Mark Watney x OFC

Sol 7

I awoke to a searing pain in my leg. I let out a groan, which turned into a short screech when I moved it. I didn't want to look at what was causing the problem. It's never anything pretty. My hand was clasping something that provided me comfort. I squeezed the source and much to my surprise, it squeezed back. I widened my eyes in surprise and painfully arched my head to look over at Mark Watney, his eyes staring into mine.

I could tell he was in deep pain.

I smiled shortly and moaned from the sharp sting in my thigh. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked down at my leg. He widened his eyes too and swallowed.

"Oh god." He groaned and tried pulling himself up.

"Oh, no, no! Stop, Mark!" I yelped, grunting loudly.

"Oh... Oh crap." He noticed the antenna impaling his pelvis and bit his lip. The beeps suddenly caught my attention.

"Wait... what are those beeps?" I breathed, looking over at Watney in panic. His helmet was cracked open, a red light flashing on his arm where the oxygen level showed it was depleting very quickly.

"Shi-sugar. We gotta get back." He grumbled, sitting up. He tried his best to keep his grunts to himself but a particular jolt of pain sent a scream ripping from his throat.

"Oh my god, are you ok?" He didn't answer. Only sent me a questioning glare. I lay my head back as Mark caught my attention with yet another ear-splitting shriek. I sighed and sat up too. When my eyes reached my right leg I screamed in shock.

"Yeah... it's bad." He agreed, pointing at the long metal rod sticking out of his lower abdomen.

"N-no... not that, M-Mark... m-m-my leg." I gasped out, trying to stop myself from throwing up and/or fainting.

"That's terrible too. Here, lemme help ya." I lazily outstretched my arm and he firmly grasped my hand, carefully yanking me up.

"AH!" I yelled, grabbing onto him.

"Sorry. Quick, we have to go." He grabbed my arm and put it around him, limping away with a groan or a grunt here and there.

~~~~~

When we got to the Hab, he gingerly lay me down on the medical chair and gave me antibiotics to numb the pain. He wouldn't tell me what he was going to do, but nonetheless I didn't feel anything. When I looked down, the long, metal rod that impaled my leg was gone, as was his.

"I-I... ne-ed you to... do the... uh... s-staple thi...ngy." I nodded and heaved myself up. Luckily, I was still somewhat drunk on the pills and was able to limp over to him. He sat himself down with a long, pained sigh. I frantically searched around for the stapler and removed his bloody shirt to reveal toned abs and crimson stained muscles.

"Ew." I said, dampening a cloth in some water and dabbing the skin delicately. After I accomplished that, I picked up the stapler and began stitching Mark back together. He winced at every click and once I finished, he sighed loudly.

"Thank you... so fricking much." He smiled, pushing himself up and out of the chair.

"No problem." I breathed, limping out of the room. I couldn't quite gain balance, as I leaned against the walls and clumsily dragged myself into the main room to begin doing something. Anything.

I settled on filling in on my vlog.

"Well... it's me, Corin... me and Watney were left behind by the Ares 3 crew. Wasn't their fault, obviously but... man... what a bad day it's been. I'm all good, I got impaled by an antenna in the thigh, and so was Mark in the pelvis, lower abdomen area. I'm... highly dosed on drugs so I can't really feel anything at the moment, but... I might need a couple bandages... so, anyway. Mark's good, I'm good, I hope we get to go home soon cause I need to tell my friends and family about getting impaled by Wifi.

Speak later, I hope. If I live." Mark laughed from the other side of the room.

"Wow. So negative. We'll live." He promised, waddling to the kitchen to make Martian coffee.

"I don't think I'll make it that long with you here, Watney." I grumbled to myself, hobbling to my bunk and pulling out my box of supplies I could bring on the mission. Opening the lid, I reached in to touch a picture of my family.

I missed them already. I was sure that when Hermes could contact Earth they'll tell my mom and dad that I'm dead and they have a massive memorial over me. And Watney, but c'mon, it should just be about me.

"What're you brainstorming about?" Mark asked from the doorway, mug of crappy coffee in hand.

"Oh... I'm not brainstorming just... homesick." I placed the picture back in the basket and dug around for my music. When I found my disc, I put it on play in the Martian Radio.

Mark watched me limp around and sighed.

"Hey, you ok?" He asked quietly, voice laced with concern that scared me.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good." I lied, eyes brimming with tears. I tried blinking them away and hobbled off to the kitchen. The song that was playing reminded me of home. I didn't like that, but it also reminded me of good memories and I knew... deep down I knew, I was going to get home alive.