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John’s launch was delayed. It happened, happened all the time – although, Shepard mused, they weren’t so prepared for all that a delay could entail when he himself was sitting on the launch pad for hours on end.
Alan made his way from the control center with Carpenter, both sharing CapCom duties for John’s mission. John had made no objections to Al being CapCom, not that Alan had actually expected him to. Things were easier now that Alan’s mission was over. (He tried not to dwell on how much of an utter lack of a mission it had turned out to be.)
Still, even though they were trying to patch their working relationship, there was still a part of Al that was glad John got to experience the frustration of a cancelled launch day.
He tried to tamp it down as he and Scott greeted John, John giving a what-can-you-do shrug.
“Glenn, with me.” Al turned to see Kraft stalk into the room and right back out, an imperious wave of his hand accompanying his order. John exchanged a glance with them, but neither he nor Scott had any idea what that was about.
After waiting a respectful amount of…well, about six seconds to be precise, he followed.
But Kraft had been booking it, and when he made his way back into the control center, neither were to be found. Lunney gestured to the office behind them. Solid walls and closed door – great. Alan wasn’t about to get accused of snooping (or caring), so he walked back out until an easy midway point, fishing out a cigarette to complete his nonchalant not-waiting. Scott joined him.
A few minutes later John stormed down the hallway, stumbling to a halt when he saw them.
“What did the Chief want?” Scott asked.
John visibly floundered for his smile, and at that a quiet warning bell began to go off in Alan’s head. “Oh, just discussing the rescheduling. Come on, I want to get out of all this gear.” He continued on, prattling about the suit. Scott fell into step with him, but Alan didn’t move.
Something was wrong.
Alan made his way back. Shorty and Kraft were exiting the office, Shorty seeming to try to press a point.
“I don’t care,” Kraft practically snarled over whatever Shorty was saying, “It’s over.” He glanced up at Alan’s entrance. “Well, Shepard, looks like all your dreams are coming true.” Then Kraft brushed by both of them.
Alan looked at Shorty. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Shorty just sighed. “Glenn’s about to get his flight taken away.”
“What?” Had some medical problem he was trying to hide get found out? Alan himself was still lucky on that front. But that’s the only reason he could come up with for this sudden decision.
“His wife just refused to let Johnson visit her.”
That answer… Alan blinked. That answer came out of nowhere. John’s wife, the vice-president. What?
Shorty must have seen the confusion, elaborating, “Johnson wanted to visit Annie, film him consoling her about the delay, get some nice coverage. But she said no.”
“And John couldn’t get her to change her mind?”
“He didn’t even try. Said he backed her decision; it was her house.”
..
Alan couldn’t process it. John Glenn, the most ambitious, glory-hunting, thrill-seeking man he knew – excluding himself – had tossed all that to the side when his wife needed him to. Alan had met Annie at many events, and he knew the likely reason for her refusal of Johnson, but Alan knew he himself would have cajoled her to just grin and bear it. He’d have bet the farm that John would have done the same, what with his glory on the line.
He made his way back to their lounge, John and the others seated around the room. Glenn was nodding and smiling to the others, small talking about the delay. Alan knew he hadn’t said anything to the rest of the team. John Glenn didn’t ask for help. For positions, for advancement, sure he’d discuss with his superiors. But not for help when he was weak. ‘A man took care of his own business.’ He’d helped all of them out at various times, something he’d taken furious, righteous glee in pointing out in their last séance, but he’d never asked them for help. Well, he asked (demanded) that they keep their pants zipped, but they’d all shot that down.
But this they could do. This Alan could do.
He was John’s CapCom and - golly gee-whillickers, John – would he communicate.
“Chief of Astronauts,” he called. “I need you.” Chain of command and all that.
Just outside the lounge, Alan quickly briefed Slayton. Deke instantly agreed to help, which was one hurdle down. Now, it was time to go.
Alan opened the door and whistled. The rest of the men looked perplexed, but they complied with his jerk of the head, slowly filing out. John, unsurprisingly, did not obey his whistle and just raised an eyebrow at him. Which was what he wanted anyway.
“You stay there, John. We got this.” That had John rising to his feet but Alan just closed the door and led the team away, Deke already starting to fill the rest in.
..
They barged into the office, Deke trying to sound somewhat cordial. “Chief, the astronauts need to talk.”
Alan wasn’t ready to deal with niceties. “You ground John, you ground all of us.”
“I’m sorry?” Kraft responded, an edge in his voice.
“If you take John’s flight away from him, we’re taking your astronauts away from you.” Gordo joined the mix.
“You be very careful how you speak, Mr. Cooper.”
“He’s just telling it like it is.” Wally.
“You astronauts do not get to throw your weight around whenever something doesn’t go your way.”
“You’re grounding John because he protected his wife. That’s not a valid reason,” Scott argued.
“And that’s not something you want the press to hear,” Deke finished. Kraft looked at him, something akin to betrayal flashing in his eyes, but Deke remained firm.
…
Alan let Scott and the others inform John. He didn’t need to hear John’s aw-shucks thanks. In fact, the only thing he wanted was another cigarette. He found himself returning to the roof.
But apparently, you couldn’t repeat hiding spots. John found him a while later. Alan continued to gaze at the view, ignoring John’s presence. John, for his part, was quiet. Al enjoyed the somewhat rare occurrence, taking another long drag of his cigarette.
But finally, John spoke. “Thank you.”
“Hey, we’re still a team.” Al shrugged it off. “And you saved my bacon before.” They’d never explicitly mentioned Tijuana to each other since the Kona Kai séance. But it was still true.
“We both know that that was to save myself as well.”
Alan finally looked at him then, the admission surprising him. “Well, if they grounded you, all of America would have risen up in protest, and then the whole program would be a wash,” he offered in return.
John breathed a laugh, and Alan felt himself relax.
“So, we both fully understand that we did these things for completely selfish reasons?”
Al couldn’t contain the smirk. “Oh, absolutely.”