Author's Note: I wanted to write about The Martian, because it's currently tied with The Man from U.N.C.L.E for taking over my life. I'm considering doing a series of drabbles and one shots about Mark re-adjusting to life on earth. Please read and review!

Warning: Mark has an established potty mouth.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Martian.

On average, Mars is 225 million kilometers away from earth. That's approximately how far away I wish these reporters would go right about now. It's really kind of ridiculous. After all, they're supposedly concerned with my "health and well-being," but they never stopped to think that maybe mobbing me while I'm trying to do some damn grocery shopping is a terrible idea. I'd given up fairly early into the trip to the store-hadn't even made it to the coffee aisle. The stares of regular people I could deal with, to a point. Usually I just pretended other people didn't exist. Perfectly healthy coping mechanism, thanks. But somehow the local news station had gotten wind that Mark Watney needed some eggs, and it didn't take long before the news traveled down the grapevine. They'd probably publish my shopping list if I threw it at them.

It went downhill from there. I finally just abandoned my cart beside the tortillas and walk out. One of the reporters tries to ambush me with a microphone outside of the automatic doors, but I exercise every last ounce of my self-restraint and ignore him. Because I am a decent human being. But actually because I don't feel like getting bitched out by Lewis again. She was worse than my mother had been when I'd broken my grandmother's teapot age twelve.

I got in my car and immediately locked the doors. I mean, the reporters probably weren't scummy enough to climb inside with me, but I don't like taking chances. I didn't think the one outside had followed me to my nondescript Subaru. Probably thought I'd drive something fancier. Jokes on him.

I didn't notice until I tried to put the key in the ignition that my hands were shaking. Dammit. There was absolutely no reason to freak out, but my body was doing just that. After so long alone on Mars, grocery shopping was a challenge unto itself, and then there was the added stress of the newshounds. I could see my tombstone now: "Mark Watney, died of an aneurysm in aisle 12. Couldn't handle being a functioning adult."

I liked people, really. I liked being around people. But there were three things you could count on on Mars: the cold, the quiet, and the lack of other living beings. All of those were absent on earth-at least where I was-and it was like being thrown headfirst into a hornets' nest. Especially the sound. I had to sleep with a fan on now because it blocked out most of the night noises, like sirens and cars and people. And the house creaking and the dog pacing the floors. There are lots of noises at night. It wasn't like I was getting much sleep anyway, but I tried.

My adrenaline had finally ebbed enough that I could start the car. Somehow I made it back to my parents' house without incident. I was staying with them for now, since my apartment had been re-rented and my assets frozen. Saying "assets" made me sound like a spy, but really it was just a pain in the ass. I hated being dependent on other people, something that had only gotten worse after Mars, and now I couldn't even live by myself. Arguably, even if I still had access to my money I don't know if my crew or my parents would let me live by myself yet. They'd done a pretty good job not treating my like a glass sculpture, but every now and then I caught a particularly sympathetic look out of the corner of my eye. I usually ignored them. I was getting good at ignoring things. Maybe there'd be a world championship and I'd compete. Wouldn't win if Johanssen entered-it was sad how good she'd gotten at brushing my innuendos about her and Beck aside. Oh well.

The house was the same as I'd left it an hour ago. It was also the same as when I'd left it just over three years ago, and years before that on my first day of college. Some things stayed the way they were, as was right and proper. My parent's golden retriever came bounding around the side of the house, a tennis ball gripped in his jaws.

"Hey Buzz," I greeted him, stooping to ruffle his ears. "Let's go inside." He happily followed me in through the front door, never questioning me. Sometimes I wished everyone was like Buzz.

"Mom?" I called cautiously. Was it book club day? I couldn't remember, and I had no desire to be nice to a bunch of old ladies right now, well as they might mean.

"In the kitchen!" She answered. I took a left and saw her at the counter snapping green beans. "Did you get my eggs?" I shrugged.

"Not unless you want the world to know you're baking brownies." She frowned.

"Reporters again? NASA needs to keep them in line."

"That's what I keep telling them."

"Oh well. Guess we're having cobbler." With that decided, she went back to snapping the beans. I went into the livingroom. at this time of the afternoon the sun hit the couch at a perfect angle for napping. The green corduroy couch had been something Dad and I were thrilled to find on the side of the road. Mom had been less thrilled. No idea why. It was insanely comfortable. Buzz jumped up and laid on my feet, and in minutes, we were both asleep.

What did you think? Please also send me prompts for more chapters if you have any ideas!