#we're getting close

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November 8, 2026 Nassau Bay, TX

“John?” Gale calls out as he squints at the mirror in their bedroom, concentrating on getting his tie straight before rebuttoning his waistcoat. “John? You out there somewhere?”

“Yeah!” comes a distant response.

Satisfied that he looks halfway decent, Gale adjusts his suit jacket and checks his watch. They’re not late for the pre-launch gala, per se, but they’re cutting it a little closer than he’d like. He reaches for the bottle of cologne on his dresser, and the sticky note falls to the floor. 

Call from James Cleven.

He closes his eyes, clenches his jaw. When he picks it up, the feeling of the sticky note between his fingers is overwhelming, dry paper on calloused skin, like sandpaper. It makes him grimace as he runs his thumb along the lower edge, where the number is scrawled in the secretary’s loopy handwriting. 

“Buck? You need something?”

Gale sighs, reaching his hand out to set the note back on his dresser. And then he crumples it and throws it in the trash instead.

He has bigger problems to deal with right now. He doesn’t need another one.

Instead he runs a hand through his hair, glances at himself one more time in the mirror. He tests out a smile, fixes his jacket again, and follows the sound of his husband’s voice through the house.

Bucky’s been getting more distant in recent days, drifting just an inch further and further away the more milestones they pass on their way to launch day. He acts like he isn’t, like everything’s fine, like he can’t even fathom there being something to worry about. It’s like all the progress they’ve made and all the effort they’ve put into preparing themselves mentally for this mission has just gotten shoved out the window, and they’re back to old ways – posturing and stoicism. 

It’s driving Gale crazy.

He’s sure Bucky knows he’s not fooling anyone, at least not Gale. He can see the nerves in his husband’s body language and facial expressions, written out like a book, and he can feel the way it fills the air between them. Bucky’s been jittery, rigid, like he’s being forced to play a role and he doesn’t know what’ll happen if he makes a wrong move.

As if it’s not the first thing on everyone’s minds anyway.

Gale finds his husband standing in the living room, frowning as his fingers twitch and fumble around cufflinks that he just can’t finagle through the holes. His brow is furrowed in consternation disguised as irritation, and Gale can tell he’s biting down on the inside of his cheek. 

“Hey,” Gale says softly. He absently runs a hand over Pepper’s ears as she greets him with a wagging tail.

Bucky glances up and shoots him a smile somewhere between relief and embarrassment. “Hey. Sorry.”

“Feeling okay?” Gale asks, stepping in close. He gently reaches for Bucky’s hands, prying one cufflink from fingers that don’t fight back nearly enough. He secures it easily, and moves onto the other one. 

“I’m fine,” Bucky says. He visibly forces himself to relax, trying to look sincere, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“John,” Gale sighs. “It’s okay, you know, if-”

If you’re scared, nervous, worried, whatever. It’s okay if tonight feels like too much. It’s okay if you’re having a hard time. It’s okay. 

But he doesn’t get the words out before they get cut off. 

“I’m okay, Gale,” Bucky insists again. His smile gets stronger, that winning, cocky thing that he uses to charm everyone he meets, and he leans in for a quick kiss. He presses his hand delicately over Gale’s, whose fingers are still grazing over the cufflink. “Thank you. Now stop worrying about me and finish getting ready. Your hair’s a mess.”

Gale stumbles as he gets shoved through the kitchen and back into the bedroom. “We really should talk about it, you know,” he says quietly as he stands in the doorway of the en suite. He’s tired of dancing around this not-so-silent elephant in the room. He’s tired of the pseudo-distance that has warped the space between them into something so small and yet uncrossable. He wonders if Bucky can hear the hint of nerves, of pleading, in his voice. Actually, he’s almost sure he does. He knows Gale too well not to. 

I need to talk about it, he thinks about saying. He thinks, for a moment, about just being honest. 

But there’s Bucky in his suit and tie, all buttoned up like the professional, the husband, the man he has always fought to be. He won’t meet Gale’s eyes, looking somewhere next to him at the painting of Cape Canaveral that hangs beside the bathroom door. They’re just days away now. In a few days, Gale will leave for the Cape, and Bucky will be here, and they will be one step closer to Artemis 4. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky says, tagging a soft chuckle onto the end to try to sell it, even though there’s nothing left to sell. And then he turns away. 

Gale is left, lips parted in an unspoken ask, alone in the bathroom doorway. He watches Bucky stop in the hallway, give Pepper a scratch behind the ear, and then head for the front door, leaving Gale inside on his own surrounded by a confusing haze that feels an awful lot like something breaking. Crack by crack. 

In the bathroom, looking in the mirror, he brushes his fingers through his own messy, soft hair, unstyled the way his husband has always liked. He thinks about the way Bucky used to laugh, chaotic and loud and unapologetic, as he played keep away with the gel. Gale wonders when Bucky last laughed quite like that. 

Surely, not too long ago. Surely. 

He’s still John Egan, after all. 

Cocksure, king of the world. 

The carefree balance to Gale’s carefulness. 

But the closer they get to launch, Gale has noticed. 

His eyes shift from the mirror to the hair gel and back. The mirror is new, the one Benny went out and bought before Bucky came home, but Gale swears he can still see cracks in the glass. He can hear the shatter, feel the shards lodged in his skin. He still has a faint scar over his knuckles, only visible when the light hits it right. 

He feels frozen, like he did that night, caught between the memory of Bucky laughing, and the memory of standing here, wondering if they’d ever joke around like that again. It’s so stupid, that he’s getting caught up in it now. Just another one of those things that he might never feel the same about. 

Bucky tries to hide it, the nerves that are building up as they get closer. Gale knows he doesn’t want to feel them, that he’s trying to shove them down and be the guy he thinks he’s supposed to be. He doesn’t want Gale to see the way his hands shake more now than they have in months, or the way he spaces out here and there when they aren’t at work, or the way he sometimes has to carefully control his words so his tongue doesn’t stutter. 

But Gale can see it. And Bucky should know that, after this long, he’s not getting away with hiding shit. 

And yet when Gale tries to talk about it, all he gets is I’m fine.

And Gale can’t help but be hurt. He can’t help but think, no you’re not! You’d be crazy if you were. 

He can’t help but think, you’re not okay, and neither am I. 

Neither am I. 

And you’ve left me here alone.

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. 

It’s not fair that it happened in the first place. It’s not fair that Bucky won’t talk about it. Maybe it’s not fair for Gale to ask him to. It’s not fair that Gale is about to set sail on the greatest expedition of his life, and he is stuck in this limbo of fear that never had to exist before. Selfishly, perhaps, it’s not fair that this moment has become wrapped in something so difficult to work through. 

It’s not fair that on this day – when they should be celebrating – he has to bear so much on his shoulders.

So, fuck it then. If Bucky wants to ignore it, Gale will too. At least for now. For a little longer. Today is about Artemis 4. Today is about marking a moment in time. Today is about standing tall, passing the torch, carrying the fire to new frontiers and new beginnings. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do his crew the honor of giving them this, giving them everything they deserve. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t give himself the honor. He deserves that. He’s sure that, after everything, he must deserve that.

So he puts the gel in his hair, takes one more look in the mirror, and he heads outside. 

All signs of nerves are gone from Bucky’s face and body when Gale finds him out in the front yard. He’s the picture of domesticity, standing there at the end of the driveway, chatting with their neighbor, Jane, as her daughter, Maggie, runs around with Pepper, laughing like it’s the most fun she’s had in her life with curly red hair flying in all directions. Cradled against Bucky’s chest is a tiny baby, Maggie’s new brother, only a couple of months old. He’s awake and alert, wide eyes trained on Bucky’s face, and Bucky makes faces back at him, trying to get him to laugh.

“Gale!”

Gale looks up in time to narrowly miss getting bowled over by his own dog, kneeling down to intercept her as Maggie comes running up behind her.

“Gale!” Maggie exclaims again, skidding to a stop in front of him and throwing herself onto Pepper, who quits wriggling around in Gale’s grasp long enough to lick Maggie’s face all over. “Ew,” the little girl complains, but her giggling just makes Pepper keep doing it until Gale pulls her away. 

“What’s up, Mags?” he asks, shoving Pepper off to go chase some birds.

“I haven’t seen you in forever,” Maggie tells him. She crosses her arms in disapproval, pouting dramatically. 

“Forever?” Gale asks. He checks his watch. “That’s a long time, Mags. Especially since I just saw you last week.”

Maggie shrugs, her pout giving way to a reluctant smile. “But you’re never around anymore.”

Gale sighs, trying to stave off the guilt. “Well that’s ‘cause I’m going to the moon, remember? In two and a half weeks.”

“But not yet.”

“No,” Gale agrees. “But it’s real soon. We need to train a lot, make sure we’re good and ready so we can do our job and make it home.” He leans in close to Maggie and turns to nod toward Bucky. “You gonna look after your Uncle John for me while I’m gone?”

Maggie nods emphatically. “Yes!”

“Good,” Gale says. And he means it. “I’m counting on you.”

Maggie leans in conspiratorially, and Gale thinks she’s going to say something about his husband. But instead, she whispers, “Do you have my challenge coin?”

It makes Gale laugh. She’s growing up too fast, but she’s still a kid. And she wants the cool gifts that her honorary uncles have come to spoil her with. She already has a coin from Artemis 3, and Gale, of course, promised her one from Artemis 4. “It’s packed away,” he tells her. “To make sure it gets on the rocket.”

“So it can go to the moon with you.”

“Exactly. When I come back, you’ll have two challenge coins that have been to the moon. You’ll be the coolest kiddo in school.”

“Does Ollie get one?” Bucky asks, walking up to them with the baby dozing off, head resting on his shoulder. Gale vaguely worries he’ll get drool or something on that nice suit, but after everything, of all the things to be worried about, he decides that’s not one of them.

“Of course Ollie will get one,” Gale says, standing up straight again. “He’ll be the coolest baby in Nassau Bay.” 

Carefully, he takes the baby boy from his husband’s arms and tucks him against his chest, bouncing him gently. He can’t believe how big the little thing has already gotten, and he feels a little guilty all over again for not being able to help Jane out more since he was born. Her husband was able to be here for a while, but now he’s back on the other side of the world. Gale can’t imagine how hard it’s been on Jane, but he wonders if it's worth it to have something so precious. 

He looks at her, and he thinks, with the way she looks at her kids, it must be. He wonders if his own mother looked at him the same way, and deep down, he knows that she did.

Jane smiles at him, shaking her head. “I swear if I’m not careful, you two will turn both my children into astronauts.”

“Would that be so bad?” Bucky asks.

She sighs, hands on her hips. “You’ve got Maggie dead set on it,” she laments. “I don’t know if I can handle two of them following in your footsteps. But at least I know they’ll have someone to show them the way.”

—

The pre-launch gala.

The event of the year for NASA… other than the mission itself, that is. Everyone loves to hate it, and yet everyone shows up dressed in their finest, smiles on their faces, glasses in hand. In the first 45 minutes, Gale has politely greeted no fewer than six elected officials, along with every NASA higher up and the family members of each of his crewmates. He remembers the drill from last year.

It’s just that now, he’s the one in the spotlight, the one that everyone is sizing up, hedging their bets on. He’s expected to have the perfect answer to every question, the perfect smile for every introduction, the perfect laugh for every joke, and the perfect anecdote for every starry-eyed gaze. Tonight, he and his crew are not just astronauts being honored with a spectacular send-off steeped in NASA tradition. They’re a spectacle. They’re a political statement. They’re a show.

Dance monkey dance, right?

At least everyone is on their best behavior. The grand ballroom of this Houston hotel is draped in white and blue florals and linens, with bits and pieces of NASA history on display around the room and up on the stage. Passed hors d'oeuvres are making the rounds throughout the room, fancy enough that Gale doesn’t even know what they are, and everyone is dressed to the nines, here to see off the next set of great adventurers. 

Gale smiles kindly at the couple he was just introduced to – a Maryland senator and her husband who served in the Air Force – and he politely excuses himself. He’s somehow lost track of his husband as well as his crew members, and he glances around the room in search of a familiar face. 

“You look like you need saving,” a friendly voice teases as someone taps him on the shoulder from behind.

Gale chuckles when he turns to see Sandra, double fisting champagne glasses. She looks stunning tonight, in a navy blue gala dress with her shoulder-length hair gently curled. A silver hairpiece catches the light, making it sparkle as she tilts her head back and gulps a sip of champagne.

“I’m perfectly capable of saving myself,” he says, but he smiles in thanks.

She extends the other champagne glass, and Gale moves to politely decline when she says “Don’t worry. It’s sparkling water.”

He nods and accepts the glass gratefully. It would give him something to do with his hands, at least. “You look like the stars themselves tonight,” he tells her.

Sandra does a little curtsy. “Why thank you. You look quite dashing yourself.”

“Dashing?”

“Spiffy, perhaps,” she offers with a grin, making Gale laugh. “Well in any case, I’ve come to return you to your husband.”

Gale snorts into his glass, nearly inhaling carbonated water, and he has to take a moment to try to inconspicuously cough it out of his throat. “Is that right?”

Sandra smirks and loops her arm through his. “He says he can’t very well pass the torch to the next commander if the next commander ‘isn’t fucking here,’” she explains, with a terrible impression of Bucky’s voice. “They want to start speeches.”

“Mmm,” Gale hums, obediently escorting Sandra through the crowd toward the front of the room.

Up near the stage, they find the rest of the crew, along with John and Chick laughing about something ridiculous, John all smiles and boisterous laughter with a glass of champagne in his hand. Gale feels a sense of déjà vu smack him right in the chest, sending him reeling back to last year. Like nothing had happened in between. Like it never happened. Like nothing had changed at all. 

This time last year, no one ever would have even expected something like that to happen. And now they’re back in the same spot all over again.

Gale’s husband catches his eye, and he beams at him, reaching a hand out to drag him away from Sandra. “About time!” he teases. “You’re the guest of honor and you’ve kept us waiting around.”

Gale blinks, briefly comprehending the way his heart is beating just a little too fast, and then he rolls his eyes. Glancing at his watch pointedly, he says “We’re right on schedule, you dork.”

Bucky leans in and kisses Gale on the cheek, and a camera flashes somewhere nearby. Only a handful of photographers were allowed into this event, but Gale wonders what headline will show up above that particular image. 

To the rest of the world, this has been the plan for months, since before Artemis 3. Bucky would ceremoniously hand the reins to Buck, commander to commander, husband to husband, entrusting the next Artemis mission to his hands. To the rest of the world – if you ignore that brief period of time where literally everything went to hell and no one knew if they’d come out the other side – tonight was never a question.

This mission was never a question.

Commander Gale Cleven was never a question.

Someday someone would write a book about it, Gale was certain. And then everyone would know how close they came to cancelling the Artemis program.

They’d know about the long nights and the board meetings and the safety briefs and the investigations and the lobbying with congress and the yelling across conference rooms and the quiet, business-like negotiations as they went through file after file after file, parsing out what went wrong and if it was worth it. 

It wasn’t particularly unique. Every time a space mission goes wrong, the world questions why they fly.

Just look at Apollo 1 or Apollo 13 or Challenger or Columbia.

But it wasn’t just the Artemis program, was it?

Someday, the world would also know that at some point, Gale Cleven was slated to be booted from this mission. And he can only hope that that particular plot point doesn’t go down in history for the wrong reasons.

“You okay, angel?” Bucky whispers, leaning his weight against Gale’s side.

“Hmm?” Gale glances over at him, taken out of his own head. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Chick is up on stage now, and he taps a fork against his champagne flute. Gradually, the ambient noise of a hundred different conversations dies down to a simmer, and then the room is quiet, and Chick smiles politely at the room.

“Thank you all for coming tonight, as we prepare to send another group of the world’s finest astronauts to set foot on the surface of the moon.”

Gale sips sparkling water out of his champagne glass as he listens to Chick’s speech, describing the hard work that’s gone into the Artemis program, outlining the goals of the mission, and listing the vast accomplishments of the astronauts.

“…And under the sure-footed guidance of mission commander Major Gale Cleven,” he says, nodding to Gale, “we trust that this crew will do us proud.”

Gale feels himself smile politely, nodding to the audience members that turn their gazes in his direction as Chick continues. He finds himself unable to pay attention, though, and he can’t help but stifle a chuckle at the choice of wording. ‘Sure-footed guidance,’ as if Chick had always felt that way… as if he’d never stopped feeling that way.

“It’s for the best, Gale.”

Gale couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But there Chick was, leaning back against his desk – ‘Director, Manned Spaceflight Program’ etched in neat letters on a silver nameplate – his arms crossed over his chest and his face hard in that way that tells Gale he doesn’t like what he’s saying but he’s acting like it’s all clear-cut anyway. That’s Gale’s in, as far as he’s concerned. Chick doesn’t know what’s right. 

No one knows what’s right.

“You don’t believe that,” Gale said calmly. He stood straight, head high, feet shoulder width apart with his hands clasped behind him. Almost parade rest, out of habit, but he forces himself to relax, to be less rigid. Chick isn’t his commanding officer, and Gale wouldn’t give him that power.

“What if I do, son?”

“You don’t know what to believe.”

“Any sensible person would take you off this mission,” Chick insisted. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, and in that moment, Gale could see how tired he was. Maybe he’d been that tired since John came home.

“We’re under fire,” he admitted, though it’s nothing Gale didn’t already know. “The administration wants to cut our funding. The media is doubting if we can pull this off. The public doesn’t know if they can trust us to bring you home alive.”

“What else is new?” Gale scoffed. NASA has been under fire for decades. People get upset when space travel turns out to be as dangerous as they all know it is.

Sometimes bad funding and bad actors put missions in a tight spot, and certain people make the wrong choices. Sometimes, things just go wrong. It doesn’t matter what causes a tragedy; all that matters is that there’s someone to blame.

“Don’t be complacent,” Gale said dryly. “Don’t cut corners. We’re better than that now.” 

Chick shook his head. “They’re worried that keeping you on is being complacent.”

“I can handle this, and you know it, Chick.”

“Gale-” Chick trailed off, bit his lip in an uncharacteristic way. There it was, that look of pity. 

“Don’t give me that,” Gale all but sneered. He’s so, so sick of it.

“You have to understand-”

“No, I don’t, actually.”

“If I send you on this mission-”

“You will send me on this mission.”

“If I send you on this mission.” Chick took a deep breath. “The world will be all over you. All over me, all of us. You will be under pressure unlike any of your colleagues who have gone up in an Orion capsule. And you better be ready for it. Because if you aren’t, they will tear us apart.”

“I know,” Gale said quietly. He refused to let his demeanor slip, even as the words hit him. He tried to let them slide right off.

“If I send you on this mission, and it’s a mistake… we will be done. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anyone in my shoes would ground you.”

“...I know.”

“Any astronaut in your shoes should be grounded.”

“I know.”

Chick was quiet for a while as they stood there in that office, surrounded by the accomplishments of the directors and the commanders that came before them. On the shoulders of giants, trying to fill some pretty damn big shoes. “If I send you on this mission,” he finally said. He took a deep breath as he looked Gale right in the eye. “...Gale, If I send you on this mission, you have to come home.”

Gale didn’t flinch, no matter how badly he wanted to. He clenched his jaw, looked right back at Chick. 

“I know.”

The room erupts in applause, and Bucky slips from Gale’s side, heading for the stage. It jolts Gale back to the present, making his heart jump, and he blinks, trying to catch up. Bucky hugs Chick, patting him on the back before he takes the microphone and turns to face the crowd with a grin and a wave. “Look at all you beautiful people!” he exclaims.

It’s time to pass the torch, one commander to the next, just as it was supposedly always meant to be.

Chick takes John’s place beside Gale and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “You ready?” he whispers. 

“I’ve addressed a crowd before, Chick.”

Chick snorts and takes a big gulp of champagne. “You know what I mean.”

“I told you I was ready. I meant it.” 

In the end, he doesn’t know how he convinced Chick. He doesn’t know what went on behind closed doors. There were more conversations after that. Some of them loud, some of them not. Some of them in their official capacity as NASA employees, and some of them in a living room over a beer. Gale remembers shouting at one another, both trying to be heard and neither of them sure they were in the right anyway. He remembers sitting next to one another on a couch, talking quietly, stiltedly, about everything that had happened and everything that might happen next.

He remembers Chick pulling a crumpled note out of his pocket, messy penmanship, a word on the edge smudged by a drop of water. “We commit his soul to the stars, and we hope he will fly among them with the same fire in his heart.”

A draft of the statement he was meant to read if John didn’t come home. He’d been carrying it around all this time, unable to let go. 

It stopped Gale short, just for a minute, his breath catching in his throat. He traced his fingers over the letters, let his eyes flutter closed as he took a deep breath and wondered when they’d all stop living in this world of almosts.

“I don’t want to write another one,” Chick said quietly, and before Gale left that night, he hugged Chick tight. He didn’t say anything. What could he say?

The truth of the matter is that technically, Chick was right. The world did not expect Gale to stay on this mission after Artemis 3, and for good reason. But he had no intention of letting this slip through his fingers, and he has to believe that he was right, that he’s ready, that he can handle it.

There’s no room for doubt. Not anymore.

But the words still float through his head, echoing like a ghost that can’t find its way home – We commit his soul to the stars, and we hope he will fly among them with the same fire in his heart.

John turns his head and looks right at Gale, and their eyes lock onto each other. Gale wonders, not for the first time, how much John knows. He wonders what’s going through his head right now, with all of the veiled fear and unsaid words between them. But John’s smile broadens, and he reaches out a hand. “And now, everyone, it is my pleasure to introduce your next Artemis mission commander, my wonderful, amazing husband, Major Gale Cleven.”

Applause echoes through the ballroom again, deafening in Gale’s ears, his crew cheering the loudest out of everyone. As he moves to step away from Chick, a strong hand grips his shoulder. 

“I’m proud of you, kid,” Chick says, raising a glass to him.

So when Gale finds himself looking out into a sea of people – all looking back at him, cheering for him – despite everything, he tries to shove it all out of his mind. 

This is his moment. This is his first glimpse at everything he’s worked for becoming real. He lets himself wonder how the hell he got here. Just a lanky country boy from Wyoming, standing here in Houston to address the who’s who of space travel just days before leading his crew to the moon. He can’t help but chuckle, shaking his head as he smiles and waves back before taking his husband’s hand. 

Bucky leans in and kisses him, right there in front of everyone, and squeezes his hand. “I’m proud of you, angel,” he whispers. He hands over the microphone, and then Gale is alone. 

“John Egan, everyone.” He motions after Bucky as he trots down the steps to join their friends at the base of the stage. “One of NASA’s finest.”

Gale rubs at the back of his neck as everyone cheers once more for their local hero, and then he clears his throat. 

“Good evening,” he begins, looking around the room. “Thank you for joining us tonight, friends, family, and everyone who has made the Artemis program possible. It’s not really a secret that the year since Artemis 3 has been hard, but it’s because of everyone in this room that we’ve made it here today. It’s because of you that we’re able to move forward. It’s because of you that we didn’t lose the moon, but instead get to continue our mission of lunar exploration – and beyond – as representatives of all humanity.”

Gale hesitates, his eyes flicking to Bucky, who is standing there looking so perfect, so proud. He takes a deep breath, his smile widening. “And it’s because of you that my husband is alive and well, and just as bold and indomitable as ever.”

Applause erupts again, taking Gale by surprise. He’s forced to stand there, taking it in as an entire room of VIPs expresses their love for the both of them. It makes his throat close up, and he blinks back unexpected tears as Bucky grins back at him from the base of the stage. He’d heard Gale practice this speech a dozen times, but this part was new, something Gale decided to slip in while he was standing there with Chick. Eyes shining, Bucky mouths the words “I love you.” 

Beside him, Curt slaps him on the back and lets out a whoop, and the cheers get louder. 

After a few moments, Gale swallows, gathering his composure, and he nods at his audience. “Yeah, so… thank you for that,” he chuckles, his voice thick. He blinks again, shaking his head to clear it as the noise begins to die down.

“But anyway, I couldn’t be more proud to be the commander of this landmark mission. The crew and I carry with us a deep gratitude for all of the intrepid explorers who came before us, who laid the groundwork. Truly we stand on the shoulders of giants, present company included…”

The rest of the speech Gale recites as prepared, the usual stuff about NASA’s goals, the paraphrased plan for the mission, its contributions to science, the beauty of space, and so on and so forth. It rolls off the tongue smooth and easy, and he’s about to start wrapping it up when the unexpected happens. As if this night wasn’t already hard enough.

With one glance, Gale’s world tilts on its axis, his heart dropping to the floor with a thud that he wonders if anyone else can hear.

In the back of the room, the crowd shifts just so, and Gale catches sight of a dark-haired man with scruffy salt-and-pepper facial hair and an old worn suit. He’s lingering near the back wall of the ballroom, unassuming and yet so obviously out of place. Or maybe only Gale realizes how out of place he is.

Their eyes meet, so far across the sea of people that no one else can see it. No one has a single clue, but it makes Gale’s tongue turn thick, making him stumble over his words just for a moment.

“I, uh…” He smiles anyway, trying to act like everything is fine. He rips his eyes away from the man’s, focusing hard to keep himself steady and bring this speech to a graceful close. “I hope when you go home tonight, you can look up at the stars, and dream about what’s possible.” 

In the back of the room, there’s faint movement near the wall. He refuses to look, trying instead to make every member of this audience feel like he’s talking to them on a personal level, trying to make this mission mean something to each of them

“And when you look at the moon during the weeks after the Artemis 4 launch,” he continues, “wave to us up there, okay? We’ll be waving back.”

The room erupts into one last raucous ovation as Gale places the microphone back on its stand, and he flashes a winning grin. Cameras click, the few news agencies allowed into the ballroom searching for the perfect shot. As Gale waves to the crowd, his heart stutters in his chest. His eyes scan across the back of the room.

He looks and looks, squinting against the camera flashes as he searches among the throng of men in suits and ties. But none of them are the right suit. None of them are the right man.

At the far end of the ballroom, a door gently slips closed.