notch?" Mark was pretty taken aback at her sudden stance.
"Jeez, you're really that worried about this, huh?"
"Honestly, the suspense is the worst part. Can you just tell me what happened?" she reiterated.
"Uh… sure. Guess this is a sort of 'No Jokes' day. Pretty hilarious NASA's not around to boss us around, huh? Well, anyways, how much do you remember from last sol?"
"I… not that much actually. Can't say I know why I forgot." Watney reluctantly let out a snort.
"I can guess, but let's see what you remember."
"Alright. There was… the storm." Johanssen attempted to recall what happened last sol, and somewhat succeeded. How the storm was stronger than anyone could have expected, that the abort call was given.
The abort call was given. Yet they were both in the Hab.
That was a pretty big issue.
"We were told to abort, and the two of us were paired," Johanssen replied. "Wasn't there also… something else? I think? I know that's not specific, but that's all I've got."
"Wow, I'm impressed," Mark responded. "That 'something else' happened to be the MDV. The MDV's parachute opened for some reason. I speculate it had something to do with the cowling ripping off."
"Makes sense," she responded, with lingering uncertainty from her previous thoughts. "The mission wasn't designed for wind speeds of 175 kilometers per hour, so it seems reasonable that the cowling would fail. It wasn't designed to be that strong anyways."
"So the thing was swinging everywhere, and we got the call to abort. The commander thought it would be fine to leave with the MDV moving around. Keyword there being 'thought'." His eyes narrowed just thinking about the MDV.
"Yeah. Then… Um… Sorry, I still don't quite remember the rest."
"Don't sweat it. Through quite possibly the worst luck ever experienced since Apollo fucking 13, the MDV ended up slamming right into the fucking communications array," he asserted, just a little livid. "After that, it changed direction and through really shitty luck happened to be flying towards the two of us."
"At least the rest seems obvious. Then-"
Her pupils dilated as the sol came back to her.
The storm, looming over them, the dark red staining her whole vision. Her grip holding Watney's arm as tightly as she could through her flight suit.
Beck's scream as he saw the MDV collide with the communications array. The shock in his voice as he proclaimed it was flying towards her and Watney.
Her final memory, throwing her arms up in a last ditch effort to avoid a concussion while getting hit with the force of truck as the MDV slammed into her.
Watney, at the corner of her vision, impaled by a spike on the communications array.
…
"Mars to Johanssen. I repeat, Mars to Johanssen. Do you remember now?"
With that, Johanssen's focus immediately darted back towards Watney.
"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God," she cried with an ample amount of despair.
"You know, I'd ask if you're okay, but given how fucked we are, I know that answer's going to be a no."
"Oh my God," she retorted.
"Oh shit, right. Watney time," Mark asserted as he leaned forwards, standing on his knees as he moved the mug away. "Johanssen, just listen to my voice. Look into my eyes. Stay with me. I understand you're scared, but please, just stay with me."
Johanssen did her best to focus on Watney, which admittedly wasn't saying much. There were way too many priorities that just got absolutely uprooted in her head. The rest of the crew left them here, did they think she and Watney died? They must have, they wouldn't have left the two of them to die without a MAV. Not to mention, what the hell could they even do to not die on a completely barren planet?
Watney's hands, suddenly on her back, felt like the only lifeline she had.
"I know this is a lot to handle, but you're not alone. I'm still here. I'm not leaving you. I'm here," he carefully maneuvered in order to reduce the tension. "For now, just know I'm here for you."
Over the course of the next minute, Johanssen did her best to pull herself back together. There were still a million things to take into account, and that wasn't even mentioning thinking about everyone else, who must have thought she and Watney were dead. All of NASA, her parents, hell, even her siblings.
Beck was another matter entirely.
Regardless, Watney needed her here, and now. She pulled off NASA drills with ease, she could at least be there for the person in front of her. Leaning down into the botanist's chest, she carefully listened to the gentle thrum of his heart. Almost sobbing while trying to breathe in close sync with the beat, she slowly stumbled back towards a more manageable state. She felt a little less like she was about to cry, and brought her breathing back down to a manageable rate. Her arm had drifted over behind Watney's back, gripping him as well. Johanssen somewhat sheepishly prepared her response, still a little frightened.
"Thanks. I needed that," she choked out.
"Don't mention it. We're fucked, and I think any sane person would be worried. I'm just proud you could stay with me and not freak out." She halfheartedly snorted in response.
"Are you fine?"
"Don't worry about me," Mark said, brushing Johanssen's hair. "I'm just glad that you're alive."
"Mm hm." she mumbled.
"What, no quip to give me?" Mark jokingly inquired.
"Watney, uh, not now," the sysop meekly replied. "I think I might need a bit of time."
"Well then," he broadly grinned, "Be glad I have enough good humor for the both of us."
Johanssen dimly smiled back in response.
"Just to be sure, can you repeat that last part to me?" She cautiously stared back up at Watney's face.
"If you say so," Mark replied. "In a summary of the worst day of both of our lives, the MDV crashed into the communications array, and then started flying towards the two of us. It slammed into me, and I guess it also hit you on the way out."
Johanssen, with a lingering question about what happened to Watney, gently reignited the conversation.
"You didn't get stabbed, right?" She said just a little more strongly than her previous mumbles. "I thought I saw you getting stabbed by the communications array, but that couldn't have happened." Watney raised an eye at Johanssen in response.
"What makes you think I didn't get stabbed?"
"If you were stabbed, your pressure seal would've failed and you would have suffocated. But you're clearly not dead, so that's just a misinterpretation, right?"
"Watch and weep Johanssen," the botanist replied as he lifted up his shirt.
At first, she just looked at Watney's midsection and saw his normal abs. But she then noticed the very blatantly colored spot smeared on his abdomen. It wasn't that large, but the depth of the wound made her wince. It looked like someone tried to kabob him.
The hole in his body turned shades of dark crimson mixed with purple, with the arrangement of staples keeping the hole from ripping open completely. His abs were completely destroyed in the region. At the very least, the staples themselves seemed somewhat secure. Johanssen blinked to make sure she was seeing the wound correctly.
"Holy shit."
"Yep, pretty fucking impressive, if I do say so myself."
"You got shish-kabobed in a way I didn't was humanly possible to survive. What happened to you?" she cautiously inquired.
"A very coincidental series of events," Watney replied. "I managed to land face down when the communications array hit me, and I bled into the hole while on the ground. My suit did enough after that to maintain the pressure, once all of the blood dried." Watney poked a little bit at the wound, wincing all the while. "Then I think I was knocked out, along with you."
"Then how did you get us back into the Hab?"
"Oh, now we get into the really shitty part," Watney retorted with a grimace. "The oxygen alarm woke me up, since, you know, a lot of the oxygen and nitrogen left through the stab hole. As you'd expect it to."
"Watney, I understand how gases work and that blood is not a perfect sealant. What do you take me for?" she gently inquired.
"A slightly tired Johanssen. I know you don't quite think quite as well when tired."
"Touche," she replied, just a little more firmly.
"Anyways, after the alarm woke me up, I made a mad dash back into the Hab. Where the only alternative was to do surgery on myself. Needless to say, it fucking sucked."
"You alright?"
"I'm less dead, so that's pretty good," he said while brushing his wound. He stopped for only a moment to wince, and then continued. "Speaking of dead things, I went back out to get your body. Brushing over that fucking emotional rollercoaster, I ran you back in, pulled you out of your flight suit and got you on a bed, and that brings us here."
"How sweet of you," she responded, mostly at a loss for words.
"Back to you for a moment," Watney asserted, "How are you not dead? You were hit with a solid ton of metal, and are somehow alive. At least my blow was just an antenna. Even if it was pretty fucking sharp," he finished with a mutter.
"I saw the MDV a split second before it hit me. I lifted my arms up in front of my helmet on reflex, and they took most of the force. Honestly, my head isn't that sore, so I guess it worked." Watney let out a sigh of relief.
"Honestly, I still think it's sort of a miracle I'm not dead," she muttered out loud.
"But you're not, right?" Mark did his best to smile back at her.
"Still, it's a pretty damn big miracle both of us are alive," she continued wistfully. "I could've not noticed the MDV, you could've not landed with your seal down, hell, that's not even mentioning the fact that we're-"
"Greyhound puppies are adorable, aren't they?"
Johanssen, ever so slightly started, took a while to process what he just said.
"Mark, what are you talking about?"
"Johanssen, greyhound puppies are fucking adorable," he arbitrarily repeated. For some reason, she noticed an odd hint of desperation in his eyes. "Aren't they?"
"Eh, I guess?" she replied, confusion manifesting in her eyes.
"You know, if you were a dog, I think you'd make a fucking good greyhound puppy."
"What are you even talking about?"
"You're a super eager worker, you run yourself ragged, and you even have the same color pattern," he grinned. "Everyone knows how much you like your grey hoodie."
Johanssen finally responded with a snort.
"Do you really think so? I think I'm a bit slow in the morning to be a greyhound."
"I dunno, you could just be a lazy greyhound. You being super athletic and a couch potato sound pretty on point," he remarked.
"I get where you're coming from, but I still can't help but be a little offended," she said, nearly throwing up her broken arms in frustration.
"Oh little nerd Johanssen," Mark said while patting her on the head. "Small and precious to the world."
Johanssen went through an odd mixture of confusion and embarrassment before coming to one conclusion.
"You were distracting me, weren't you?"
"Ding ding ding," he remarked with open hands and stretched arms. "Glad to see your thinking power's back."
"Oh Watney, your methods are unconventional," she replied with a light sigh.
"I already tried the conventional way, and you were sitting there freaking the fuck out," he aggressively finger gunned. "What the fuck did you expect me to do?"
Johanssen took the moment to chuckle, finally feeling like a little more her normal self.
"Although seriously," he continued, smiling with mirth. "There are a million things we have to think about and address, and freaking out over what happened is just going to distract us. We'll get our plans together, and we'll be fine. And don't forget I won't be leaving you any time soon."
Johanssen blushed lightly. God, she was sitting here freaking out, and Watney was there being a fucking Saint. Well, a Saint with swearing. Classic Watney. He did have a point, in that freaking out was just a waste of their time. There were both highly qualified astronauts, and there were few people who would be able to handle their situation better than them.
"Thanks. You're a pretty damn good person to have right now."
"What? Just because I have working arms?" he quipped.
"You know what I mean," Johanssen responded with an eye roll. "But anyways, while you have those, you might as well use them. I'll think of plans to survive over here, and you can go loot the Hab for anything we might need."
"More work, after getting stabbed, doing surgery on myself, and dragging my unconscious friend back into the Hab. How wonderful. "
"Sorry for not helping, but I'm not exactly in the state for it right now. In fact," Johanssen paused for a nice dramatic effect, "I, um, guess you could say I'm dis-armed?"
Both astronauts took a moment to process what she just said.
Watney let out an unconscious laugh, which quickly blossomed into a metaphorical tidal wave. He knelt down again, laughing as hard as his lungs could handle while clutching his wound delicately. Johanssen decided to join in as well, and the choir of laughter quickly filled the Hab. It was, without a doubt, the most joyous noise either of them had made in a while.
"Oh. My. Fucking. God." Watney said in between breaths.
"Jesus Christ. What have you been smoking for those laughs Mark? You sound like a fucking hyena." Johanssen retorted.
"Been smoking a solid piece of stab and a side of fucked," the botanist replied, getting up once more. "Not gonna lie, that execution was brilliant. Really needed that pun."
"Glad to hear it Watney," she retorted. "I'm still pretty concerned, but I at least want to make you feel a little better. You're my friend, and there's no way in Hell that I'd change my mind about that."
"You're my friend too Johanssen," he said while standing back up. "You can take the super important job of watching the coffee mug here, and I'll go bumble around for something useful while we both think. Two heads are better than one, right?"
"Like you said, I won't be leaving you anytime soon," she said, flashing a smile at Watney. "Let's get to work."