Chapter Text
Joan looks around the room, at the crew hugging and cheering. She feels unstable, on the precipice of something potentially dangerous. Her hands are shaking as she sits back down.
Joan can hear Vanessa's breath crackling through the intercom. She counts every single one, up to twenty seven, before Vanessa speaks again.
"Houston, this is Navigator again. Do I have clearance to land at Edwards?"
Joan looks over at Jack who is slumped back into a chair, all of his energy drained out of his body. Jack redirects his gaze to someone still on the intercom, who proceeds to inquire about the status at Edwards.
"All clear," he confirms after a few seconds.
Jack nods at Joan and gives her a weak smile.
"Navigator, you have the all clear. You can land at Edwards."
"Copy that, Houston. Starting the landing process now."
Joan watches the telemetry on the big screen to fill the silence that ensues. Her hands are clammy and she wipes them on her khakis. She can feel her heartbeat in her neck and rubs over the spot manically with two of her fingers.
Once again, all she can hear on the other end of her earpiece is Vanessa's steady breathing. She sounds in control, she sounds alive. Joan lets herself fall into the rhythmic rushing. Her head empties out completely. All she does is wait for Vanessa's next breath.
Vanessa is still alive. She is alive.
"The coordinator over at Edwards confirmed that STS-LR9 just docked successfully! They are on their way to get Danes now," a male voice says suddenly.
A sob breaks out of Joan and she presses her hand over her mouth quickly. Just a few more minutes. She can sit here for a few more minutes and keep her composure.
"Houston, this is Ford. I landed the spacecraft successfully. We are docked and Danes is being taken away as I speak. Do you read?
Joan can hear a strangled breath escape Vanessa. Joan can picture her vividly, her eyes pressed closed to block out everything around her, her back still straight despite everything.
“Yes, Roger that,” Joan confirms.
She can feel every last ounce of tension seep out of her body and is left feeling dizzy. The trembling in her hands is increasing by the second. She has to swallow several times before she can speak again.
“Vanessa.”
“Joan,” Vanessa gives back. Her voice sounds choked up to Joan, even over the intercom.
“Good job. We are all very relieved.”
Joan is greeted with a deafening silence. She wonders who will wait for Vanessa once she leaves the spacecraft. What they will do with her. If they will give her time to grieve and reacclimate or drag her off immediately for a termination.
“Okay.” Vanessa’s voice sounds small and choked up.
“Take a breath,” Joan instructs, softening her words just for Vanessa. “You made it.”
Joan can hear Vanessa take a shuddering breath, then another one. Joan smiles to herself weakly and nods as if in encouragement. She looks around the room and finds Jack’s gaze on her, eyes narrowed. The tiny smile slips right off of Joan’s face as she is confronted with the reality of things.
Everyone knows, don’t they? They have to. There is no way they don’t. They hadn’t been that subtle. On the other hand, maybe everything can be excused in light of the circumstances. Guiding the sole conscious survivor of a crew through a landing, with their death imminent, it’s only natural to want to comfort them. But the things they had said about Frances? There was no way to talk themselves out of that one.
Snap out of it, Goodwin. Not the time.
Jack makes a circling motion with his two index fingers and then taps his knee. Joan nods and closes her eyes briefly. Enough assuming and panicking for now. She still has to double check the final status report with Vanessa, as per protocol. They had broken protocol once Vanessa had decided to fly back without authorization, but might as well go back to it now.
“Ford, this is Houston, here to confirm the status of the crew. Three crew members dead, Commander Steve Hagen, pilot Hank Redmond and mission specialist John-“ Joan’s voice breaks on Griff’s name and she clears her throat. “John Griffin.”
“I confirm.”
Vanessa sounds close to tears. Joan finds a pen on her desk. She clicks it open and presses the ball point into the flesh of her palm until she can breathe again.
“One crew member in critical condition but alive, currently tended to by staff at Edwards Air Force Base. Mission specialist Lydia Danes. One crew member alive, conscious and without injury. Mission specialist Vanessa Ford,” Joan finishes her final check in of the mission.
A rivulet of blue ink runs down her hand and she watches it with rapt attention.
“I confirm, Houston.”
“Thank you, Navigator. You may step off the spacecraft now. Over.”
“Thank you, Jo- Houston. Over and out.”
The crinkling on Joan’s ear piece turns into the rushing of static. Her ears are ringing and she can suddenly feel the oppressive heat of the room closing in on her. Everything is too tight and she can’t quite manage to take a real breath.
A hand lands on Joan’s shoulder and startles her out of her spiral. It’s Jack. He looks down at her with a grave expression.
“Very well done, Goodwin.”
They regard each other somberly for a minute before Jack opens his mouth again, concern written all over his face.
“Listen, Goodwin.” He averts his gaze with a sheepish shrug. “A large number of people were tuned into that intercom of yours. I just want you to know that-“
Joan gets up and takes a stumbling step back. Jack’s hand slips off her shoulder and he frowns. Joan’s stomach is rumbling and all of a sudden, she feels the panic she had managed to partially suppress rise inside of her quickly. Too quickly.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs as she staggers out of the room with one hand pressed into her stomach.
“Goodwin!,” Jack calls out after her but Joan is already at the door.
Someone grabs her arm and she shakes them off. In the hallway, all hell has broken loose. There are people everywhere, shouting to one another and running from one door to the next. Somehow, Joan makes her way down the stairs and out a side door.
She falls down onto her knees and retches up the meager breakfast she managed to force down this morning. Her fingers dig into cold grass and she tries to ground herself over the contact. Another wave of nausea makes Joan’s body cramp up and she spits up bile that burns her throat.
Her breath comes in shudders and she returns to an upright position, tilting her head back. Joan wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. A fine drizzle wets her sweaty face. Joan tries to breathe out the panic through her nose to no avail.
She can feel it taking hold of her chest with an iron fist. Steve, Hank and Griff are dead. All dead. Mottled and swollen up from the leak. And Vanessa had to witness this. Vanessa had almost died. But she wasn’t dead. She lives. Her Vanessa was alive.
Joan stands back up on shaky feet. She smoothes down her shirt and khakis and wipes her mouth one more time. Now isn’t the time for a mental break down. She is still on the clock and she should get to Vanessa as soon as possible.
Joan closes her hand around the cool door handle and takes a deep breath. She pushes all of her grief and worry and panic aside and enters problem solving mode. This is what she is good at. It’s part of her job. For Vanessa, it’s easier than breathing. She has to get to California.