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Chapter Text

Christmas Day 1985

Since time immemorial, we humans have stared into the night sky with wonder, even as it regarded us with sheer indifference.

A wonder that, thousands of years ago, drove the Sumerians and later the Babylonians to chart the dance of planets, and eventually compelled the Egyptians to raise pyramids that faced the sun and the stars, all in a search for patterns in the cosmos and a yearning to understand humanity’s place within it.

Then came the telescope, and with it, our dreams lifted and soared. Galileo’s lens revealed moons in orbit around Jupiter, while Copernicus spoke of a world spinning around the sun.

Suddenly, the universe seemed closer and infinitely stranger. 

Yet seeing was never enough. 

We longed to reach, to wander, to touch the skies ourselves.

And touch we did.

Herman Melville, in Moby-Dick, seemed to bottle the raw wonder that must have swept through the earliest wanderers across every epoch and meridian when humans first stepped into the silent expanse of the cosmos. He wrote of “…and the great floodgates of the wonder-world swung open,” and since then, humanity simply could not stop reaching.

And that reaching is what built this whole place. 

Johnson Space Center — Houston, Texas 

Agatha pulls her coat tighter as she makes her way down the long path to Mission Control. Only the biting winter wind, rustling the dry grass and scattering fallen leaves, hints that it’s even Christmas morning.

Overhead, no tinsel or lights are in sight, just the U.S. flag flopping halfheartedly in the cold, looking pretty much like the average American approach to the holidays.

A few engineers cross between buildings, greeting her, with hands shoved in their pockets or clutching mugs of black coffee she can smell as they pass. Agatha wishes she had more of that this morning, but she has a feeling her job today will give her more heart palpitations than any amount of caffeine could.

Today, she’s the capsule communicator, or CAPCOM (for people who prefer fewer syllables), the single voice in Mission Control that reaches across the void to the crew of the space shuttle Artemis, NASA’s fourth shuttle to carry women into space.

Being CAPCOM—the only person allowed to talk directly to the astronauts in flight—is one of those deliciously indulgent occasions when Agatha’s god complex feels thoroughly earned. 

Just another hat astronauts wear when they aren’t hurtling through space themselves, and probably her favorite. This small detail actually reveals more about her than anything written on her profile.

But isn’t being in space supposed to feel more like godhood than simply standing on Earth with the rest of the mortals? 

Well, Agatha thinks otherwise.

Today, her job makes her the most important tether the astronauts rely on with their lives.

She is the only voice they hear. Every word she speaks dictates their next move in orbit.

And nothing feels more godlike than that.

She has already been to space anyway.

Somewhere in her sock drawer sits the gold pin every astronaut secretly drools over. Tangible proof that she is one of the microscopic few who had actually left the planet, and lived to brag about it.

She had already stared down at the seven oceans from two hundred miles up and had scoffed at every word humans use to describe the color blue. 

None of them came close to what she’d seen. 

And she is quite confident that the vast majority of the 4.8 billion people alive in 1985 would probably never, ever get to see that color, but she did. 

Of course, Agatha Harkness did.

But now that she’s back on terra firma, she’s got an important job waiting for her. 

Agatha silently steps into Mission Control, all while attracting only a few eyes. She pauses for a second to watch the crew from the last shift finish prepping two mission specialists for their first ever spacewalk.

Her boss, Lilia Calderu, the flight director for this particular mission, is already down on the floor, getting debriefed by the previous shift lead.

It’s not every day a woman runs Mission Control, let alone someone who used to wear a Soviet badge. 

Even with her Italian heritage, Lilia was part of the first wave of women admitted into the Russian space program in the late 1950s. The same class as the pioneering female cosmonaut who made history in 1963. 

So, yes, begrudgingly so. Lilia Calderu had once argued with Valentina Tereshkova over who deserved the better seat on the simulator.

Lilia never went up to space herself, but she has an almost irritating knack for predicting disasters before they happen. The Americans saw that and, naturally, never ones to let brilliance (or more accurately, a chance to piss off the Russians) go to waste, practically snatched her straight from the cosmonauts.

Call it fate, luck, or maybe women just sticking together in a very boys’ club, but Lilia has always had Agatha’s back as CAPCOM. 

And even though Lilia thinks Agatha is arrogant and impossible, they make one hell of a team. It’s something Agatha takes pride in. That despite the ego, the god complex, and her complete lack of patience for idiots, she’s still a damn exceptional team player.

Especially now that she’s about to guide the crew currently aboard Artemis, a team made almost entirely of astronauts from her own class.

Captain Steve Rogers had been one of their seniors, older than her by just a few years, yet somehow far ahead. Because apparently having a trust fund and having the right connections fast-tracks you in this business. However, he’s a good egg. Annoyingly humble and fiercely patriotic, yet good all the same. Agatha has no real beef with him.

The rest of the crew, which consists of pilot Vision Stark and mission specialists Alice Wu-Gulliver, Jennifer Kale, and Rio Vidal, are all people Agatha grew up with in the program, learned the ropes with, and trained alongside until they became the astronauts capable of actually handling this job.

But they are more than just her colleagues. Some of them have practically earned the title of family. And her complicated history with each of them might be exactly what makes her the perfect CAPCOM for today’s mission, and simultaneously the absolute last person who should have to do it.

The shuttle’s primary mission is to launch an Earth observation satellite for the Navy. The satellite is designed to provide high-resolution imaging for coastal surveillance, maritime traffic monitoring, and environmental assessment, allowing naval operations to track ships, detect potential threats, and most importantly, observe changes in coastal ecosystems. 

But now, on the third orbit of the flight, as the crew prepares to release it, the payload latches stubbornly refuse to budge. 

Originally, “payload” was a seafaring term for the cargo a ship carried to generate revenue. In space, it refers to the components of a spacecraft specifically designed to collect mission data and transmit it back to Earth.

This morning, they’ve been getting mission specialists Rio Vidal and Alice Wu-Gulliver ready for a spacewalk so they can enter the payload bay and manually release the said latches.

Finally stepping onto the floor of the flight control center, Agatha offers a quick “good morning” to Dr. Hank McCoy, the flight surgeon, and gives a brief nod to Reed Richards, better known as EECOM, or the brain behind electrical, environmental, and consumables management.

The previous CAPCOM, Bruce Banner, who had trained in the same class as Agatha and most of the Artemis crew, quickly briefs her, running through telemetry, mission timeline, and contingency protocols. 

“Telemetry is nominal across all systems. Life support, power, and propulsion readouts are stable. EVA prep is on schedule, with Vidal and Gulliver already suited up. Pre-breathe finishes in about five minutes. All tethers accounted for, comms are green, and the airlock cycle is ready,” he regards Agatha with that familiar smile she’s always quietly appreciated. “And that’s about it. They’re all yours now, Harkness.” 

He taps her shoulder before stepping away, and Agatha finally slides into her place at the console.

Lilia also joins the flight loop, alongside McCoy, Reed, and the rest of the thirty-strong Flight Team, each manning their own consoles on the floor while additional support teams work in the surrounding rooms.

After five minutes, Vidal and Gulliver finish the pre-breathe and step into the airlock, waiting for it to depressurize so they can safely operate outside the spacecraft.

The flight deck and mid-deck, where the astronauts live and work, are pressurized to feel like Earth’s atmosphere. The payload bay, where the satellites wait to be deployed, is engineered differently. 

It’s directly open to the vacuum of space, which means that if someone stepped into it without the protection of a suit, the air in their lungs and bloodstream would be sucked out almost instantly. They’d lose consciousness in about ten to fifteen seconds and be dead within two minutes.

Well, it makes sense. Humans are obviously built only for Earth. 

Every cell, every organ, every system is designed to function under the gentle pressure of our own atmosphere. Being in space means we are instantly at the mercy of forces our bodies were never meant to endure. 

And yet we go.

We leave the comfort of the only environment our biology truly understands because curiosity, ambition, and sheer stubbornness are stronger than survival instincts alone. 

It is reckless, yes, and terrifying. But Agatha likes to believe it is also profoundly human. 

The very fragility that could kill us in seconds outside a spacecraft is the same fragility that makes our achievements more remarkable.

In Agatha’s eyes, humans are the species most perfectly suited for this work. The only known species in the galaxy capable of understanding the universe well enough to leave their planet. 

And she is one of the select few capable of doing it properly. 

You might ask what makes her think that. 

It’s not Darwin’s natural selection, where the strongest survive. It’s about having the most ruthless mind. One that outperforms raw strength and muscle every single time. She finds it amusing that this line of work inevitably draws people who rely on brawn instead of brains, thinking they could actually cut it. 

The truth is, space exploration is a fucking paradox. 

It is endlessly daring, yet painstakingly methodical. 

Every risk should be calculated, every variable should be tracked, and every contingency rehearsed.

Boldness has its place here, yes, but only when it’s disciplined. 

Because one thing Agatha has always been aware of is that there is no room for cowboys in NASA.

Lucky for everyone, she isn’t one.

As the airlock finishes depressurizing, Lilia gives Agatha the nod, and she keys in on the shuttle loop.

All of a sudden, Agatha notices her own breath and the insistent thump of her heart. Not from fear. Agatha does not do fear, and this specific mission does not warrant it. Not yet anyway. 

But from that familiar, unexplainable feeling that always rises whenever she has to speak to Rio Vidal.

“Artemis, this is Agatha Harkness in Mission Control,” she says. “All systems green and under my watch.”

“Copy, Mission Control. This is Artemis. Reading you loud and clear,” Steve Rogers responds.

Then Vision Stark speaks up with his ridiculously polished British charm. How his wife even stands listening to him every day is beyond Agatha. “Good morning, Harkness. Lovely to know you’re spending Christmas with the lot of us.”

“Yeah, well, Santa called in sick,” Agatha replies. “And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, anyway. Nice to know you guys didn’t forget Christmas up there. I’ll be enjoying our little chat for the next few hours.”

“Well, that’s a first from the ever-so-grinchy Agatha Harkness. Is this going to be a regular thing when we get back to Earth, or should we just call it a Christmas miracle?” Jennifer Kale says, and nearly everyone at Mission Control laughs.

“Don’t push your luck, Kale. That’s one surefire way to ruin both our holidays,” Agatha quips. “Anyway,” she adds, flipping through her checklist, “as much as I’d love to spread some Christmas cheer, we do have a lot on the agenda today. Your suit telemetry looks good, and pressure levels are nominal, which means, Vidal and Gulliver, you’re officially cleared to head out and start the EVA.”

“Copy that,” Vidal says, and Agatha almost startles at the sound of her voice. It’s the first time she’s heard it since she sat down at the console.

“Yes, roger that, Harkness,” Gulliver thankfully cuts in, pulling Agatha’s focus back. “By the way, didn’t think I’d say this, but it’s actually nice to hear your voice.”

“Well, let’s hope the rest of the crew feels the same,” Agatha replies. “Now, eyes on the prize, ladies. I want both of you back in the airlock in one piece by the end of this spacewalk.”

And it will only be Agatha’s voice they’ll be hearing after that, and for the next few hours in orbit.

Space Shuttle Artemis — Orbiting 220 miles above Earth

For hours, Rio Vidal has been encased in a lattice of biomedical sensors. Every breath, every heartbeat, and every tiny twitch is tracked and sent straight to the flight surgeon on Earth. 

But even before a single wire kissed her skin, she’d already known someone on the ground was always watching.

Aside from monitoring the crew, Mission Control also tracks every inch of the shuttle. Every increase in temperature, every drop in cabin pressure, every shift in orbit, and even every flick of a single switch is monitored around the clock. Hundreds of miles above the Earth, no matter how Rio twists and turns in this sealed metal cocoon, she can feel their eyes on her.

The rest of the crew seems almost immune to it, but for Rio, it’s different. Every spike of her heartbeat, every tiny tremor that runs through her body whenever Mission Control speaks, is there for them to see. And she can’t shake the feeling that it affects her more than anyone else on board.

“Well, let’s hope the rest of the crew feels the same,” she hears Agatha say. “Now, eyes on the prize, ladies. I want both of you back in the airlock in one piece by the end of this spacewalk.” 

She can feel Agatha’s smile even over the crackle of the comms.

Rio presses her gloved hands against the airlock hatch that leads to the payload bay.

A prickling shiver immediately crawls up her spine as she realizes this solid metal wall is the only thing standing between her and the infinite nothingness outside.

Unlike any other system on the shuttle, the airlock hatch doesn’t transmit its own data back to Earth. It’s one of the few components that remains offline and unmonitored, which means Mission Control has to be notified manually before it can be opened.

Rio turns to Alice. She’s grateful to have her here, to be with her on their first mission. Despite being the daughter of a music icon who wrote nearly all the progressive rock hits of the ‘70s, and having a grandfather who once walked the halls of NASA, Alice has never leaned on her pedigree. And Rio has always admired and respected people like her.

“Mission Control, this is Gulliver. Commencing airlock depressurization and opening procedure,” Alice announces over her comms. She then gives Rio a nod.

Rio starts to pry the hatch open, forcing her heartbeat into a much more reasonable rhythm. 

She’s trained for this exact moment for years, carried this dream in her imagination longer than she can remember. And now, she’s here. She’s actually here.

Who would have thought it? A Latina pilot from Florida, once chasing only the clouds, now on the verge of stepping into space.

Rio had imagined this, confidently so, but never imagined it would feel this real.

Rio and Alice draw a simultaneous breath as the hatch slowly opens. 

Since arriving in orbit, they’ve peeked through the windows countless times, but nothing could’ve prepared them for this. All of Rio’s coherent thoughts evaporate in an instant.

Past the shuttle, with its bright lights reflecting off the metal, lies nothing but pitch black. No horizon, no up or down. Nothing but endless emptiness. Only the thin outline of Artemis suspended in the void, and far beneath—the vibrant blues and greens of Earth, seemingly luminous against the infinite dark.

“Holy shit,” Rio whispers, almost to herself, and turns to Alice, who’s just as wide-eyed as she is. She holds her breath again, exhales, and lets go of the hatch, pushing herself forward and finally crossing the threshold into space for the very first time.

She lifts her eyes past the open cargo doors and spots Earth once again. 

Vast, patchwork stretches of land lie beneath white, moving clouds. 

Rio stops in a blink, staring at the endless expanse of water. She’s always loved flying above the clouds, but now, with the whole world beneath her, it’s undeniably an entirely different feeling.

“I can’t believe I’m actually seeing this. Good grief, Vidal, can you believe it? We’re actually seeing all this,” Alice says. “I mean, look at that. I never even realized how blue the oceans are from up here.”

Rio can’t believe her eyes either. As she stares, it occurs to her that she has only ever felt this way once before, the first time she saw a shade of blue that left her nearly speechless.

Rio pivots toward her. Both securely tethered to the spacecraft, Alice slowly pushes herself farther out, and Rio follows, heading straight for the payload bay. The panorama is still utterly mesmerizing, even after seconds of basking in it. Anyone could stay transfixed for much longer. 

But that’s not why she’s here. 

The real thrill of this spacewalk for someone like Rio isn’t simply the view, but the chance to tinker with machines while floating two hundred and twenty miles above the planet.

It doesn’t take long for them to reach the payload, and each slip into their assigned posts. Four latches hold the satellite in place, with Rio and Alice each handling two on their side.

“I know you’re lightning-fast, Vidal, but I’m going to ask you to take it slow this time and enjoy the view,” Alice grins under her helmet. “I’ll be seriously disappointed if we end up setting the fastest spacewalk in mission history.”

Rio chuckles. “I don’t know, Al, but there isn’t really much to stretch here,” she says, pulling out her socket wrench. “It’s just a few bolts to unclamp. But okay, I’ll do my best to go just a bit slower.”

“Oh, I’m confident you’ll manage,” Alice chuckles too.

Using her wrench, Rio spins one of the latches on her side free, then takes her time drifting toward the other. When her second latch clicks open, she pauses and briefly watches Alice fumble with hers. Noticing the slight struggle, Rio floats over to help, and together they loosen the final latch open.

When the latch fully gives way, Alice lets out a theatrically disappointed sigh, and Rio can’t help but smile. The whole process takes exactly three minutes and twenty-eight seconds.

“Mission Control, this is Gulliver. We successfully released all clamps at mark three-twenty-eight, which is far too fast in my opinion, all thanks to our resident overachiever, mission specialist Rio Vidal.”

“Copy that, Artemis. Great work from both of you,” Agatha says, and Rio manages a tight, heartfelt smile. After a short pause, she adds, “It seems that we’ve still got hours of oxygen in those suits, so we’ll keep you in the airlock while we finish deployment. Just in case we need you again.”

“Wow, well, look who’s being nice,” Alice smiles, too. “I don’t remember you being this sweet, Harkness. Is it the holiday spirit?”

Rio hears Agatha’s chuckle crackle through the comms. “Don’t get used to it, Gulliver. It’s only because someone down here actually likes you.”

“Back at you loud and clear, Mission Control. You’ve got people up here who like you too,” she quips. “Also, copy that. Vidal and I will stay put in the airlock.”

Both of them float back in the direction of the airlock. Alice lets Rio in first and then follows. Her hand hovers over the hatch, about to close it, but she stops. She looks at Rio and raises an arched brow.

Established protocol dictates that the hatch should be closed after every extravehicular activity, but leaving it open for now lets them enjoy a very clear, front-row view of the satellite deployment.

Rio knows she shouldn’t entertain this impulse, but seeing the appeal of the opportunity, a smile slowly spreads across her face. Alice meets it with her own and lets go of the hatch, leaving it open.

“Mission Control, Vidal and I are inside the airlock,” she reports, and both of them watch the open hatch as the tilt table hoists the satellite into its release position.

“Captain, how’s the satellite looking on your end?” Agatha asks.

“Artemis to Mission Control. The satellite appears nominal from the starboard. We can confirm all parameters are within specifications,” Rio hears Steve report.

She then thinks about their last night before liftoff, when they were quarantined in Florida at Cape Canaveral, in the rental house NASA had arranged for the team.

Steve had spent an hour on the phone with Peggy. Vision, who never loses his patience, had been miraculously annoyed because he’d been waiting to call Wanda, and their twins. But Steve didn’t seem to notice, continuing to chat with his wife, who teased him with a joke that made him laugh until his shoulders shook. 

Rio could only listen and marvel at the sound of him laughing so freely.

It still amazes her how different someone can be from the persona they carry in public. How gentle and unguarded they can become when speaking to someone they hold dear.

The contrast has always been striking, but it doesn’t surprise her. She knows exactly what it means to be completely oneself with someone you love.

“Are we good to go for deployment?” Steve asks again.

“Affirmative,” Agatha replies. “You have full authorization to proceed.”

Jen, stationed at the remote manipulator system, checks her instruments. “Copy that, Mission Control. Satellite release sequence commencing in T-minus fifteen seconds.”

“Here we go, boys,” Vision chimes in from the aft section of the shuttle.

The satellite is secured in the payload bay by two explosive wires. Rio instantly feels a rush of excitement in her chest as she watches the brief flash and clean burst of light ripple through the metal clamps of the first detonation.

“First explosive cord detached as planned,” Steve calls from the commander’s seat. “Systems reading is still nominal, and all parameters are still within expected limits. Good work, team.”

A contented smile spreads across Rio’s face. Good work indeed.

“RMS ready for the next detonation,” Jen reports again from the console.

But then, the smile on Rio’s face unexpectedly dims, replaced instantly by wide, startled eyes as the second cord detonates in a blinding flash unlike anything she’s ever witnessed.

Rio cannot tell what had just happened. All she can register in that fraction of a second is the flash of jagged, molten metal, followed by a loud grunt from Alice beside her, as if the air had been brutally knocked out of her body. She turns to see a gaping, mid-sized tear below the waist seal of Alice’s suit, and a wave of panic automatically surges through Rio. Within seconds, the exposure could kill her. 

Alice instinctively presses her own hand over the tear to seal it.

“Alice…your suit—”

“No, I’m okay,” she interrupts, forcing a calm facade. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. It’s holding.”

Her hand pressed against the tear buys her time. But Rio cannot help but notice that her voice is starting to get shaky and weak, as if she’s already spent all the air in her lungs.

Then, just when Rio believes things can’t get any worse, a shrill, insistent alarm goes off throughout the spacecraft. A sound she recognizes from the simulations but still cannot place amid all the sudden disorder around her. 

It is only when Steve, Vision, and Jen start shouting over the comms that she realizes their space shuttle has suffered a second breach.

Johnson Space Center — Houston, Texas 

As the alarm blares insistently, Agatha tries not to let it make her panic and forces herself to think clearly about what just fucking happened. 

“What just happened?” she hears Lilia verbalize her thoughts. But it’s when Agatha sees Reed stand up from his station at the console that her stomach drops.

“Flight, this is EECOM. The spacecraft has sustained a structural breach at a currently unverified location. Cabin pressure is decreasing at a critical rate.”

“Alright. What are the other current readings?” Lilia asks again. “Come on, people! Give me the numbers.” 

Before Reed can answer, Vision’s voice comes through the loop. “Mission Control, this is Artemis. We believe we are experiencing a cabin leak. Pressure is dropping rapidly based on instrument readings, and the crew is certainly feeling the depressurization.”

“Yes. Copy that, Artemis,” Agatha says.

She keeps her voice as calm as possible, even though inside she’s starting to feel the exact opposite. But as CAPCOM, it’s her job to stay professional, sound neutral, and most importantly, remain in control. This is a necessary choice she has to make.

She looks at Lilia, and Lilia turns to her. “Confirm to them that they indeed have a breach. Judging from the depressurization rate, it could be as large as half an inch. It has punctured the skin somewhere along the aft wall, most likely in the mid-deck or flight deck. We can’t see it from here. Ask if they have visual confirmation.”

Agatha relays this to the crew. 

“Negative, Mission Control,” Vision responds. “We see no discernible breach from our vantage point. I believe it's smaller than we can visually confirm.”

Lilia turns to Agatha again. “Tell them to strip everything off the walls. Lockers, panels, storage bins, anything in the way, whatever they can move. Just expose the skin! Get it all off now!”

“Roger that,” Agatha says, updating the crew once again. “Remove everything from the walls, do you all hear me? Anything that might impede your search. Keep Vidal and Gulliver in the airlock, but start pressurizing as quickly as possible. Flow oxygen and open nitrogen systems one and two to the cabin to feed the leak until we locate the breach!”

“Copy that, Mission Control,” Vision says as the crew springs into action. “We’re engaging as we speak.”

It only takes another five seconds, and Agatha hears from Reed again. “Flight, EECOM. We’re still not seeing any improvement in the leak rate. Cabin pressure continues to drop, and the trend remains very critical. Immediate containment is required.”

Agatha knows that Steve is most likely feeding the oxygen and nitrogen while Vision and Jen rip everything off the walls as fast as they can. So much is packed into the orbiter, and they’re tearing it all away, frantically searching for the breach. 

Each second that ticks by tightens the knot in Agatha’s stomach even more, a fucking inexorable reminder of how little time they have.

She looks at Lilia again for some direction. But Lilia is still looking at Reed.

“It’s not there! No luck in the aft of the flight deck!” Vision’s voice cracks over the comms.

“Son of a—” Steve curses. “Oxygen and nitrogen levels are holding, but the cabin pressure is still dropping faster than we can compensate.”

“I’m pulling the mid-deck lockers!” Jen calls out. 

Reed finally looks up at Lilia, but shakes his head. The damn breach is still nowhere to be found.

Lilia slams her hand onto the top of the console and glares at the team in charge of the mechanical systems. “What do you have? Tell me what’s missing! What aren’t they seeing up there? Mamma mia, ragazzi! We need solutions here, people! We’re running out of time!”

Everyone in Mission Control, including those in the viewing theater, is up out of their seats, and Agatha can barely hear herself think. 

She has run simulations like this before, with the pressure dropping fast and no way to stabilize it. 

The exercises only ever ended when the leak was located, or the crew was declared dead.

And now the same scenario is playing out in front of her. Only this isn’t a simulation anymore. 

This is real life.

Space Shuttle Artemis — Orbiting 220 miles above Earth

Rio efficiently closes the hatch, and the airlock begins to pressurize almost instantly. The sound of rushing air fills the small space as the suit systems start to stabilize. 

But when Rio looks at Alice, she sees her friend’s eyes already half-closed, as if she’s starting to pass out. 

Rio moves toward her quickly, slides her hand under Alice’s, and presses it against the hole in her suit.

“Alice, Alice,” she says, but gets no response. “Alice Wu-Gulliver, can you hear me?” She presses harder on her lower torso, but Alice only blinks in return. Rio can’t tell if it’s intentional or just a reflex. “It’s okay, I’m right here,” she tells her. “I’ve got you. Just stay with me, okay?”

Rio can’t tell the exact moment Alice loses consciousness, only that her hand goes completely slack under hers. Now Rio’s hand is the only thing keeping her friend alive while the airlock pressure fully stabilizes. 

She carefully scans her suit for any signs of injury but finds none. A small surge of relief passes through her, though it’s tempered by the pressing fear that Alice might still be bleeding internally.

She can hear the noise and the voices of her crewmates as they scramble to work with Mission Control. They are hunting for the leak somewhere on the shuttle.

Through it all, Steve talking them through everything somehow gives her a small sense of safety, though it doesn’t help that Jen’s voice is starting to climb in pitch.

Then, as soon as she blinks, she slowly realizes Vision has not spoken in at least a half-minute. The silence grows longer and a familiar, bleak dread looms over Rio.

Rio was only seven years old when her mom told her that her dad had died, somewhere over the Atlantic. She can’t recall what she had said to her that time. Only the pause before when her mom’s eyes found hers but no sound came out. It lasted barely a heartbeat, but Rio already understood that something terrible had happened.

What her mom said afterward didn’t matter. It was the emptiness before the words that stayed with Rio. And now, Rio hears and feels that same emptiness again.

Johnson Space Center — Houston, Texas 

McCoy rises from his chair and lifts a hand toward the console. “Surgeon to Flight. Alice Wu-Gulliver’s heart rate is gradually dropping. Currently reading 65 beats per minute and trending downward.”

Agatha hears this while she works to calm her own breathing.

“Artemis to Mission Control. This is Kale speaking. Vision has lost consciousness. I repeat, Vision Stark has lost consciousness,” Jen reports over the comms, adding, “I believe the Captain has as well.”

McCoy, who often stays unnervingly calm under pressure, goes rigid at the report and looks at Agatha. “Overall crew status is critical. I recommend we maintain focus on Kale.”

“We read you, Artemis,” Agatha replies through the loop, her words feeling impossibly heavy in her mouth. They were all fine just minutes ago. How the hell did it come to this so fast? “Dr. McCoy is monitoring all your vitals from down here.”

“Keep Kale engaged in locating the breach,” Lilia instructs Agatha. “At the same time, remind her to ensure the nitrogen systems are fully open and supplying the cabin. Keep Vidal and Gulliver safely in the airlock until the situation is completely stabilized.”

“Copy that,” Agatha says, then keys the comms again. “Artemis, this is Mission Control. Kale, we need that breach located immediately. Do you understand? Nitrogen flow is active, but cabin pressure is still not responding as expected.”

“Mission Control, I’m still clearing the remaining mid-deck lockers and panels. Nothing yet, but I’m exposing all surfaces as fast as possible,” Jen reports over the comms.

A sudden rattle of falling metal rings through the loop, followed by Jen’s voice again. 

“I think I see it. I think I see the—” 

Then it abruptly goes silent.

For a beat, all that can be heard is the static from the radios, then the loop goes completely quiet.

“Goddamnit,” Agatha curses under her breath, keeping her words off the comms. She then presses the transmit button again. “Artemis? Artemis, this is Mission Control. Do you copy?”

She receives no response. 

“Jennifer Kale, this is Mission Control. Report your status. Do you read me?” Agatha says. “Jennifer Kale, come in. Do you copy?”

There is still no answer from the shuttle. The inevitability of it presses down on Agatha now, even though mere seconds ago she would have called it statistically improbable, if not outright impossible.

Losing all three crew members in the cabin is a fear you only rehearse in simulations, never truly believing it could happen. 

And yet, here it is. And now, she can’t help but think that God and her mother must have conspired to make her suffer like this today. 

“Artemis, this is Mission Control. Status report, over.” Agatha leans forward, never losing her grip on the console. “Artemis, this is Mission Control. Do you read me?”

“Flight, this is Surgeon,” McCoy reports again. “Based on the rapid decline in cabin pressure, Captain Rogers, Stark, and Kale have almost certainly lost consciousness and are showing signs consistent with severe decompression. Considering the duration of exposure, there is a significant possibility they may no longer be alive.”

Agatha feels the gravity of the whole situation settle at the base of her skull, making her neck hard as rock and her head grow unbearably heavy. Just minutes ago, they were joking around, talking about Christmas, and now there’s a real chance that half the crew is dead.

Then, all at once, she hears Reed stand and announce.

“EECOM to Flight! We’re seeing improvement on the sensors. Cabin pressure’s coming back up. Repeat, pressure levels are increasing.”

“Increasing?” Lilia leans closer. “Did you just say…increasing?”

“Increasing, ma’am. Pounds per square inch absolute rising toward the nominal 14.7, returning to standard cabin levels,” he reports.

“Kale located the breach,” Lilia murmurs.

After confirming, Agatha immediately gets back on the loop. “Artemis, this is Mission Control. Can you confirm you’ve located the breach and sealed it?” she asks. “Artemis, do you copy?”

“She won’t be able to respond,” McCoy says, but Agatha, stubborn and possibly in denial, ignores him and tries again.

“Kale, come in,” she repeats. “Jennifer Kale, can you hear me?”

Still nothing. 

Agatha presses her palm against her face. 

A few soundless heartbeats pass, and still nothing.

The silence stretches like a void and seems to press mercilessly against Agatha’s chest. She’s about to say something again when another crackle comes through the loop.

And then Rio’s voice follows— 

“Mission Control, this is Rio Vidal.”

Agatha can clearly hear her heavy breathing on the other end.

“Gulliver’s suit has been compromised, and she is currently unresponsive. I am also not receiving anything from the rest of the team up at the upper deck. I want to avoid drawing premature conclusions, but I fear I may be the only one left.”

Chapter Text

Five Christmases Before

Christmas in the Harkness house had always felt more like penance than celebration.

While other children woke to the rustle of wrapping paper and the smell of cinnamon and cocoa, Agatha and her younger sister, Eleanor, woke to the chill of an unlit hearth and a sparse, drooping Christmas tree placed above various statues of baby Jesus. The statues were surrounded by candles and sometimes dried flowers that had long since lost their color.

Christmas mornings for the Harkness sisters were never about tearing into presents or listening to carols, because their mother, Evanora, believed in pleasing a porcelain infant over her own children.

She’d say, “Jesus suffered in his early life before glory found him, so should we.” And she meant it. She made sure her daughters lived as examples of that suffering, especially Agatha.

So yes, at some point in her life, Agatha hated Christmas.

But not until the year her niece was born did the house, for the first time in decades, feel alive with something resembling joy.

It was then that she vowed to keep it that way. So that Kate, their bright little bundle of sunshine in a life that had long known darkness, would never have to know its absence.

“Aggie could do it,” her five-year-old niece said, earning two curious pairs of eyes at the table. 

On the cable TV behind them, a commercial celebrating the dawn of NASA’s Space Shuttle Orbiter era had just finished playing.

Space Shuttle Columbia, the first of its kind, was scheduled to launch in April, just four months away, and the ad ended with a question: Who will be the next to reach the stars?

“Really?” Agatha turned to her, feeling Eleanor’s eyes on them, both hands clutching slices of roast and potatoes. “You really think I could be an astronaut?”

“I think Aggie could be anything,” Kate shrugged, as if it was the easiest question she’d ever answered.

Agatha was in tenth grade, studying for a quiz bowl at her old school in Salem, when she came across the story of NASA’s early space program. Back then, they believed the ideal astronaut candidates would be military test pilots, submarine officers, or people with extreme sports experience, such as skydiving, mountaineering, and scuba diving. President Eisenhower agreed and even pushed to prioritize the military, believing they were already trained for the physical and mental challenges of space.

But then William Randolph Lovelace II, who had designed NASA’s tough physical tests for male astronauts, wondered how women would perform. 

So he called in Jerrie Cobb, a highly skilled pilot, to undergo the same grueling exams. She aced every single one, becoming the first American woman to pass the full astronaut gauntlet. Her success opened the door for other women to take the same tests, but NASA still kept their door firmly shut. 

Even after the Soviets sent the first woman into space, the Americans remained glued to the floor of their old boys’ club.

Agatha didn’t fucking care what anyone thought, thinking America was only wasting money on mindless men who paraded their egos while their brains sat on vacation. What NASA really needed were people who could flaunt their egos and actually know how to use their brains. People who could shoot for the stars without looking like complete idiots doing it. People like her, who’d spent a lifetime tracing constellations with her eyes. But the bittersweet thing is, the thought of herself strapped into a space suit had long since drifted out of her orbit.

“I think you should do it,” Eleanor said from her seat.

“Do what?”

“Become an astronaut,” she said, helping Kate with her plate. “They’re taking women now, aren’t they?”

And Agatha knew that.

NASA had called for women scientists to apply for astronaut training. She had read it on the bulletin board outside their physics lab, while on her way to teach introductory astronomy to imbeciles who couldn’t tell a comet from a shooting star. 

Agatha wanted to teach advanced astrophysics, but no one else wanted to deal with whiny, clueless freshmen, so the faculty committee decided someone had to.

And if that someone just happened to be the only woman in the Department of Space Physics and Astronomy, well, Agatha considered that coincidence about as funny as a black hole at a tea party.

“And how exactly did you know that?”

It was unlikely her sister would be interested enough to read up on anything remotely related to science.

“I came across a magazine with Carrie Fisher all over the cover, wearing those ridiculous cinnamon-roll hair buns you see on some kids at Kate’s playground. You know, that space princess from Star Wars? I was flipping through it while we sat in the hospital, waiting for Mother to finally croak. And then I read that NASA is looking for women to go to space. And it seems like women like you are the type they want.”

And women like Agatha meant astronomers and scientists and engineers and physicists. 

Oh, and yes, the other reason they were finally enjoying this painfully festive Christmas spread in Agatha’s apartment was that their mother, Evanora, who had always made a point of not enjoying it, was already six feet under, and very unlikely to complain.

“Well, that’s awfully sweet of you. You really think I could be an astronaut?”

“I mean, your niece did just say you could be anything, didn’t she?”

Agatha could hear the subtle jealousy and underhanded bitterness in her sister’s voice, but she’d grown used to it by now. She’d mastered dodging the little barbs and backhanded compliments a long time ago. And really, isn’t it normal to have a touch of envy toward a sibling?

“And you study the stars. You teach astronomy. You’ve been obsessed with everything beyond Earth your whole life. Bet you’ve been dying to get yourself to one of those space capsules, or whatever they call them,” Eleanor added. And that had been the end of that particular conversation.

By April, after witnessing Columbia finally launch into space on the cafeteria’s old cable TV, Agatha decided to request an application. But she didn’t tell a soul, not even her sister. 

And for good measure, saving her the utter humiliation. 

Because even after listing everything she had accomplished over the years—her rigorous research, her countless publications, her PhD in astrophysics—her goddamn name had somehow still failed to appear on the list. 

It was March, two years later, when Agatha heard Sally Ride on the radio, talking about becoming the first American woman in space, that she decided then and there to send in another application.

That year, the Johnson Space Center called in more than a hundred hopefuls, in groups of twenty, for a week of grueling interviews and rigorous physical and psychological testing. 

And this time, one of them had finally been Agatha.

It was a Friday night when Agatha arrived at the space center for an evening orientation. Never one to be late, she showed up fifteen minutes early, nearly the first—if not for the five military-looking men who arrived seconds later.

She took a middle seat, deliberately keeping her distance from them. Not long after, she turned as the double doors thudded open again, and another woman stepped into the room.

The woman had chestnut-brown hair that framed a face dominated by warm, big brown eyes that somehow caught the fluorescent lights and turned golden. 

Agatha didn’t even know why she noticed that, maybe because they looked especially noticeable against the bottle green tank top she wore beneath a sleeveless denim jacket. Unlike Agatha, dressed in her usual blazer and slacks, the woman wore high-waisted jeans and a pair of tan leather loafers.

Brown eyes briefly met blue for the first time before the woman wordlessly walked toward the middle row and settled into a seat a few spaces away from Agatha.

She didn’t smile or acknowledge anyone, which was good, because Agatha didn’t care for pleasantries anyway. 

Somehow, though, she felt a strange twinge of comfort, knowing she was no longer the lone woman in the room. 

And this woman felt like a kindred spirit, rather than simply another girl stuck in a room full of men who were most likely puffed up with self-importance.

It didn’t take long for the room to start filling with people, and even less time for Agatha to sort them into categories in her head. They were either military or scientists, or, in Agatha’s own sardonic terms, brass-heads and nerds. 

Though for the life of her, no matter how hard she studied her, and even with the occasional stolen look from the corner of her eye, Agatha couldn’t quite figure out where to place the woman with the big brown eyes.

Just then, a man appeared from the side door near the control room and walked toward the podium at the front. He wore a wrinkled brown suit jacket and a burgundy-and-brown tie. His hair was black and curly but starting to thin, and he had a small bandage over the top of his right eye. 

Whatever had happened to that, Agatha didn’t know, and didn’t care enough to find out.

“I am Nick Fury, director of flight operations here at NASA’s Johnson Space Center,” he began. “And I would like to welcome you all to your orientation. From this point onward, you must fully understand that you are about to enter a selection program designed to test the limits of your endurance, intellect, and overall human potential. Only a handful of applicants have reached this stage, and each of you has shown the promise we need to push the frontiers of space, and our country’s place among them.”

Agatha knew exactly what that meant, but she couldn’t care less about where the country stood in the stars. What mattered was where she did. And she was determined to give nothing less than her absolute best to prove it. Failure just wasn’t on the table.

“This week marks the beginning of an intensive evaluation process. You will be assessed across a range of competencies, including physical conditioning, cognitive performance, and the ability to work effectively under pressure. We will also evaluate your technical skills and any specialized expertise relevant to mission success. Only those who demonstrate exceptional capability in all areas will be invited to continue in NASA’s astronaut training program.”

Agatha nodded along, already running through the list in her head. 

Physical tests? She could handle that. 

Mental tests? That was her bread and butter. 

Pressure? Please.

“By being in this room, you are committing yourselves to take part in a historic step forward for NASA and human exploration,” Fury added. “With Columbia’s launch, we’ve opened the Space Shuttle era. A new chapter in human spaceflight and an unprecedented leap in technology and vision. For the first time, we have a spacecraft designed not just to go into orbit, but to return, be repaired, refueled, and launched again. This is a vehicle that can fly multiple missions, reducing the cost of spaceflight and bringing us closer to a future where traveling to space could one day be as routine as taking a commercial flight. And those of you who join this program will play a direct role in shaping that future.”

A diagram appeared on the overhead projector, and Agatha’s attention snapped to it. It was the blueprint of the most-talked-about space shuttle.

Some of the men muttered among themselves, squinting at the lines and labels, while a few others hunched over their notebooks and started scribbling.

Agatha, however, leaned forward and adjusted her glasses, tracing the lines of the orbiter’s fuselage, the twin rocket boosters, and the huge external fuel tank. She already knew what the shuttle generally looked like, but seeing it projected in such detail still made her catch her breath. 

The next slide showed the shuttle’s cargo bay, and Fury continued, “Here’s where you’ll find the experiments, satellites, and whatever else we’re sending into orbit. If you plan on making it past this week’s tests, you’ll need to know this layout like the back of your hand. You’ll be operating the robotic arm, managing the payload, coordinating with mission control, and yes, occasionally fixing things while you’re floating in microgravity.”

He took a step back, allowing the room to digest the information. A low murmur ran through the small crowd, and Agatha’s eyes moved about, eventually settling on the woman with the big brown eyes, who didn’t look away and remained entirely focused on what was happening at the front.

“The shuttle carries a crew of five,” Fury explained. “Two pilots occupy the flight deck, responsible for controlling and maneuvering the orbiter. Behind them are the mission specialists, each with a critical role. On a mission like this, everyone depends on everyone else. You operate as a single, cohesive unit. One mistake, one miscalculation, and both the mission and the lives on board are at serious risk.”

Agatha immediately felt a thrill she hadn’t felt in a long time. It was the same feeling she’d gotten the first time she saw Saturn’s rings through the brass refractor at the local observatory, back when she had forged her mother’s signature just to get on that school field trip.

She knew punishment would follow, as it always did, but the surge of wonder she felt the first time she looked into the cosmos completely eclipsed any fear of her mother’s wrath.

“That’s right,” Fury said, “our missions are not without danger. Out there, you will rely not only on your own skill but also on the expertise of your fellow astronauts, the engineers who built your spacecraft, and the researchers who have planned every detail. The stakes are high, and mistakes can be costly. But if you are chosen, you will join an extraordinary few who have left the Earth, seen it as a fragile blue marble from orbit, and returned to share that vision with the world. You will carry humanity’s curiosity and ambition into the unknown, for this is a bold step forward for all mankind. What you do up there will surely have an impact here on Earth, inspiring generations and shaping the future of exploration. It will be dangerous, yes, but it will also be magnificent beyond anything we have done before.”

Agatha tried to process just how close this was, how close she was to finally reaching something she had only ever dreamed of in passing. Who would’ve thought it would come down to this? 

Well, she had always been confident in her abilities, but still.

As the thought settled in, her eyes wandered again and landed on a particular face. The woman with the big brown eyes was already looking at her. This time, neither of them looked away.

Perhaps it was simply the fact that they were the only women in the room, but Agatha felt an unspoken understanding pass between them. This stranger, with eyes that intrigued her more than she should allow. Whatever this was, and whatever came next, no force on Earth was going to stop them.

That week, Agatha was put through the wringer. Each morning started with heart-rate checks, blood pressure readings, and electrocardiograms, followed by hearing and vision tests. 

She quickly realized NASA wasn’t exaggerating about testing their limits, because what came next were endless sessions on treadmills and rowing machines, pull-up bars, and exercises that left her muscles screaming and her body feeling like it had been run through a meat grinder.

What made it worse was that the physical exams didn’t end there. Together with the other applicants, Agatha was also prodded onto tilting platforms that simulated zero gravity to test how her body reacted to sudden shifts in motion, how quickly she could regain her balance, and whether she could stay composed under pressure without looking like a wobbly human top.

Next came the cognitive and problem-solving tests, which included complex puzzles, mental rotations, and timed pattern-recognition exercises. Agatha thrived. Of course she did. Her mind quickly worked through the problems, spotting solutions others didn’t even see. 

Every so often, she caught herself smirking at how easy the tests felt, all the while watching the alpha men struggle with things she could solve blindfolded. 

By the end of the week, they tested for claustrophobia and stress tolerance, locking each applicant inside a small metal capsule barely big enough to move in. Most people would have started to panic, but Agatha just sat there calmly, listening to the echo of her own breathing. 

She had spent her childhood hiding in smaller spaces—closets, cupboards, beneath the attic eaves, anywhere her mother would not think to look. 

Compared to that, this tin can was basically a walk in the park.

Three months later, a few days after watching Sally Ride’s historic first flight to space, Agatha finally got the call. It was a Friday night, and she and Kate were sprawled on the couch, sharing a bowl of buttery popcorn while Bogey and the rest of Kate’s favorite Shirt Tales gang scampered across the fuzzy screen.

Agatha set the bowl down on the coffee table, leaving her now seven-year-old niece absorbed in the show, and crossed the room to the kitchen to answer the ringing phone.

The voice on the other end was immediately familiar. She hadn’t heard it since the week of orientation, but who could forget Nick Fury’s clipped, commanding tone? 

“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time. I’m just calling to see if you’re still interested in moving forward with NASA’s astronaut training program.”

Agatha fought the urge to scream, pressing a hand over her mouth so as not to terrify Kate in the next room, or the neighbors. “Yes,” she managed. “Of course. Definitely. I’m still very much interested, yes.”

“I’m really glad to hear that,” Fury said. “NASA would be fortunate to have you on board. Out of the hundreds of applicants we interviewed and tested, only twenty were selected. Eleven pilots and nine mission specialists, including yourself. Each of you was evaluated rigorously, and only those who demonstrated exceptional skill and composure made the cut. Also, I’m not sure if you ever got properly acquainted with Rio Vidal during your evaluations, but she made it too. In fact, the two of you are the only ones from that round of assessments who achieved outstanding results and were officially accepted.”

Agatha couldn’t help a smug grin spreading across her face. “Looks like the boys can keep dreaming, huh?”

Fury chuckled on the other end. “Seems a few of them weren’t quite ready for the challenge,” he humored her, then added, “Congratulations, Agatha. Your official acceptance packet will be on its way soon, and we’ll be gladly expecting you here at Space City. Welcome to the program.”

The second the call ended, Agatha practically sprinted back to the living room. She scooped Kate into a hug and spun her around, nearly tipping the bowl of popcorn as the unsuspecting child burst into giggles.

“Aggie, what’s going on—” Kate squealed, laughing so hard she could barely get the words out.

“Katie, guess what?” Agatha said, grinning from ear to ear. “Aggie might get to go to space!”

The little girl’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “Really? Like in a rocket?”

“Yes! In a rocket! Can you believe it? I’m going to be an astronaut!” 

Kate wriggled out of her aunt’s arms, bouncing onto the couch. 

“Aggie is going to be an astronaut! Aggie is going to be an astronaut!”