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Good To Be Back >> Mark Watney X Reader

Title: Good To Be Back

Paring: Mark Watney X Reader

Warnings: mentions loads of things like angst, feels, and married couple. 

Spoilers: yeah, for The Martian. 

Requested By: anonymous on tumblr 😊

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You can still remember the first thing Mark Watney had said to you, when you met in college – "It's not as bad as it looks, I'm fine," because the guy had just fallen down a flight of stairs trying to get from his botany classes to mechanical engineering in time. He'd gotten a bit bruised, sure, and the notes he'd been holding were splattered everywhere, but apart from his ego being a little damaged, the man was fine. He'd said the same thing after his stag's night for the wedding had gone south (another stag party decided to ramp up the tension, resulting with Mark needing stitches in his eyebrow the day before the wedding), and still, you worried.

But now, he wasn't there to say those words. Reassure you with puns and silly memes he'd found on his Facebook feed from the other astronauts.

It was completely fantastic how the pair of you had been accepted into the same workplace over the years, brought into the same sphere. Except, while you were the grounded one in the relationship (as always), he was two feet off the ground, and in the astronaut program.

Mr. Sanders, Director of NASA had seen to you personally, since you were his closest family. It killed you to hear it so factually, even if it was your profession in SatCon. His coms unit severed, deceased, and left behind on Mars after the ARES III crew were forced to depart. Smiling to the man in charge of your pay check, you politely excused yourself to the bathroom, and sat yourself on the closed lid of the toilet.

It's then when the door is shut you feel the tears coming. Back in college on a drunken night in with old friends, they'd mentioned how dangerous the space program was potentially. Of course, you'd all been off your faces, and thought that space travel was as simple as on Star Trek. But damn it, it was 2035, not 1962; NASA had more tech than when the Friendship 7 circled the Earth. You had met Vogel and Johanssen, and they'd promised to keep him safe. He was supposed to be safe. Not dead.

"Damn you, Mark," you hiss.

"_________?" A co-worker calls out, the sound of the bathroom door opening. Mopping your eyes with toilet paper, you take a deep breath, flushing the toilet before you go. "You just ran off. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," you nod. "Just needed to go."

Sol 37

I've figured out how to make water, but I don't think NASA will like it. They left me on here, so I don't really care what they think, I just needed water. I mean, it was an accident and all, no hard feelings to Commander Lewis, and all. Anyways. I blew up a lot of shit (namely, almost myself), all in the name of science and survival and all that.

I keep thinking of what they're thinking of me back on Earth. You know when you're a moody teenager, wondering about what people will think about you once you're dead? Well. That's me now. Except I'm like, a full-grown adult, married and all. I keep thinking of _________, and how she's doing. Probably not that great. When her grandpa died, she was a mess for ages. I don't blame her. He was a great guy, always snuck those nice boiled candies into bingo night at the nursing home for his friends.