❝The most painful goodbyes are those that are not said.❞ - Anonymous.

Bronwyn sat quietly, staring at the reluctant Watney as he climbed to his feet from kneeling in front of her. She could feel the fatigue lurking up on her but her concentration was completely on Watney as he paced through the HAB.

"We have no way to contact NASA or Hermes," he confirmed what she had already knew, "and even if we could, it's gonna be four years until a manned mission can reach us," he added as Bronwyn's hope depleted, her eyes dulling at the information.

"The HAB is designed to last 31 days though?" She spoke, the dread seeping into her mind as Watney nodded, "it's not reliable for 32, never mind 1460."

"Exactly but that's not all, if the oxygenator breaks, we're gonna suffocate. If the water reclaimer breaks, we'll die of thirst. If the Hab breaches, we are just gonna, kind of implode," he nonchalantly replied as Bronwyn run her hands through her hair, drawing in a deep breath to remain calm as he continued to reel off their possible deaths, "and if by some miracle, none of that happens then eventually we're gonna run out of food. So, yeah."

She sighed, what was the use in positivity? Their chances were zero to none, there was no use in correcting NASA on their survival status because either way, the two would still be coming home in body bags.

Staring into the distance of the main room, Bronwyn continued to ignore the throbbing sensation of her wound as she pushed it to the back of her mind of relevant problems. Her eyes felt too exhausted to examine it, her body too withered with the flood of tiredness she was enduring to care, so she just remained silent for a moment as her eyesight slowly landed on a computer screen.

She frowned as she noticed it was on video mode, the view being reversed onto the computer user before she huffed to her feet to go and see it closer. At her grunts of pain, Watney recommended she'd sit back down until they sorted out her wound but she brushed it off carelessly.

"I'm just injured, not crippled," she shrugged it off, much to Watney's mental protest that her carelessness would possibly get it infected, but she wouldn't care what happened to her, it was inevitable they were both going to die.

As she struggled with the slightest limp to stand in front of the computer, a small smile tugged at her lips as she realised Watney had been filming himself whilst she was unconscious. Staring at it for a moment with the smallest smile, she acknowledged the tag in the corner of 'Watney's log.'

"Never had you down for the iCarly type, Mark," she laughed before hissing in a breath, shooting pains shrieking through her wound as Watney shook his head at her in disbelief.

"You going to let me patch that up or what, Evans?" he mocked, pulling himself to his feet to help her before she paused, her hand reaching to her gushing blood to momentarily stop it.

"Beck would have known exactly what to do," she quietly spoke as her dull eyes continued to stare at the floor, her voice barely audible as she reminisced and craved his soft touch. Inhaling a deep breath, she stared at Watney with a numbing expression as the realisation she'd never see Beck again set in, "no one is going to come back for us, are they?"

Watney refrained sadly from answering momentarily as he considered his words, "I honestly don't know."

Biting her quivering lip, Bronwyn pulled her hand from her wound and stared at her bloody hand. "He thinks I'm dead," she choked, her voice breaking in sorrow as tears began to painfully prick her eyes. "The worst thing is, we are."

Watney remained silent for a short moment before solemnly speaking, "you don't know that," he quietly replied as she seemed to suddenly snap out of her trance and wipe at her eyes with her forearms, to avoid smudging blood on her face.

"I'm just going to fix the gaping window to my guts," she avoided his gaze as her weak voice tried to regain its strength, "I can't think about our families grieving our misunderstood situation."

Watney nodded, liking the idea he'd repeatedly said beforehand.

☇

Depression is an eroding emotion that clings to a person like a heavy weight, weighing their chest painfully with an agonising discomfort and inconsolable misery. Its devouring teeth draw blood on all it comes in contact with and it is the modern day monster as it does not live under beds but instead, in minds. It can't be cured, only endured with the hope that one day there will be a better tomorrow.

That wasn't the case for the families of Mark Watney and Bronwyn Evans. There was not and would not be another tomorrow for their loved ones and the thought felt like the knife that had been stabbed into them, was twisting and churning to intensify the agony.

Their families were always prepared for the unpredictability of Space, but that didn't make the weight any lighter to bare. It hit the families like a bullet fired from a gun, severing through them with a thousand mortifying ideologies of how their loved one suffered incredibly in their last moments; it was unbearable.

Never seeing someone again is something we can't physically fathom, where do they go? Will I ever see them again?- please let me seen them one more time- Faith is always questioned in death because our ability to ignore the unknown is nonexistent.

In the seclusion of their homes, their families broke their hearts and the desire to rewind time was all that they wished for. NASA also felt that strong urge, with the prominent oppression of the press suffocating them.

Earth was in a mess; this was an unprecedented, tragic phenomenon that now left two accordingly dead humans to rot on the Martian surface. It was horrific and the idea of space now terrified most aspiring enthusiasts- but the fear should always have been there, to not fear space is to embrace stupidity.

So perhaps that did render Beck stupid, for he feared losing Bronwyn more so than he feared space, but that still wouldn't bring her back. He knew that, he felt it with every heavy, exhausted step he took into the kitchen the following morning.

Vogel sadly glanced up at his entrance, Beck's hair disheveled and his eyes puffy with pain as he made his way to the cups. Vogel held his tongue and gazed back into his cup of coffee, hesitant as to question if Beck was alright- it was a stupid question.

The Hermes felt strange with two crew members short, even more so that the two would actually never come back to fill the void they left behind. And even despite not being blood to blood with the two crew mates, Vogel's mood was also slightly drowned with sorrow and sympathy.

As Beck painfully slowly made tea, Vogel's mind drifted to Commander Lewis. How can you console someone who is the lead in consolidating? She is the captain, the top dog, the commander, yet Vogel still knew the lose of two of her own struck her hard.

He sighed, diverting his attention back to Beck as scooped up the two cups and made his way to his dorm, but not before Vogel asked, "Dr. Beck, why have you got two cups?"

Beck paused as he suddenly gazed down at the two cups, his lips suddenly quivering at the reminiscing that Bronwyn wasn't alive anymore, something he'd forgotten for a split second as he put out two cups.

Vogel's expression broke sadly, "Dr. Beck- I'm so sorry-"

"-sorry won't bring her back," Beck uttered lowly as he threw her cup into the waste, ashamed he'd even think she was aboard the Hermes. "Believe me."

☇

Bronwyn slightly winced as Watney sewed her wound, the needle piercing in and out of her skin as the wire looped through the indents, tying it together like a shoe lace. Occasionally dabbing the overflow of blood with cotton wool, Watney huffed, "yeah, Beck would have been the best person to do this."

Bronwyn slightly grimaced at his name, "yeah, I'd like to think he'd make it hurt less."

"The gratitude from you, love, is astounding," Watney retorted as Bronwyn laughed.

"Thanks for not wanting me to die, then," Bronwyn replied, her glum expression returning.

"Perk up you moody old thing, I'm starting to wish you'd just trip me up or something so the real Bronwyn comes back," Watney grumbled as he began to wrap a bandage around her waist, Bronwyn holding up her top to make it easier.

"Be careful what you wish for old man," Bronwyn detained her smirk, Watney smiling triumphantly.

"Is that Bronwyn under the surface?" He joked, "could you please tell her to come through because the Bronwyn I'm stuck with right now is a boring, bleeding, ass," Watney smirked as Bronwyn smacked the top of his head.

"I will kick your ass, Mark Watney, don't test me."