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Astronauts Mark Watney and Chris Beck boarded the Hermes. The crew quickly surrounded the pair, eager to greet Mark, however Dr. Beck intervened. “Go limp and I’ll push you to the sick bay.” This was the general protocol for injured crew members.
The two made it to the sick bay swiftly. Sitting in the white sterile room, they waited for the vessel to re-pressurize. Watney went to remove his helmet when the room was safe. Beck reached over and stopped him. “Wait for me to get mine off, then I’ll help you with yours.” Mark opened his mouth to protest, but the aching in his ribs made him rescind his action. The adrenaline of his rescue was beginning to fade and he could feel every bit of pain and discomfort he had acquired during his stay on Mars. Chris finished with his suit and helmet and reached to remove Mark’s. As Dr. Beck lifted the helmet off of Watney’s head, he gasped. Mark immediately reached a hand up to his forehead, expecting to feel blood dripping from some horrific head wound. Finding that nothing felt amiss, Mark looked at Chris quizzically. “What is it? I didn’t think my haircut was that bad.”
Beck remembered himself, quickly returning to the emotionless doctor façade of his training. “After we get some X-rays of those ribs, you’re taking a shower.”
Oh. Right. It’d been a long time since Mark had washed…anything. Keeping clean was a privilege, one that he couldn’t afford for most of the past two years in favor of conserving his water supply. It was strange to worry about things like hygiene again.
Beck proceeded, helping him remove most of his gear. He poked and prodded Mark as Watney tried to complain to return their dynamic to what it used to be. It was difficult to remember how to socialize.
Hooked up to several machines for monitoring, Mark was finally able to rest. Beck had assessed that Watney didn’t seem in immediate danger, his broken ribs and malnourishment being the biggest issues. He recommended Watney rest before showering, wanting to give extra time for any potential problems to make themselves known.
Mark had become increasingly tired as the examination went on. His fragile physical state left him deeply drained from the day’s events, and he felt taken aback by the amount of social interaction. Watney hadn’t spoken to anything but his plants for 549 Martian sols, and it was quite frankly overwhelming to interact with other people again. He found it hard to remember not to voice his inner thoughts out loud, and also would often zone out in the middle of people trying to talk to him. As he pondered this, Watney fell asleep on the medbay cot.
As Mark slept, Chris Beck remained in a chair at his bedside, watching his vitals and ensuring everything remained stable. He felt as though he was in a state of shock. The plan worked. The crew had recovered Watney, and the added 500-some days on their mission were more than worth it. In fact, at this very moment, Commander Lewis was probably informing NASA of the details of their success. After all, there was a fifteen-minute delay in communication between the Hermes and Earth, so NASA was constantly behind in information and reports.
Suddenly, an obnoxious and blaring alarm cut through Beck’s thoughts. Predictably, he guessed, blowing up the VAL had some structural consequences. Hopefully, it was something fixable. Beck stayed put. As the EVA specialist, many of the repairs fell to him, however, the Commander had instructed him to focus only on monitoring Watney.
Seeing movement in his periphery, Beck turned to Watney’s place on the cot. What he saw was distressing. Watney had his knees up to his chest, curled into a ball, with his hands clamped over his ears.
“Mark?” Chris hurried to his side. Mark began to hyperventilate, his eyes darting around the room. He didn’t seem to see Chris. “Watney, can you hear me?”
Chris didn’t have as much training for psychological issues as physiological ones, however, he knew what might help in this situation.
Cautiously, he laid a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Mark, you’re on the Hermes . We rescued you today, and you’re in the medbay recovering.”
Mark briefly made eye contact, before his eyes flitted elsewhere. “No…No, you’re not real. I’m alone. The Hab just exploded and I’m going to die.” His voice wavered at the last part, and his face carried an expression of raw terror. His breathing quickened again.
Chris persisted, now reaching for one of Mark’s hands. He held it in his own. “Mark!” “feel my hand. You aren’t alone. We rescued you, and you are no longer on Mars.”
Now, Mark’s gaze truly met Beck’s. He looked so broken and desperate, nothing like the man Beck remembered Watney to be. It was hard for his crewmate to see him like that.
“What do you see, Mark?” Beck questioned, feeling a little out of his depth.
Everything was too much. Suddenly, with the blaring of the alarms, Mark was back on Mars again. The Hab had blown, and the alarms in his suit were screaming for his attention. He felt the blood dripping down his head. Part of him knew this couldn’t be real, after all, he was on the Hermes , right? He felt someone next to him. Beck . He gripped his hand like a lifeline. He was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t breathe. He was losing oxygen through the hole in his helmet, and he would soon suffocate and freeze to death, all alone, on Mars.
“Mark!” “Mark, what do you see?” Beck’s concerned gaze appeared in his vision, but it was difficult to focus on.
“I-I don’t,” Mark started to rock back and forth. “I’m going to die here!”
The alarms suddenly stopped. At the edge of Mark’s awareness, he reasoned that this was because the problem was resolved elsewhere on the vessel. His grip on Beck lessened. Without the alarms, it was easier for him to stay on the Hermes .
“Are you really here?” Mark sought reassurance. “Have I been rescued?”
Beck maintained eye contact and a firm grip on Watney. “Yes, Mark. You are on the ship, and in recovery.” “I know it’s hard right now, but you will be okay.”