Chapter Text
[MISSION DAY 687 - HERMES]
Stan is out of his chair the second Bill confirms the airlock is closed.
He knows the path to Airlock 2 now better than any other route on the ship. As soon as the plan to rescue Richie was finalized with the crew, he had figured out the fastest way to get to the airlock from their work stations. He’s practiced running this route as many times as he’s practiced equations in his head. When he couldn’t sleep, he paced the corridor and made sure he knew it by heart.
There was going to be absolutely nothing that stopped him from getting to Richie the second he was safely on board.
Stan barely has a moment to register that he has cried out in shock, in victory, in relief, before he falls out of his chair and moves, floating as quickly as he can toward the airlock. He’s faintly aware of the others following behind him. Technically, Bill has been tasked with resealing the VAL once they confirmed seven crew safely on board, and Stan should be staying back to make sure their course is still on track, but Stan knows none of them care about that right now.
Richie is back.
One of their own is finally back where he belongs. They had mourned Richie. They had spent months imagining what their lives would be like going forward without them. They had no choice but to move on without him. They deserve a moment to celebrate the fact that now, finally, they don’t have to.
Stan keeps himself ahead of all of them. There’s a desperation clawing in his chest, so fierce and vicious that he thinks it might shred him apart if he doesn’t get to Richie soon. Bill’s words are echoing in his ears but it won’t mean anything until he catches sight of Richie.
He staggers to a stop when he finally makes it to the airlock.
Bill and Eddie still stand there, clutching one another, and curled in between them in an orange EVA suit that Stan hasn’t seen in eighteen months, is Richie.
His lungs feel like they’ve been punched right out of his chest.
“Richie, Richie,” he chokes out. He moves forward, hand already extending, as Richie wearily raises his head. His face goes slack and awed when he catches sight of Stan, but Stan has to fight desperately to keep his expression from turning horrified. This is Richie, it’s Richie, but it’s a Richie that has been through hell and back and it shows on his face. It shows in the gaunt lines of his cheeks and the dark circles of his eyes. It shows in the slanted shock of his smile. This is Richie if someone dropped him down right smack in the middle of the Underworld and laughed as he tried to claw his way out.
Stan gets a grip on Richie’s suit and tugs him forward.
He can feel Richie suck in a sharp breath when he hits Stan’s chest but Richie makes no sound, and wordlessly he wraps his arms around Stan as Stan holds onto him. Stan tries to remind himself not to crush, not to cling, not to do anything that might aggravate Richie’s pain more. Richie’s voice echoes in his ears, reminding Stan that he’s pretty sure he broke a rib or two. But Stan holds onto him anyway, as gently as he can, and he cries harder than he has once in these long eighteen months.
“Richie,” he sobs out. He runs his hands up and down Richie’s arms. Part of him still can’t wrap his head around this. The logical part of his brain tells Stan that the man he holds in his embrace should be long dead. “Richie, holy shit.”
“Stan?” Richie croaks out. There’s disbelief in his voice that cuts right through Stan. “Hey, Staniel. Hey. What are you crying for?”
“You’re a goddamn asshole, Rich,” Stan sniffs, but he doesn’t let Richie go. Richie laughs weakly and pats his back.
The others come, then. They cling to each other as gently as they can. Richie is here and they are all vehemently aware that he is not the same and that they must not break him more, but he is here. Stan’s soul has been searching for him for eighteen months and finally, finally, the puzzle piece that fell off the table has been put back in place and they can all be complete again.
He is faintly aware of Richie moving subtly, and one moment he can hear Richie’s gentle gasps in his ear and the next he can’t, and it doesn’t take long to put together that Richie has turned off his comms. They are are still suited up and their group hug is mostly just bodies standing close together, and right smack in the middle of it Richie is crying out in pain and not letting his friends hear.
Stan feels a complex variety of emotions as he watches the anguish twist around Richie’s facial expressions. Amidst all his pain, there is relief in the slight twist of his mouth that feels incomprehensible to Stan.
Eventually it becomes too much to bear.
“Okay,” Stan says loudly, hiccuping around another sob and pushing back on whoever had been holding onto him. “We gotta let him breathe, guys, let him breathe.”
Slowly the circle dissipates, each of them stepping away reluctantly, none of them taking their eyes off of Richie. On his part, Richie shoots Stan a thankful look and moves subtly to turn his comm back on. He clears his throat and says in a raspy voice, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but god, you guys look, like, super desperate here. I mean, all this work for just one guy? What if I don’t even put out?”
“Beep beep,” Stan says sharply, and he reaches out to stop Eddie from shoving Richie’s shoulder. He doesn’t dwell on the horrified look Eddie shoots him, subtly, once he realizes what he’d almost done. They’ll have time for it later, Stan thinks.
“Seriously, R-R-Richie, read the room,” Bill teases him.
Beverly gently squeezes Richie’s wrist. Everything is bulky and awkward, with all of them still in their suits, but Richie beams at her like it’s the greatest thing he’s felt in all his life. And—well. It most certainly is one of the greatest things he’s felt in eighteen months, at least.
Stan has to swallow thickly around the lump in his throat.
“I need to examine him,” Eddie says suddenly. His cheeks turn noticeably pink. He stares resolutely at Richie anyway. “I mean, Christ, I can only imagine what kind of physical damage he’s endured. We put him through hell on the way up here, not to mention pulling him out of the MAV and probably exacerbating his internal injuries during the recovery. God, don’t even get me started on what could have happened down there, no offense, Richie, but seriously, you’re probably a medical marvel—”
Beverly, thankfully, cuts him off. “Kaspbrak, take Tozier to the medbay. Denbrough and Hanlon, I need you both to go close the outer VAL door so we can repressurise again. Uris, go check our telemetry, Hanscom, check our flight path. I don’t want any more problems going forward. We have a safe journey ahead of us, do you copy?”
“Yes, Commander,” six voices ring back.
Stan chokes back another cry, unable to help it. Six voices.
Richie always said they were the Lucky Seven. Stan’s just relieved he was right.
The others slowly dissipate, all of them reluctant to take their eyes off of Richie and murmuring their relief that he’s back as they go. Richie leans against Eddie, subtly, like he thinks Eddie doesn’t notice, but he slumps almost entirely once Stan has fully disappeared around the corridor.
“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie cries out. Beverly moves immediately to help Eddie get Richie back on his feet.
“Sorry,” Richie slurs. His head lolls dangerously, and Eddie reaches up to steady him. “I’m just so tired, Eds.”
Eddie’s expression softens. He can’t imagine, truly, how exhausted Richie must be. The adrenaline of the last eighteen months must finally be wearing out. Eddie’s terrified of what will happen when Richie’s body isn’t protecting him from his pain. “I know, man,” he murmurs. “I know. I’m just gonna float you on down to the medbay, okay? Stay limp. It’s okay.”
Richie complies, and Eddie maneuvers him until he finds the easiest way to push Richie forward towards the medbay.
“Commander, will you stay close and keep an eye on us?” Eddie asks quietly.
“Copy that,” she says, in a tone of voice that strongly implies you couldn’t get me to go anywhere else.
Richie’s head tilts to the side, and he sucks in a sharp breath as they make their way down the corridor. Eddie’s eyes are on his face immediately. Richie’s expression is relatively calm, but there’s awe in his voice and a slight quiver as he asks dazedly, “Holy fuck. That looks like a wall on the Hermes. Is this real?”
Eddie’s heart rate plummets.
It’s messy, and it doesn’t feel quite the same, but he frantically reaches forward and pulls Richie’s gloved hand against his own. He squeezes until Richie turns back to look at him and finally, finally, his passive expression cracks. There’s real emotion in his voice as he breathes out, “Eds?”
“This is real,” Eddie reassures him. He’d put Richie’s hand over his own beating heart if it helped convince Richie that this is real.
Richie’s face screws up, complicated, confused. “Fuck, did I say that out loud?”
Beverly puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Rich,” she soothes.
“Sorry,” he whispers, and his eyes slip closed. “Sorry. Not used to… people being around. To hear what I say.”
Eddie thinks he might throw up.
Richie starts to giggle, unprompted, and he squeezes Eddie’s hand as best as he can. “Video log entry, Sol… five-fifty?”
“Five-forty-nine,” Eddie corrects in a small voice.
“Five-forty-nine,” Richie repeats, and Eddie watches his face go slack as he finally slips out of consciousness.
Beverly shoots Eddie a stricken look.
“He’s okay,” Eddie croaks. “He’ll probably be in and out of it for the next few hours, especially if I don’t put him on morphine. He’s okay. Please just help me get him into a bed.”
They make it to the medbay right as Bill comes over the line and confirms that the outer VAL door has been sealed off. Mike gets started on the repressurization process, and Eddie leads Richie over to a bed.
“Bev,” Eddie says quietly. “When I examine him… you can’t be here for that.”
She looks up at him, eyes sharp. “Eddie.”
“I’m serious,” he snaps. “Christ, Bev, we have no idea what he went through down there. Things happened to him that he never told anyone about. That he’ll never tell anyone about. It’s going to be bad enough tracking the last eighteen months through his wounds. He’s not going to want everyone to see that.”
“Eddie, you need someone here,” Beverly says, because she knows him better than perhaps anyone else ever has. She knows him in a way not even Richie does.
But Eddie shakes his head. “I have him here,” he says simply. Like all of his problems have been absolved by the fact that Richie is here, breathing, touchable, alive, on a bed in a medbay on their ship once again. Hell, maybe everything has been absolved. Nothing else seems to matter now, anyway, besides the gentle rise and fall of Richie’s chest. “I have him.”
“He’s gonna experiment on me, Commander,” Richie croaks out, awake, again, and it’s the most beautiful thing Eddie has ever heard. He whirls around and floats immediately to Richie’s side. “I’m like a surgeon’s wet dream. So many undocumented wounds. Never-performed-before procedures. He’s gonna be the most famous doctor on Earth when we get back.”
Eddie puts his gloved hand on Richie’s helmet, not quite close enough but almost stroking his face.
“You’re gonna be more famous than…” Richie stammers out. He locks eyes with Eddie, gaze unfocused, grin dopey. “Than… than, like. Uhhh. Dr. Seuss. You’ll be more famous than that fucker, Dr. K.”
“That is truer than true,” Eddie agrees. “Rich, the ship is about to repressurize, so it might feel weird for a bit, okay?”
Richie reaches up and his hand smacks against Eddie’s arm, uncoordinated. “Hurts to breathe, Dr. K.”
Something swells up viciously in Eddie’s throat. It’s intense, and unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He doesn’t take his gaze off of Richie as he promises, “I know, man. Stop trying to make yourself laugh, you’re probably fucking up your broken ribs more. Just a few more minutes then we can get you out of that suit and examine you, okay?”
“If you wanted to get me naked, all you had to do was ask, Eds,” Richie says seriously.
“Beep beep,” Beverly sighs, and Eddie’s gaze snaps to her. In all honesty, he’d forgotten she was still there. “I can’t believe the last time we were all alone in the room together I had to witness your weird attempts at flirting, and now that we’re alone together again that’s the first thing you guys do. Unbelievable.”
“Flirting?” Richie scoffs. “Baby, you’re witnessing a full on seduction.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, but his voice still breaks as he says, “You really haven’t changed at all, have you?”
“Eds, Eddie, fuck, please don’t cry,” Richie chants. “Dude, I’m serious, I haven’t seen another living thing in a billion years and I don’t know how to handle tears anymore. I’m gonna have to relearn. Fuck. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, what did I do?”
“Nothing, you dumb idiot, I just fucking missed you!” Eddie snaps.
Richie’s eyes, impossibly wide even obscured by plated glass, stare back at him in surprise. Somehow Eddie doesn’t understand why Richie would be surprised by the clear inevitability that he would be missed.
“Oh,” Richie says, in an impossibly small voice.
“Yeah, oh,” Eddie repeats sharply. “You’re a part of this crew, you dumbass. We’ve known you for years. You’re our friend, Richie, you’re our fucking family. We missed you, okay? I… I missed you. Jesus. You don’t have to act so fucking surprised by it!”
“Eddie,” Beverly says, soft but warning.
But Richie just blinks at him, still looking awestruck. The medical professional in Eddie knows that Richie is probably in shock, and he also knows that yelling probably is not the best course of action—but the irrational, emotional, desperately human part of him that’s so in love with Richie it hurts to breathe sometimes, can’t help but want to shake Richie by the shoulders and shout in his face until he understands.
He is a part of this crew. He is the heart of them.
“Well, Jesus fuck,” Richie says. “I missed you too, Kasprak. I’ll tell you all about it someday.”
Eddie lets out a strangled laugh. “You can rest, Rich. We have some time until the ship repressurizes.”
Richie nods, once, barely noticeable in his suit, and Eddie watches as his eyelids flutter closed again and his face relaxes the moment he falls unconscious again. Eddie wonders how much of this Richie will remember when he comes to, for good.
“Holy fuck,” Eddie breathes out, and his shoulders sag.
“You don’t have to do this alone, Kaspbrak,” Beverly reminds him.
Eddie doesn’t take his eyes off of Richie. “All do respect, Commander,” he admits. “I think this is something I have to do alone.”
It’s subtle, but Beverly shifts her weight and in an instant she goes from commander to friend. Eddie feels the weight of her love immensely when she reaches out and touches his shoulder.
“Are you going to tell him?” she asks. There’s a hint of a teasing lilt in her voice. He knows, inevitably, that this is just the beginning. He doubts she’ll ever let this go.
Not that he blames her.
“Richie, I love you,” Eddie says flatly. Richie doesn’t so much as twitch. “Guess that’s that.”
“Eddie,” Beverly sighs.
Eddie turns to look at her. “He has so much recovery still ahead of him, Beverly, it can’t be smart for me to be like, ‘hey, on top of Mars nearly murdering you on a day to day basis for eighteen months, I’d like to add my big dumb crush on you to the things you’re currently trying to work through.’ I know I’m an asshole, Bev, but that seems like it’s a bit much.”
Beverly’s unimpressed look makes Eddie wilt a little bit. “For what it’s worth, I think he’d appreciate knowing about your big dumb crush on him. He might even ask you to prescribe kisses as his recovery treatment.”
“Oh, you’re so funny,” Eddie mutters. “Unfortunately, Richie is the kind of guy who would make that joke.”
Beverly lets out a groan that suggests she’s been suffering for ages. Eddie looks at her incredulously, right as she says, “Eddie, you idiot, he wouldn’t be joking.”
She leaves the medbay without saying anything else, and she’s long gone by the time Eddie even thinks about replying.
[MISSION DAY 699 - HERMES]
“I swear to Martian Jesus, Eddie, if you feed me another applesauce, I will fucking die.”
“You could stand to be less dramatic in your day-to-day tasks,” Eddie says mildly. “It’s just applesauce. And it’s the easiest food to digest on this ship, which means that’s what you get to eat right now, so eat up.”
Richie lets out a childish whine that he’s surprised he doesn’t get slapped for. “I ate potatoes for approximately one billion days straight, and yet it’s the applesauce that’s gonna kill me now. Eddie.”
“I can make you mashed potatoes,” Eddie deadpans.
“I will murder you where you stand.”
Eddie slaps at Richie’s hand when he plucks at his I.V. “Stop fucking picking at it or I’ll have to poke you with another needle,” Eddie snaps. “Stop whining. We don’t have a feeding tube on board so applesauce it is. We have this argument every fucking day, Richie.”
“And every day I think a feeding tube would have been preferable to this shit,” Richie shoots back. “Eds. I swear I can handle a real meal. I ate one before I launched up in the MAV and it didn’t kill me!”
Eddie tilts Richie’s chin up with his finger and flashes a light in his eyes. Richie, on his part, doesn’t even flinch. He thinks he’s getting pretty good at being a model patient. “Pupils look good and responsive,” he says evenly. “How are the headaches?”
“Gone,” Richie sighs, bored. “So are the dizzy spells.”
Eddie hums. “I think we can confirm your concussion is healed.”
Richie rolls his eyes once Eddie’s hand lets go of his face. Eddie’s already puttering around for his stethoscope when Richie mutters, “We could’ve confirmed that three days ago.”
“Which one of us has a medical degree?” Eddie demands, turning sharply on his heel.
“I’m starting to think you paid someone off for yours,” Richie throws back. “You’re a bossy doctor. Do your patients on Earth say that, too? Are they, like, begging the anesthesiologist to put them under so they don’t have to listen to you bully them?”
Eddie sighs, patiently, because he’s as much a saint as he is an asshole. He puts the stethoscope on Richie’s chest and puts his other hand on Richie’s back. “Can you take a deep breathe please?” he asks.
“Hurts,” Richie mutters, but he tries his best anyway.
Eddie is quiet as he listens to Richie’s heart. Richie breathes, patiently, each time Eddie moves the chestpiece.
“You’re gonna give yourself pneumonia,” Eddie murmurs. “You need to take deep breaths.”
“My ribs are broken.”
Eddie pulls the stethoscope away. Ridiculously, Richie feels colder at the loss of contact. He knows he’s a hopeless case but he can’t help but think that this is a bit much. “I know they are,” Eddie says. He sounds almost apologetic. “But if you don’t take deep breaths and utilize your lung function then you’re going to get an infection and I don’t really want to treat pneumonia in space.”
“That’d be a cool movie,” Richie admits. “Pneumonia in Space. An interstellar infection.”
“You’re an idiot,” Eddie informs him fondly.
“I come bearing applesauce,” Bill says, knocking on the doorway and waving the offending snack in the air. Richie scowls at it so hard that Bill cracks a grin as soon as he catches sight of it. “I see you’re still throwing a temper tantrum about your restrictive diet.”
Richie crosses his arms petulantly. “If you’re going to feed me like a child, I’m going to behave like a child, and you can’t stop me.”
Bill’s grin might be slightly manic. “God, it’s good to have him back. R-right, Eddie?”
“Speak for yourself,” Eddie mutters. “Richie. I need to examine your ribs. Take off your shirt.”
Richie tries to sing, “Let’s do it, ride it, my pony,” but the effect is lost with how he can barely raise his arms above his head and with how he gets stuck in his shirt trying to pull it off.
“Okay, Channing Tatum,” Eddie sighs, and after another second of Richie’s struggling he reaches forward to help. Richie hopes his full body flush is not as obvious as it feels. “The bruising looks better.”
Personally, Richie thinks that the black and purple and green and yellow splotches all over his chest make him look like he swallowed a supernova or something on his ascent, but he trusts Eddie.
“Don’t bring up that movie,” Bill warns, “or he’ll h-h-have to mention--”
“I think I follow more closely after Big Dick Richie,” he says, right on cue, and he gives them both a wolfish grin when they look back at him, unimpressed. “Oh come on, Eduardo, you walked right into that one.”
Eddie’s hands are cold as he presses them gently to Richie’s ribcage, and Richie flinches away automatically. “Sorry,” he says quickly, when Eddie retracts his hands. “Sorry. Promise that wasn’t from pain. Your hands are fucking ice cubes, Dr. K.”
“The curse of the physician,” Eddie admits. “So your pain is better?”
Richie flinches away again when Eddie’s hands brush against the deepest bruise on his chest. He sucks in a sharp breath, having moved too quickly, and he hisses, “Motherfucker, goddamnit, ow.”
Eddie pulls away and turns back to his medical notes. “Broken ribs take a while to heal, Rich, it’s okay,” Eddie reassures him, but the words fall flat. Richie feels useless, restless, broken in ways he never has before. It hurts to laugh. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to dress himself in the mornings. It hurts to stand too long in the shower and it hurts when he tries to sit down and it hurts when he wakes up with a strangled scream on his lips on the worst nights of his nightmares. The crew walks around him like he’s broken, too. He isn’t allowed to do any work. He can barely walk the corridor without someone catching him and hurrying to his side to make him lean on them. He can’t even eat, for god’s sake.
“Good thing we have an uninterrupted five months left of space travel ahead of us for me to work on it, right?” Richie mutters sarcastically.
Bill drops a light hand on Richie’s shoulder, gaze sympathetic. Richie appreciates the gesture, but mostly he just wishes that Bill would shut the hell up until he has to suffer from a traumatic broken rib injury. “Better than the alternative.”
“Jesus, Bill, that’s so fucking dark,” Richie says. He nudges Bill’s hand off of his shoulder and reaches for his applesauce. Bill even brought him a spoon, the big dork. Richie tries poorly to hide his smile.
Over at his desk, Richie catches sight of Eddie turning at the last possible second, a small grin on his face as well.
LOG ENTRY: MISSION DAY 704 [Text] - Tozier, R
Today my brief conversation with my NASA shrink led to the decision that I should start journaling, or whatever. Technically I’m still doing logs, because the Hermes has all the same shit the Hab did, but it feels like journaling now.
Anyway. Hello from the Hermes, I guess!
I had a very big achievement today. I walked down the hall, all by myself! No one rushed to my side to help me, and I didn’t need to lean on any walls. Pretty impressive for the guy with four broken ribs.
Best part of all? Eddie had this gorgeous grin on his face. Like a whole, ear to ear, real happy kind of grin. I haven’t seen that since I got back. Well, technically I guess since before they left, but still. That was the first thing I wanted to see when I made it back onto the Hermes and today I finally got it. Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. How sappy is that?
Sometime next week, they’re even going to let me eat RICE. A real meal! I might pass out from excitement.
[MISSION DAY 715 - HERMES]
In the middle of the night, Ben wakes up in a panic and almost lets out a shout when he realizes there’s a figure standing at the foot of his bed. He blinks blearily, and sits up in alarm when he realizes who it is.
“Richie? You okay, man?”
Richie swallows thickly. “You have, like, the worst taste in music, dude,” he says, then he turns on his heel and leaves Ben’s quarters.
Ben lets out a startled laugh, waits until his door closes again, then pulls the covers back up and falls back asleep.
[MISSION DAY 732 - HERMES]
It starts with Richie screaming.
Mike had already been sleeping poorly. He had just been contemplating whether or not he should climb out of bed to wander to the kitchens to see if they had any tea he could make to calm his nerves when he heard the screams start up a few doors down.
He’s on his feet and out the door in a second.
Instinctively he knows that it’s Richie, perhaps so fine-tuned to keeping tabs on Richie at all times now that he’s back that it has become second nature for Mike. He throws the door to Richie’s quarters open and staggers towards Richie’s bed, where Richie is thrashing in his sheets.
“Richie, hey, Richie!” Mike yells. He climbs into the bed and tries to get a hand on Richie’s shoulder to wake him up, but Richie wrenches out of his grip. He’s twisting so viciously that Mike is sure he’s messing up his ribs worse. “Richie, wake up!”
“Stan!” Richie shrieks, and his flailing leg nearly kicks Mike in the chest. “Stan, Stan, no! No!”
Mike decides, then, that him grabbing onto Richie now would most likely cause less damage than allowing Richie to keep thrashing on his own. He leans forward and gets a good grip on Richie’s shoulders, tugging him up and forward until Mike can get an arm around him.
Richie gasps out in pain and his eyelids flutter, and something in Mike’s chest seizes. “Richie, Richie, it’s okay, I’m here, man,” Mike murmurs. Richie struggles against him, still fighting to wake up fully, and Mike holds on tighter. “You’re okay, Rich, you’re safe, I’m here.”
“Stanley,” Richie pants out, and he sags against Mike’s chest.
“Stan’s safe,” Mike promises him. He has a fleeting image of the memory of Stan finishing out his most recent email home to his wife before making his rounds across the room and saying goodnight to each of them individually then going to bed. “It’s okay, you’re safe, Stan’s safe.”
Richie shudders harshly and chokes on another gasp, and his voice is raspy when he calls out, “Mike?”
Mike looks down at him quickly. Richie’s face is bleary and confused, tear tracks still stain his cheeks, and there are worry lines on his forehead, but he is finally awake. Mike’s shoulders sag in relief, and he loosens his hold on Richie.
“There you are,” he whispers. Richie shifts and grunts out in pain. “Damnit, sorry.”
“What—” Richie starts to say. He looks towards the doorway and the rest of his sentence never comes. Mike follows his gaze to find Eddie and Stan standing there, both with similar looks of horror and concern on their faces. Stan is crying softly. “Guys?”
“You were having a nightmare,” Mike says. “I think. I mean, you were thrashing around and you were screaming for Stan. But you’re okay, you’re here, you’re safe. We’re all on the Hermes and we’re all staying here, okay?”
Richie blinks, confused. Disoriented. “Stan?” he repeats.
In the doorway, Stan lets out a strangled sob.
“He’s okay,” Mike repeats, looking back towards them both. Something in his tone must snap Eddie out of it, because he shakes his head slightly then steps forward, switching into doctor mode in an instant.
“He probably fucked up his ribs some more,” Eddie says. “Rich, how’s your chest feel?”
Richie’s speech is slow, still trying to pull himself into consciousness, but he blinks heavily at Eddie and says, slowly, “Fuckin’ hurts.”
He flinches away from Eddie’s hands when Eddie tries to examine him and leans further into Mike’s side.
“Let me examine you,” Eddie snaps.
“No, wait ‘til morning,” Richie retorts back petulantly. “M’serious, Eds, I don’t fucking want it ‘til I’m for reals awake and outta bed.”
Eddie looks exasperatedly at Mike. “Richie.”
Richie scoffs. “Eddie,” he says back in a sarcastic tone.
“Richie,” Stan says sharply from the doorway, where he still hasn’t moved. He shuffles in a little bit further, letting the door fall closed behind him. “Rich, I’m—I’m so fucking sorry. Whatever you were dreaming about, whatever it was with me—”
“No,” Richie interrupts. He tries to sit up and cries out when Mike goes to help him. There’s no easy way to help him with anything he tries to do, and it breaks Mike’s heart. “No, Stan. It… fuck. Wasn’t you. I was dreaming about the Hab exploding. There was a sprout up there. Named him Stan. I was screaming for my leafy little potato plant, you’re—you’re off the hook.”
Stan lets out a wet laugh. “You named a plant after me?”
“Dude grew in soil that was previously declared hostile,” Richie explains slowly. “Stubborn little bastard. Felt familiar to me, for some reason.”
“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Stan says, but his words are lessened by the new round of tears that start to fall.
Mike sighs, but Richie burrows closer to him, and Mike remembers that his crew’s antics are worth it. It’s worth it, for this.
“We should let him sleep,” Mike tells them quietly. Eddie’s eyes snap up to meet his, clearly reluctant to look away from Richie while he’s like this, but Mike can see the moment Eddie decides that he agrees. “Rich, you want me to stay?”
Richie hums against him and his fingers tighten around Mike’s shirt. “Eddie,” he says in response.
Mike raises an eyebrow at Eddie, who flushes bright pink, noticeable even in the dark of the room. Then Richie’s shoulders tighten and he mutters out, “No, right, you’re Mike. Sorry. M’so sleepy. Yes. Please stay.”
Eddie swallows thickly. “I’m coming to check on you in the morning, Tozier.”
“See you in my dreams, Eds-Spagheds,” Richie murmurs, but Mike thinks he might already be asleep again.
Mike looks between Eddie and Stan, both reluctant to leave. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” he promises. He feels their fear just as deeply, though he doubts either of them even know it. He worries that he won’t ever be able to let Richie out of his sight again. “I got him.”
“You got him,” Stan repeats faintly. “Yeah. Thanks. Thanks, Mikey.”
Neither of them say anything else as they walk out the door. It takes a few minutes for Mike to feel settled, but eventually he falls asleep easily and knows he dreams of all of his friends living safely, off of this ship for good.
[MAY 2037, EARTH]
“I’m just saying that the public would love to see him,” Annie says, following hot on Mitch’s heels. “Teddy agrees, we can ask Tozier to just do a short clip smiling and waving to release to the public so they can see that he’s healthy and alive.”
“They’ll see that he’s alive,” Mitch agrees, “but I’m not so certain they’ll agree that he’s healthy. Dr. Kaspbrak still tells us there’s plenty of signs of malnutrition. It will be months before that goes away. He looks thin and sallow, he’s still struggling for breath, and I’m not sure that the media will be with seeing pictures of him looking like he’s on his deathbed.”
Annie huffs indignantly. “All due respect, Mitch, they’re a lot smarter than you give them credit for. They know that there’s likely to be injuries that we don’t even know the half of. We know enough about Eddie Kaspbrak to come to the conclusion that there’s plenty he’s working on regarding Tozier’s recovery that he won’t ever share with us. But it’s just one short video.”
Mitch turns sharply, and Annie almost crashes into him. “Do you understand that this could break his spirit even more?” he snaps. “Annie. He just went through hell and back. He deserves six months of peace and quiet before everyone starts jumping down his throat again.”
“He’s gotten two and a half already,” Annie argues. “The Hermes is scheduled to land in mid-August. Are you telling me that you’d prefer that media’s first sighting of Richie Tozier be when he gets off that carrier?”
Whatever Mitch was going to retort dies in his throat as he thinks this over. They’ve already decided to close the tarmac to the public, limiting it to family members for the crew, employees involved in this mission, and a few select reporters after extensive vetting by Annie. But there will be cameras and phones taking videos and Richie Tozier struggling to get out of that carrier after spending almost three years in space is, perhaps, not something he wants to remember for the rest of his life back on Earth.
His shoulders sag. “I’ll ask the crew. But Annie, they have to sign off on it. I want written consent from Dr. Kaspbrak that he thinks Tozier is healthy enough to do this, and maybe even written consent with the psychiatrist that’s been talking to Tozier. And Tozier has to agree to it, too. If he doesn’t want to, then the answer is no.”
Annie follows up behind him again when Mitch tries to walk away. “Why can’t I ask him?” she demands.
“Because I’m worried about what you’ll say to convince him,” Mitch says honestly. “And because I’ve caused enough damage to the crew. I’d like the chance to start making it right.”
LOG ENTRY: MISSION DAY 791 [Text] - Tozier, R
Soooo… I can’t stop coughing.
It’s not pneumonia. Eddie wants to jump there automatically because I guess that’s a risk in broken rib cases, but it’s not. It’s just a cough.
It’s probably just a cough. Right?
[MISSION DAY 795 - HERMES]
“How long has he had a fucking cough?” Eddie demands.
“If he’s had it for a while, he’s been hiding it from us,” Ben says as he helps lift Richie into a bed. “I might hear him coughing at night sometimes? But I don’t know for sure.”
“Motherfucker,” Eddie snarls. “I swear to god, Richie, I warned this would happen.”
“Not pneumonia,” Richie insists weakly. “It’s just a cough.”
Eddie takes his temperature, and it’s a testament to how unwell Richie must be feeling that he doesn’t even throw a fit. Eddie swears under his breath once he gets the reading. “You have a fever,” he snaps. “Fucking pneumonia. We’re gonna need to do a chest x-ray.”
“No,” Richie says vehemently. “I don’t want fucking pneumonia, Eds!”
“Then you should have taken deep breaths more, like I told you to,” Eddie yells back. He’s running through the ship’s inventory in his head, wondering what he had available to treat pneumonia. Part of him wants to be aggressive as fuck treating this, not even giving the infection a chance to think about staying, but the other part of him knows that Richie’s body is fragile enough as it is and that they have to proceed with caution.
“Eddie, calm down,” Ben murmurs under his breath.
“Get me the portable x-ray machine.”
Richie makes a pained noise as he tries to sit up, but he doesn’t even wither under Eddie’s sharp glare. “I can’t do another bed rest, Kaspbrak, I can’t fucking do it, so it can’t be pneumonia. I just got cleared to lose the I.V. bag I’ve been carrying around everywhere. If it’s pneumonia, I’m throwing myself out of the airlock.”
“For Christ’s sake, stop being so dramatic!” Eddie says. Ben rolls the x-ray machine over and Eddie hands him one of the lead aprons. “Ben, grab the DR panel please. Richie, lay back down right now.”
Richie does as he’s told. Eddie slides the DR panel under his back before sliding on his own apron. “If it is pneumonia, we can treat it. It’s treatable, okay? I was. Maybe I was just overreacting. We’ll keep you hydrated. Give you antibiotics and fever reducers. I mean, we’re on the Hermes, we can isolate it. You’ll be fine.”
Ben is staring at him. Eddie can feel it. He doesn’t need to look at Ben’s face to know that Ben is wondering if he’s saying all this stuff out loud for Richie’s benefit or for his own.
“Treatable pneumonia in space,” Richie says. “That sounds like the most boring movie ever.”
“Are you trying to die?!” Eddie snaps. “You want this to be boring, you idiot! Jesus. Can you hold still, please?”
Richie sighs loudly but stops his fidgeting, resting his arms by his sides. “I’m supposed to do that video in a few days,” he says, worrying out loud. His fingers tap against the bed. “Annie might teleport here and murder me if I have pneumonia, because I’ll look sick in the video and everyone on Earth will see, and they won’t like that.”
“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie murmurs as he positions the x-ray.
Ben shifts his weight from side to side. “None of us really want you to do that video anyway, Rich,” Ben reminds him.
Richie scoffs. “Eddie signed the consent form!”
“Because you bullied me,” Eddie mutters. “I think your exact words were, ‘Eddie, you’re denying the public of my handsome mug if you don’t agree to this.’ Then some vague threat about publicly trashing my music taste.”
There’s a moment of quiet, and Eddie takes the pictures.
“That does sound like something I’d say,” Richie admits grudgingly. He looks up as Eddie starts to wheel the machine away. “So? Is it pneumonia?”
Eddie looks at him flatly. “I need a few minutes.”
“Do you really think the video is a bad idea?” Richie asks Ben, sitting up with his help and handing Eddie back the DR panel.
Ben takes a deep breath, stalling. “I don’t think it’s the smartest idea,” he finally says. “I mean, Rich… that’s going to be public record for life. You’ll probably see it everywhere you go for as long as you live. And I get why you want to do it, I really do, but… I worry that you don’t see that. I worry that you haven’t thought about how this image of you will be immortalized. You—you won’t ever forget this part, if you do the clip.”
Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. He turns and catches Richie’s expression harden, and Richie drops his gaze from Ben. “Dude, are you serious? I won’t ever forget any part of it.”
Ben’s expression drops in an instance. “Shit, I didn’t mean it like—”
“Maybe one day I’ll tell you all about it,” Richie suggests. “Share all the dirty, gory details of the eighteen months I spent in isolation on a planet not fit for human survival, so you can never forget it, right alongside me.”
“Richie,” Eddie says quietly.
“No, no, I’d love to talk about it,” Richie continues, holding a hand up to Eddie to placate him. “I mean, I don’t know why I’ve been keeping it quiet for so long. I bet you need a new bedtime story, don’t you?”
“Richie,” Eddie snaps, a warning and a call to his attention. Whatever else Richie was going to say falls flat as he turns to face Eddie, but Eddie barely looks away from his screen. “The scan came up. It’s pneumonia.”
Richie blinks. “Motherfucker.”
[MISSION DAY 797 - HERMES]
Beverly is making her nightly rounds when she hears two voices coming from inside Richie’s room. This isn’t unusual, since they’ve gotten him back aboard. She finds one crewmate or another in there more often than not. It helps Richie, it helps with his nightmares; they all know it even if they don’t talk about it.
The door to Richie’s quarters is open. She catches Ben’s name in the conversation, and curiosity gets the best of her. She stops, feeling slightly guilty as she does, and leans closer.
“You don’t, Richie, it’s okay. He gets it.”
Richie sounds agitated as he says, “I scared the hell out of him. Like it’s one thing to know that I’m traumatized but it’s another thing for me to scream it in his face, you know? My therapist says that it’s okay if I get angry sometimes, but it makes me feel like shit. I do, okay? I do owe Ben an apology.”
Whoever is in there with him is quiet for a moment. Beverly resists the urge to peek her head in.
“You can apologize, but he’s just gonna say the same thing I did.” Eddie. It has to be Eddie in there with him. Eddie pauses again, then continues, “You called Dr. Shields your therapist. Not a doc from the looney bin, not the NASA shrink. Your therapist.”
Richie lets out a surprised laugh, followed immediately by guttural coughing that seems to go on forever. Beverly has time, briefly, to wonder if she should go get him a glass of water. “Well, yeah. Fuck. I guess that shit’s working after all, huh?”
“I’m proud of you, Richie,” Eddie admits. There’s a derisive snort and then a smacking sound and Richie’s low grunt of pain. Beverly stifles a laugh of her own. “I’m serious, jackass. This has to be hard as hell. And I don’t think any of us could do this, not the way you are.”
“Christ, Eds, don’t get sentimental on me now. I still haven’t figured out how to deal with human emotions. And that was a problem I had before getting stranded on Mars.”
Eddie laughs.
It goes quiet for so long that Beverly can’t help but poke her head in now, just a little, just to check on them. They’re both sitting up, backs against the wall, barely illuminated from the starlight outside the porthole. Richie’s eyes are closed and his hand twitches against his leg, coughing every now and again. Eddie glances out the porthole, once or twice, but mostly he just looks at Richie. Beverly is about to turn around when Eddie moves, just slightly, before he takes Richie’s hand. Both of their shoulders sag in relief.
“I’m so happy you’re alive,” Eddie admits. “I can’t… I can’t imagine what it’s like, coming back. I can’t. But I’m so glad you made it back, Richie, I’m so fucking happy.”
“I’m glad I made it back, too,” Richie whispers. “God, I wanted to live so badly… I didn’t even realize. I didn’t know how much I wanted it.”
Eddie is quiet for a second. His head drops to his chest. “I think I would have died, if we hadn’t gotten you back,” Eddie murmurs.
Richie’s head lolls to the side as he turns to look at Eddie. “I get it,” Richie promises. “Like, shit, I know I’m self-absorbed, but I can’t even imagine what it was like for you guys up here. Hoping to get me back, or whatever.”
“No,” Eddie gasps out, fiercely. He doesn’t raise his gaze and Richie doesn’t look away. Beverely knows, she can tell that this is the moment when she should walk away. This should be shared between Eddie and Richie and she should not be privy to it, but these are her people, these are her best friends, and she can’t help it. She can’t help but want to see it through.
“Eds,” Richie starts, confused, but Eddie cuts him off.
“No,” he repeats. “No, Richie, I… I would have died. I would have died. If I hadn’t gotten you back.”
Richie takes a deep breath, and it comes out stuttery. Beverly’s eyes fill with tears.
“I think most of the reason I fought so hard to get back was because I was fighting for you,” Richie admits. His voice shakes, but he doesn’t look away from Eddie’s face. Not even when Eddie finally looks up to catch his eye. He doesn’t even cough as he says, “Don’t look at me like that, I’m fucking serious. I wouldn’t have made it off that planet if I wasn’t so goddamn desperate to see your face again.”
Eddie smiles softly. “God, even when you’re being heartfelt, you’re still an asshole.”
“Some things never change,” Richie agrees.
They sit there for another moment, silent, looking at one another, illuminated by the soft glow of the starlight from the universe around them. There is a tenderness in this moment that will carry the ship until they arrive back home. Beverly smiles to herself, and turns to walk away.
FULL TRANSCRIPT: Richard Tozier’s First Public Appearance Since Mars
Tozier, esteemed botanist and astronaut from NASA’s abandoned Ares III Project, provides his first public appearance since before he was stranded on Mars for eighteen months and rescued miraculously by his crew. Video posted on multiple servers, provided by NASA, on June 3rd, 2037.
(Transcript provided via the New York Times)
[Tozier sits in front of the camera, wearing a NASA sweatshirt and sporting an I.V. bag. He gives a tentative wave to the camera.]
TOZIER: Hey, Earth. This is kind of strange. Some of you may not know this, but I recorded video logs on the Hab’s server while I was on Mars, so talking to a camera is not something that is unfamiliar to me. In fact, I think I’ve gotten plenty of practice at this!
[There’s some snickering off-camera, and Richie grins as he looks away and shoots someone a quick wink.]
TOZIER: As you can see, I’m alive. Healthy, too, even though this I.V. bag suggests otherwise. Dr. Kaspbrak is taking good care of me. In fact, the whole crew is. You’ll be pleased to know that I’m barely allowed to walk a corridor alone. That’s right! I have personal escorts to every room in the Hermes. I’m being treated like a real king.
[There’s more giggling off-screen, and someone mutters something indiscernible. Tozier gives the camera a sheepish look.]
TOZIER: Dr. Kaspbrak just reminded me I’m still recovering from a rib injury, so I should cool it with the jokes. I guess all I really want to say is… I’m healing. I’m alive. And it took the collaboration of a lot of people to make this possible, so thank you. Thank you to… Hell, I don’t know, to everyone who gave a fuck. To anyone who thought some trashmouth astronaut was worth saving. I’ve been given a great gift. And I hope that I can prove to you all that it was worth it. That I was worth it. Thank you for your time. I’ll see you all next month.
LOG ENTRY: MISSION DAY 829 [Text] - Tozier, R
I talked to my mom and dad today.
We’re close enough for live feed so the second that I could, I sat down in front of the computer and waited, patiently, for the connection to finally come through. It’s been nearly three years since I saw my mother’s face, and I’m not ashamed to say that I started to cry the second I saw her.
In all fairness, they both cried too.
Good old Wentworth looks exactly the same. In the same breath, he told me he loved me and was glad I was on my way home and also told me the Dodgers’ stats for the last three years. It was pretty impressive, I’ll give him that.
Maggie told me she can’t wait to hug me. And she told me she’s anxious to meet the people who defied literal space to bring me back. She called them my ‘second family’.
And, like.
I’ve been saying it for years. Ever since I met these guys. But hearing her say it? Knowing that other people can see? Knowing that this friendship, this bond that has forged between us, it’s forever. People I’ve never even met can see it. People who haven’t even been BORN yet will be able to see it. These people I love, these people who love me—we have moved heaven and earth to fight back to each other. And we will continue to do so as long as we all live.
I am emotionally exhausted. I want to hug my mom more than I have ever in my life. I want to say things I still don’t have the courage to say. My ribs still hurt and I still have pneumonia, I still wake up from nightmares more nights than I don’t, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to talk about everything that happened to me. But it’s okay. It’s okay because I’m only one month away from being back on Earth. I’m only thirty-one days away from having every person I love around me, again, forever. I’m thirty-one days away from being that happy.
No, you know what? Fuck it. I’m that happy NOW. I’m alive. I’m fucking alive. I don’t want to waste any more time.
[MISSION DAY 860 - AUGUST 6, 2037]
“Hermes Actual, this is Mission Control. Confirmed launch on schedule. T minus five minutes to departure.”
Richie tries to let out a deep breath, but it gets caught in his throat, and he gasps out, “Oh, fuck, okay. Okay.”
“Are your straps secure?” Stan asks, despite the fact that he checked them himself before securing his own straps. Richie turns his head as best as he can to look at Stan, and he can’t help but laugh at the concerned look on Stan’s face. They’ve all been looking at Richie like this ever since he put his EVA suit back on for the first time in six months, since getting back on the Hermes.
“Super secure,” Richie reassures him.
On his other side,Eddie lets out a laugh that’s almost hysterical. Richie cranes to look at him.
“What’s so fucking funny?” Richie asks, but even he’s grinning from ear to ear. He expected this part to terrify him, but mostly he’s just looking forward to what comes next.
“You’re here,” Eddie says giddily. Bill lets out a whoop next to him, and Richie laughs even though he can’t see Bill. “Last time we did this, you weren’t. Forgive me if I’m a little fucking thrilled that you are here, this time. I’m fucking thrilled.”
Richie grins. “Me, too.”
“Mission Control, this is Hermes Actual,” Beverly calls over the comms. “Main engines start.”
“Copy. T-minus ten… nine… eight… ”
Home, Richie thinks giddily. They’re almost home.
“Seven… six… five… ”
“Alright there, Richie?” Eddie asks, and Richie turns to look at him again. He’s struck, once again, by the realization that his love for Eddie is larger than the cosmos can comprehend. The way he loves Eddie cannot be contained in this universe. It bleeds into all of them. It infects every part of him.
“Three… two… ”
It’s messy and the gloves are too thick, and the angle can’t quite work because of their chairs, but Richie extends his hand as far as he can into Eddie’s space and doesn’t relax until Eddie slides his glove against Richie’s.
“I’m great, Eds,” he says. It’s not enough, but they have time. Richie has all the time in the world, soon, to say all the things he’s been too afraid to say all his life. They have time, Richie thinks, for Eddie to say it back.
“One…”
Richie smiles.