Notes

Its just that Chris became something else, from the moment he took him back and started caring after him with an aggressive apprehension, the first days where heart-breaking glances at Mark's bony chest and overly delicate treatment of bruises, even for a doctor.
The second phase was mostly "yes doc bossy-Beck." "Yes mom, I did eat properly, no I did not binge. Gee Chris, I'm actually older that you, you know that, right?" Followed by a scowling Beck. Mark liked his childish frown. He could have looked menacing if he wasn't so young and if he hadnt such a pretty face.

Eventually the post-mission phase termined, everyone from the crew happy to get back to their families, their houses. Vogel and Martinez had children and were so excited about that, Lewis had her equally obsessed husband waiting for her. Johanssen decides to stay with her family for quite a while after her mission, and both Mark and Chris lived alone.
For his well-being, Mark was recommended to visit regularly a psychologist, and that didn't bother him at all. The problem was his apartment. It was so still, so silent, barely the humming of the fridge. He thought about getting a pet, but what Mars left him was just his endless breathing, he wanted to hear somebody else's, close enough to taste it, almost like a kiss but more of a reminder that he wasn't alone anymore.

He couldn't sleep anymore.
Too quiet. And when he closed his lids, Mars' red stillness burned in his mind. He thought about getting a pet. A dog, maybe, he had always been a dog person. But he wouldn't have had time for it, even though in the future things would have changed.
He thought about calling his therapist for sorting this thing out, since it wasn't the first time. But his fingers automatically typed Chris Beck's phone number on the screen. He waited some seconds before a sleepy grunt greeted him with: "Mark? What the fuck do you know what time is it? Are you ok?
"Hey Chris I. Uhm. Couldn't sleep. And since you're a doctor I thought that maybe-- No. Nevermind. Sorry. What was I thinking it's 3 am please go to sleep. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"Mark no wait I'm awake now we can still-"
But Mark had already ended the conversation. God, what was he thinking? Bothering Chris like this. He needed to check for further brain damage because what he did now was beyond inappropriate.



Mark sat on his bed, sheets all messy, tormenting himself maybe a bit too much for what he did, uneasiness and guilt mixing annoyingly in his chest.
He was too tired to do anything but stare at the ceiling untill that annoying little fucking sunray appeared through the window. But not this time. This time, at 3.21 pm precisely, Mark's doorbell rang and a heavy-lidded, scruffy Chris Beck appeared at his front door. He was wearing a jacket but it was clear that He had not bothered to wear something that wasnt his pyjamas.
"Cmon Mark are you gonna make me fall asleep on your doormat or are you gonna make me go in?"
What. Just what. Mark must be hallucinating now. Chris Beck at his front door in pyjama at 3 am? What is this?
"What the hell are you doing here, it's 3 am, Im sorry I called you but look, I mean..."
"Please Mark shut up for now. I noticed you haven't been sleeping. Now please let me in and let me sleep. And yes, I'll sleep in your bed because first of all your couch is probably stuffed with trash and secondly I know where the problem is. So let's sleep for now. Talk in the morning."


Shit.
Definitely shit.
Ok, Mark could deal with unexpected guests. And could deal with unexpected guests that wanted to suddenly sleep in his bed a little less well but he could still manage. But the unexpected guest was Chris this time, stupid Chris and his pretty face.
Ok, maybe he had been a little bit proud on his need for help that forgot that Chris concern came first of all from his friendship. So now was time to calm down, and... See how things worked out... Maybe?
Well, as expected Bossy-Beck did not waste time and already curled up on his mattress with an arm under his pillow and his head resting on it. Thankfully the bed was big enough for the both of them. Mark lied down staring again at the ceiling, but this time he had Chris' back on his side, slowly breathing, the most soothing sound in the whole universe now, Mark thought.
"Mark?" hummed Chris in his pillow.
"Yeah?"
"Put a hand on my back"
"What?"
"You heard me"
His voice was low and choked by his tiredness and pillow, but there was no reason to disobey.
Mark did, and saw his hand raising rhythmically with Chris' breath. It felt surreal, too close. A dim light let Mark see Chris' vertebrae through the fabric in this position, his nape once neatly cut, now hair were messy and just a little too long. Mark closed his eyes to focus on the breath next to him, and just like that, with his hand following the movements of Chris' chest, and adjusting his own pace, Mark fell asleep.


The morning after, Mark had to blink a few times before his sight stopped being blurry and figured out that the lump next to him weren't rumpled sheets but actually Chris Beck. Oh, yeah, right, he must have completely blacked out once he fell asleep and he momentarily forgot about Chris' presence.
He checked his phone, and it was surprisingly early, about 6 am. He didn't want to get up yet. A white, neutral light filtered from the window and enlightened the room pleasantly, just a warm darkness that let Mark grasp Chris' unconscious features. Dark hair, all messed up, a bit of a stubble on his jaw, his defined lips. He had turned his head towards Mark during his sleep, involuntarily, Mark thought.
His first impulse was to put his hands on his shoulder, or cupping his cheek, to wake him up calmly and contemplate the soft stillness of a morning free of every concern (for now). And this time, perhaps because he was still half asleep, or maybe because he was lucid enough to know, his hand moved on his own, and reached Chris' neck.



Chris opened his eyes, slowly, and for a fraction of a second Mark thought about withdrawing his hand, but then Chris raised his to give him a friendly pat on the bicep, his usual low and croaky voice from sleep.
"Slept well?"
"Yeah. Thanks to you though."
"No big deal buddy. Now be nice and bring me breakfast."
"Bossy as always, I see."
Mark kicked the sheets away and walked barefooted till the kitchen, a loud, annoying "God damn it" playing on repeat in the back of his mind. He didn't know why he was so upset, maybe it was the friendly pat, how Chris nonchalantly dismissed his touch, or how he couldn't see how much he meant to Mark, really, he didn't know, he probably was afraid to know, but he certainly knew that this wasn't what he wanted.
Opening the fridge Mark noticed it was almost empty and he had barely an egg. So he picked up some random clothes and decided to go but something at the store at the end of the road, which should be open even at that hour in the morning.
He told Chris about going out, and that if he wanted he could use the shower: "the towels are on the top drawer, the water comes cold at first, give it a minute."

At the store, Mark didn't really pay any attention to what was he buying, mostly due to the fact he was half asleep and half thinking about Chris. Giving it a break, maybe? Stop thinking about Mr I-Woke-Up-Like-This Beck? It seemed impossible. Whatever. Maybe it was because of his impulsivity last night.
He paid the milk, eggs and fruit juice with the crumpled dollars in his pocket, and headed home.
Well, if there was something that Mark Watney was, that thing is patient. First of all because he's a botanist, you can't scream at plants expecting them to grow up faster, and he waited for more than a year before getting back on Planet Earth, so if there was somebody good at waiting, that one was him.
Maybe Chris would have figured it out with the time. And Mark, too. He was still confused. He liked Chris, really, as a friend and maybe something more. They spent a lot of time together and there was so little space between, they were so intimate that now being back to their own lives felt... Emptying. He missed him. He missed the man that met at least once a week, he missed the man that would always answer his texts, and God damn it, he missed the man who showed up at his door at 3 am.

Mark shut the door behind him with a sigh and kicked his shoes off. He put the bag on the kitchen counter and started pulling things out. Another sigh and went looking for Chris.
"Hey! I'm back. How do you want your eggs?"
Chris appeared from the bathroom door, a toothbrush in his mouth and just a towel clinging his hips.
"Scrambled is fine"
"Ok. Sure. It'll be ready in a minute."
This really had to stop. Ok, Mark could understand the fact he had feelings, even romantic ones, for Chris, but this. This was downright illegal. He had to look away because he knew he was staring. He turned rapidly towards the kitchen, ears burning red.
Mark almost ended up burning the toasts, thinking about Chris using his soap, and his skin, his hair, smelling the way he did, like he was... His.
He sat down, covering his whole blushing face with his hands, muffling his voice calling Chris for Breakfast.
Chris showed up few minutes later wearing comfortable clothes, hair still damp and a bit wild. He sat next to Mark, with a smirk that could mean amused or curious. Mark was absolutely terrified to know.

"You alright there, Watney?"
"Yeah I just... Dozed off I think. I'm still a bit sleep-deprived after all."
Chris hummed from his mug and then silence spread between them, only the sound of cutlery and chewing filling the room.
They finished eating together and Chris put his dish into the sink and went back to the bedroom. Mark could hear him trafficking with his stuff from the kitchen. As soon as he finished drying the plates, he went looking for Chris, who was packing the little stuff that brought with him into his bag.
"Leaving already?"
""Uh, yeah, I don't want bother you."
"Oh god please, you know you aren't. You can stay if you want."
"Mark. I really can't, ok? Not today."
But Chris kept looking away. He did not meet Mark's eyes and he had been fiddling with the zip for a minute now. Was he... nervous? Bossy-Beck was actually nervous?
Mark dared to step closer. He sat on the edge of his bed, next to Chris' bag.
"You ok?"
"Yeah."
"C'mon Chris. Look at me."
Chris was standing in front of him now, towering over Mark's gaze. And then he did. He looked and both of them wish he didn't. Something in Mark's throat wanted him to choke on his own spit but he grasped to his decency. Not now, for God's sake.
Mark's hand moved on his own, again, meeting Chris' wrists, warm unlike his trembling fingers. They ran along Chris' arm, untill his hand slowly detached just to feel the fabric covering Chris' hips, lifting it, now with both hands, Chris' skin again, burning, under his palms, his abdomen rising along with his stuttered breath. Then Mark pulled him closer, in a hug, his hands on his skinny back, Head resting on Chris' chest. It was enough like this, Mark could taste his unsettling stillness on the tip of his tongue, and he was sorry for that. But he needed him to stay like this. For a while. For a couple hours, maybe. They weren't looking at each other anymore, Mark's head was turned, but he wasn't focusing on anything except for Chris' whole being. He closed his eyes and a few tears, sticky and hot rolled down his cheeks. He couldn't help it. Mark choked out something that resembled awfully to "I'm sorry".
Chris tensed down, exhaled heavily and ran his fingers through Mark's hair, soothing him.


"Mark. Hey. I'm not leaving anymore, ok? Look at me."
Mark wasn't sure he was ready for that. Chris seeing him completely defenseless and fragile. He trusted him, but showing that part of yourself to somebody, no matter how dear, it was always a risky step.
He slowly let go of Chris waist, and looked up.
When Chris met his eyes, he sat next to him, so that they would be at the same height. Mark was right, he used his soap. It felt so good on him.
"You have to tell me what's wrong, Mark. I want to help you. We all want to help you but you keep trying to fix yourself on your own and you know this won't work, you're a damn good engineer but you suck at this."
Chris' look was sweet, and sincerely worried, and made everything heavier.
"Chris I... I can't sleep. It's too silent and even if there are noises in the background I can't sleep because I feel so alone and... I know it's stupid but sometimes the silence is too much. It's deafening."
He let out all of that quickly, like removing a band-aid. That's how it felt.
Chris touched his hand lightly and bounced it childishly, but his gaze was still serious and concerned.
"It's not stupid, Mark. It's perfectly understandable. I mean really, I get it, you'll get over this maybe but for now you have to tell the therapist. It's important. Please."
Mark wanted to tell him that what he was suggesting wasn't enough, that it wasn't what he wanted. So he inhaled, closed his eyes, and met Chris' again, for the umpteenth time, never enough.
"It's not just that, yes, of course, that's the big deal the main problem. But then there's... You. Yeah. I mean this also sounds terrible, I'm sorry, anyway I think you can help. Like, I slept fine tonight because you were here with me, and maybe it's because you took care of me for a long time, what I want to say is that. I feel, uhm, safe, yeah, safe, with you. Around. Thanks for that."
Chris face relaxed but his eyebrows were a bit raised, it could be perplexity or something else, Mark couldn't figure out, but noticed his cheek flushing. Well, at least he wasn't the only one who felt his face burning now.
Honestly, fuck it all. Mark was blind and too focused on ignoring what Chris actually meant for him, what he made he feel, that he didn't realize he was in love with Chris, because all of this, wanting to be near him, calling him at 3 am and feeling safe with him, feeling nervous and blushing like a teenager, was love. Stupid and sudden as the very realization of it.

"I think I love you, Chris."
Silence. If all of this were a comedy, tumbleweeds would roll away, but it wasn't.
"What."
Now this look, was absolutely indecipherable. Something like a thousand emotions crossed Chris' face. Mark wanted to kiss him now, he looked so dumb. Maybe he shouldn't have been so direct, but he had never been a fan of making this things wait.
"I said I'm in love with you."
"Yeah ok I heard you but what the fuck. If this is one of your jokes I swear to god M-"
Mark kissed him. It was barely anything, just his lips brushing Chris', it was chaste and soft and blurry, it was so fast that it could have lasted an hour in Mark's mind.
It was so fast they could have pretended it never happened. It was selfish, yet Mark had been nothing but selfish lately.
"Does it look like I'm joking to you?"
His words were so still and detached Mark could hardly believe they came out of his mouth.

Chris was speechless, eyes wide with surprise. He didn't back away or anything like that. Mark suspected it was due to the fact it was so sudden. The next minutes would decide if Mark had royally screwed up or not, and he couldn't help being awfully tense.
"Mark, I... I had no idea... I thought you... I mean, I'm sorry-"
"Ok. I get it. You can leave if you want now. It's ok"
Mark cut him off, he couldn't hear further. He was sorry? For what? Not being able of reciprocating his feelings? It wasn't his fault. Mark was impulsive and didn't think about Chris' feelings. After all he thought he was in love with Beth for a long time. Why would he be interested in Mark?
Fucking stupid, that's what he had been. "Stick to plants and machines" he thought, smiling bitterly.
He stood up and walked away, not looking at Chris. The actions of a coward, or a guilty man. Whatever. He found himself in the kitchen, hands on the cold sink, looking at his distorted reflection in the mirror. Well, now he knew, he screwed up. His mind didn't stop being atrociously sarcastic: "Congratulations, Mark! Bloody well done!". It was better than crying, somehow.
He heard quick steps from the bedroom, probably Chris decided to leave. The steps came closer. Too close. At some point he felt a firm grasp on his arm, forcing him to turn, now looking at Chris' frowning face, staring at him angrily. The same hand that made him turn around now was still on his neck, pulling him closer to Chris' mouth, for a kiss.
It wasn't like Mark's earlier. This one was almost desperate, loud with unsaid words, warm and unexpected and wanting. Chris kissed him like he was saving him, inhaling and then tasting Mark's lips again, and again. After the initial shock Mark kissed him back, but still uncertain. This was the prelude of something greater, of all the things that nobody dared to say since Mark stepped into Ares III for the last time. It was the longest, most beautiful prelude that they ever heard.


"If you ever."
Chris put a kiss on Mark's mouth
"Cut me off like that again"
Another one.
"I will kiss you so stupid that you can't even talk anymore."
At this point Mark was smiling and blushing so hard his cheeks hurt, he couldn't believe that it was happening. Chris didn't fail on being bossy even on this, but he couldn't bring himself to care right now.
"I love you Mark Watney. I've been in love with you since you first called me Bossy-Beck in the training room. But I only realized when you told me you needed some time because I was the first person you saw after more than a year on Mars. I've been wanting to kiss you since you were conscious again after I took care of your ribs. Then we're back on this planet and you're sorrounded by doctors that aren't me and by journalists and you felt... So distant, Mark. I missed you so much. And then you call me at 3 am because you can't sleep and you expect me not to run into your arms, you jerk?"
This was seriously a dream. Mark didn't want to look stupid so he resisted the urge to pinch himself. Chris was in love with him. And he had been for a long time. How could be so damn blind?
But it's true, he had been so far away, he felt that too. He had been so focused on himself, on his healing, that he didn't realize that part of his healing includes Chris, and what he felt for him.