fic: our heroes are epic men of flesh and blood; forever in the stars
title: our heroes are epic men of flesh and blood; forever in the stars
author: girl_in_stripes
pairing: harry styles/louis tomlinson
rating: pg-13
word count: 2.4k
warning: character death
disclaimer: nothing’s mine
notes: astronaut!au, inspired by the president’s speech had the apollo eleven mission failed, also includes themes from the apollo thirteen mission.
the launch goes without a problem.
louis smiles and cheers with the families of the others, with the nation and with the world. he longs to stretch out and be up there with them, but in the moment it’s all washed away.
through his helmet, harry kisses louis goodbye.
-
around noon something goes wrong.
a pipe burst, niall explains through his gasmask, and it’s leaking something, but they think they have it under control. the engineering team is on it, looking for fixes and searching exactly what burst, bur by the time they’ve found it another’s burst and with it taken out side paneling. their secured cabin is becoming less secure by the moment.
as the team back home roars into hyperdrive and rushes to find exactly what’s gone wrong, more and more things fall apart. fuel leaks, interior paneling cracks, exhaust is channeling into the cock pit.
everything that could go wrong does go wrong, and louis stands by and tries to stop it from billions of miles away.
-
by midnight it’s apparent there’s nothing to be done.
every possible way to fix the damaged parts, to repair the module and have it sent home, to even get it to last a little longer, just a little longer, has failed. experts have been called in from all over the world, graphs and blueprints have been thrown together, citing problems and propositioning solutions, but none of them come close to being successful.
after three hours, there’s nothing more to be done.
-
the comm. room is dead silent. not a computer keyboard clatters, a pen doesn’t drop, no one’s breathing.
“we need to call the president.” liam is the first, always the first, to break the silence. “we need to let him know what’s happened.”
louis straightens up from where he’s been hunched over, staring at a blueprint, hoping something, anything will jump out at him. “no, we can find something, i know we can.” he says, because he can’t say anything else.
liam stands, his badges and suit jacket long forgotten in exchange for ruffled hair and an untucked shirt just too large for him. he looks jarringly like a little boy, sad and lost. “there’s nothing we can do, lou.” he says quietly, and everyone in the room is staring, simply staring.
“there has to be-”
“there isn’t.” he swallows and makes an aborted effort to put a hand on louis’ shoulder. “i’m so sorry, louis.”
louis stares at him, his chest hollowing out, the tension in the room pushing against his chest. “what do we do now?” he asks, finally.
“protocol is-” liam begins, and louis lets out a gasp of a sigh, shaking his head.
“i don’t give a fuck what protocol is, payne.” he says. “i asked what we are going to do now?”
liam swallows. “we’re going to call the president. the president’s going to speak to the men, then the families. we’ll give the families and wives a couple minutes to talk to them, if they can. then the president’s going to address the nation.” he swallows. “then we cut communication.”
louis nods, numb, his extremities cold and heavy, blood rushing around his ears. “i want to talk to harry.” he gets out. “i need to talk to harry.” he grasps liam’s arm, and he knows he’s holding on too tightly. “please.”
liam lets out a long breath. “of course, louis.”
-
the president arrives within the hour, in a suit and tie and his subtle american flag cufflinks. he shakes each of their hand, swamped by security that stands behind him, all with clips on their suits and in their ears and at their wrists. he assures each member of the individual teams that they did their very best and the nation was proud to have them.
louis doesn’t need to hear it. they didn’t do enough. he didn’t do enough.
the families come in one after another, some somber, others hysterical. each of them get moments alone in the comm. room to talk to their loved ones for the last time. they emerge slowly with mascara running and cheeks red. one wife clutches her wedding ring, another holds a crying baby girl, no older than a year.
louis knows them all, has seen them and had dinner with them and thinks, quietly, that his mother would have been among them, his sisters, maybe hannah. he offers condolences, and they offer him the same.
after a long wait, where official matters are discussed and secret service gather and whisper, liam turns to him with the weight of the world on his shoulders. he looks more run down than louis’ has ever seen him, and louis knows he feels like he failed. he feels the same way.
“you’re turn, mate.” liam sighs, clapping louis on the shoulder. “i’m so sorry.”
louis nods, setting his jaw and slipping into the comm. room. it looks surprisingly large without five dozen plus people crammed in there at a time, and it’s almost eerie, the papers left in piles, the computer screens still blinking away.
the most shocking thing about walking into the room, though, is having harry’s face take up the majority of the communication screen, not clouded by split screens of engineering plans or video footage from the front and rear of the ship. the others must be somewhere close, out of shot, but louis supposes this is how they’ve decided to handle their last goodbyes- alone.
harry opens his mouth to speak, but louis cuts him off.
“i was supposed to be up there with you.” he says. his voice sounds hollow in the too big room.
“and see?” harry’s voice comes through, crackling softly, and even on the pixilated screen three hundred sizes too big for harry’s face “it was better you weren’t, it seems.” he’s still trying to make louis feel better. louis wants to kill something.
“i was supposed to be up there with you!” he screams. he punches a desk, kicks a rolling chair out of the way until it falls down the small set of carpeted stairs that keep the room on an incline. “i was, i was-” he goes to hit at a desk again, and then he stops, and he cries. he sits down on top of papers that might have once been important but now never will be, and cries. “this isn’t fair,” he manages to get out between huge, wracking sobs. “i don’t, i don’t-”
harry’s voice cuts him off, wired through the speakers in the room, loud and affirming as lou’s ever heard it. “i love you.” he says firmly. “i love you, and if it means i was up here and you weren’t, then so be it. you’re safe and that’s what matters.”
“i was supposed to be there. i’m just as trained,” louis yells, angry again. “i had the fucking measles for a fucking day and a half and now you’re up there and i’m down here and this was never supposed to happen.”
harry lets him cry, lets him scream, lets him kick and hit and slam things for a long few moments, watching him with sad eyes bur a firm expression.
“lou, c’mon, people need that stuff.” he says after enough is enough. louis looks back up at the screen and ignores the tears cascading down his face.
“not anymore.” he says bitterly. “it’s over.”
“that’s a pretty shit attitude, isn’t it?” harry asks, and louis crumples back in on himself, holding onto his stomach.
“it hurts to think about you being up there alone.” he says once the sobs subside. “i want to be there for you.”
“and i want to be here for you, and look, i pretty much am!” harry gives an overexaggerated smile and fuck, louis loves him so much. “i mean, there’s a big screen and a couple computers between us, but i think we make it work.”
louis doesn’t answer, can’t answer, just stares up at the screen and blinks, his mind refusing to wrap around everything that’s happened, everything that’s happening, everything that’s going to happen in the next few minutes, hours, days, years.
“it’s getting pretty late.” he finally settles on. harry smiles, and louis can see his eyes are damp, but when he talks his voice is surprisingly steady.
“it’s funny, up here it’s dark and bright at the same time, so i can’t even tell.” he sounds, even now, excited by space and fascinated by everything in it, and louis can’t let him go, he can’t.
“i love you.” he says again, because he never imagined having a limit on how many times he could say it, but now there is and he doesn’t know what to do.
harry clears his throat. “you’re familiar with the mission, so you know-” he chuckles, and louis wants to hit him and never let him go again. “they gave us these pills, in case anything goes wrong.” he looks down where louis knows his hands are probably folded in his lap. “they’re quick, and painless, they said, but i don’t know.” he looks out in the distance, where the front window panel is on the ship. “i think i’ll wait a little while. enjoy the view.”
louis’ breath catches in his chest, snags there like a popped balloon on a tree branch. “i’m going to miss you,” he whispers, so soft he’s not even sure the microphone can pick him up. “so, so much.”
“don’t worry.” harry says, and louis can hear his voice, ragged in the back and rough like it gets when he’s trying to stay strong for the world. “i’ll tell you all about the stars when i see you next.”
liam pokes his head through the door of the comm. room, and he looks so sorry when he tells louis that he has to finish up, the rest of the nation is waiting. “you’re a nutter, harry styles.” lou manages once liam’s shut the door. “but i love you. so much.”
“you’re a bit of a loony too, louis.” harry says slowly through the screen. “but i love you, too, i guess.”
louis manages a laugh that sounds only half as broken as he feels. “are you,” he begins after a second. “are you scared?”
“petrified.” harry answers without hesitation. “but ready, i think. and hey,” he motions to the ship, to the stars and worlds beyond. “it was one hell of a ride.” he hesitates for a moment longer. “stay strong, okay, louis?” he says. “i need you to be okay for me.”
“i don’t think i’ll ever be okay,” louis says honestly. “but i think i can try.”
“that’s good enough for me.” harry replies, and then it’s silent, save for the soft static of the microphones.
“i’ve got to go.” louis says, voice steady, hands shaking. feigning casual, he chuckles. “liam’s being a pest about times and scheduling.”
“it wouldn’t be a day on earth if he didn’t.” harry laughs back, and louis doesn’t know how he’s ever going to let him go.
“then i guess it’s time to go.” louis manages to smile without falling back into tears. “see you, styles.” he offers him their thumbs up, just to see the light in harry’s eyes spark.
“later, lou.” harry says, returning the signal.
“i love you.” louis says once last time, and the roaring in his ears catches just after he hears harry murmur it back.
-
there are times where it feels like there should be a happy ending.
maybe in another universe, on another plane in time, that happen ending’s written in, sewn effortlessly into the fabric of time and space and events. maybe there should have been a solution, someone should have thought quicker, harder, had a back-up plan available. something should have finally gone right.
the fact of the matter is, however, that nothing did. the screen clicked off, and that was the end.
the president addressed the nation, televised on every cable channel, with every news programme playing and replaying it for days and weeks and years after.
”in ancient days, men looked up at the stars and saw their heroes in the constellations. in modern times, we do much the same, but our heroes are epic men of flesh and blood.” he recited to the cameras and press and world and nasa crew members. louis clutched at his bracelet, tucked under the sleeve of his shirt, and thought of harry.
“others will follow,” the president said, looking up and out to where louis was sitting. “and will surely find their ways home. man’s search will not be denied. but these men were the first, and will be the foremost in our hearts.”
-
louis does find his way home, three years later. he’s first on the sign up for the next apollo mission, and he and two other men go down in history as the first men on the moon.
pictures of louis taking his first steps onto the moon are printed in newspapers and magazines and history textbooks. science textbooks explain that, because it will take a very long time for their footprints on the moon to fade.
very few people mention the last picture taken of him, though, where he’s learning up from touching the surface of the moon, just at the edge of a crater.
years down the line, after plenty more lunar missions he’ll sit in on and watch, he’ll be asked about that picture and smile sadly. he’ll go on to quote that on that day, the president said there will always be a place in space marked by mankind. explaining, he’ll tell everyone to find the largest crater on their side of the moon and look towards the very edge.
he’ll tell them they’ll find the name “harry” written there in a cosmonaut’s thick-fingered scrawl, because whether he made it or not, the moon was always harry’s.