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“Wait, so you’re telling me you have a crush on Commander Lewis?” Watney asked, the biggest shit-eating grin of all shit-eating grins spreading across his face.
“Had! Past-tense!” Johannsen said emphatically.
“But you did!”
“Oh yeah. Totally. She was a big name in the girls-in-STEM community when I was in school.”
“Yeah, I know. I actually did hang out with girls once in awhile.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I know! But then it was just like a life-goals thing, right? You just wanted to be an astronaut like her.”
Johannsen made a face, blushing a little.
“Yeah, no, not really.”
Watney’s grin got bigger, and he pounded on the table, drawing looks from around the cafe where the two had met for their last cappuccino on earth for a good long while.
“Details!” He said, like a middle-school girl at a slumber party.
“I was...working some stuff out in high school.” She said evasively.
“Yeah, who wasn’t?” Watney rolled his eyes.
“And I had a life-size poster of her on my dorm wall. And several magazine cutouts.”
For a while, Watney didn't respond--he was too busy laughing at the image of 18-year-old Beth Johannson, typing away on her bed, surrounded by not one, not two, but three different pictures of Commander Lewis.
“So like,” He said “Instead of pictures of boy bands and stuff—”
“--I had the shot from the Time biopic of her in her Navy t-shirt.”
Mark nodded understandingly. The picture in question was memorable— her red hair loose, storm-grey gaze level, arms folded, stance powerful.
“That picture was very...helpful...in figuring stuff out.”
Watney quirked an eyebrow.
“Oh, I’m sure.” He paused. “So what was it like, finding out you’d be on the mission with her?”
“Honestly? I called my college roommate and freaked the fuck out.”
“And does she know?”
Johannsen’s face was a mask of shock.
“Not a chance! As if the crew needs any help thinking of me as a blushing schoolgirl.”
Watney’s face got abruptly serious.
“I promise, nobody thinks of you like that. You’re a badass hacker chick…”
“Aww.”
“...who’s in love with Melissa Lewis.” He finished.
“Past tense!” Johannson protested weakly.
“Yeah, whatever.”
“So…” Johannson said, twirling her wooden stirring stick in her cappuccino. “Lewis was my high-school science crush. Who was yours?”
“Bill Nye the Science Guy” Watney said, without missing a beat. Johannsen choked on her croissant.
“Not the old kid’s show?” She said.
“Yes.” Watney didn't break eye contact. “Nothing gets me hotter than a sixty-year-old man in a bow tie talking about the water cycle.”
“I knew it.” Johannsen muttered.
“No but actually, have you seen Tesla?”
Johannson nodded her assent.
“I definitely had a picture of Tesla in my locker.” Watney continued. “With that quote, you know, ‘The present is theirs—’”
“‘--The future, for which I really worked, is mine.’” Johannsen finished. “A staple of high-school nerd locker decor.”
They finished their drinks and drove back to the station, small talk and coffee forgotten in the rush of final preparations for takeoff in the next few days.
System checks made Johannsen a few minutes late to the mess hall, and lines of code and procedure had all but erased the morning’s conversation from her mind. That is, until she walked up to the table where the rest of the crew was already arguing over their plates of pasta and boiled vegetables. Martinez was gesticulating wildly with a fork, onto which a piece of broccoli was holding for dear life.
When he noticed her entering, Watney winked exaggeratedly. She looked back in confusion until she realized that, next to him, Commander Lewis, deep in discussion with Beck, was wearing a dark-blue Navy t-shirt. Probably a coincidence, Johannsen thought, until Lewis looked up at her approaching, smiled, and gave a little half-wave.
The eighteen-year-old inside her fainted dead away.
The adult Johannsen, who acted like a grown-up and not a high-schooler, thank you very much Mark fucking Watney, smiled back, set down her tray, and started arguing back at Martinez.
Johannsen caught up with Commander Lewis as the crew left the mess hall for evening preparations.
“Commander, I am so sorry for whatever Watney said, I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“What do you mean? What did Mark say?” Lewis’s tone was neutral, but her smile betrayed her.
“I don’t know what he said but I swear to god, he’s not going to make it back to Earth alive.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t think he thought he was giving away any big secret of yours. Honestly, I’m a little flattered.”
“What?”
“I mean it. What are we doing any of this for, if not to inspire the next set of kids to be even better than we are?”
Lewis put a hand on her shoulder, and Johansen found herself standing up a little straighter.
“The idea that anything I did helped to get you here is unbelievable.”
“So we’re cool?”
“Definitely. We’re all honored to have you on the team, Johannsen, really. You’ve earned this.”
“Yeah, sure, just…”
“Just what?”
“You’re just showing a lot of emotion and approval right now? And it’s kinda weirding me out. Watch out or I’ll get used to it.”
And then, out of nowhere, out of goddamn fucking nowhere, Lewis leaned in and kissed her. It was not an emotional kiss, by any stretch, though her lips landed a little too close to the corner of her mouth for it to be considered entirely chaste and platonic. When Lewis stepped away, smiling, all Johannson could do was put a hand up to her mouth and quietly reflect that maybe she wasn't so far removed from her 18-year-old self after all.
“Um, what was that?”
“Just think.” Lewis said. “How much Watney is going to flip out when you tell him.”