A Chance Encounter, Part 2
Posted on Sun Mar 9th, 2025 @ 10:07pm by Crewman Mateo Gardel & Lieutenant JG Riaothren (Ren) ch'Shaorhs
2,522 words; about a 13 minute read
Mission:
To Boldly Go
Location: Holodeck 2, Deck 9, USS Fenrir
Timeline: Day 12
[ON - Continued]
Mateo’s shoulders eased—just barely. He wasn’t sure Ren had meant the slight step back to be a conscious retreat, but his body registered it as one anyway. The space helped. The nonchalance helped. No pressure. No expectation. Just a statement of fact.
His fingers tapped absently against his arm, his mind still turning over the contrast between them. It wasn’t just that Ren liked the thrill of high-stakes programs—it was how easily he could throw himself into them. No hesitation. No overthinking. No dissecting the potential consequences from every angle before deciding whether to commit. That was interesting.
But it was Ren’s next words that pulled his focus.
Paris. The dawn of the twenty-first century. A far cry from a death-defying survival simulation. He might have commented on that alone if Ren hadn’t cut himself off. Hadn’t immediately withdrawn from the thought, like he’d pulled it into the open only to realize it wasn’t supposed to be there.
Mateo didn’t ask. Didn’t press. He knew what it was like to have things you weren’t ready to face, places in your mind you avoided like a burned-out star system best left undisturbed.
Instead, his gaze flicked to Ren, considering. His head tilted slightly, and when he spoke, his tone was measured, quiet, but not dismissive. “Yeah, I get that.”
He let the weight of those words sit for a moment before shifting gears.
“I take it you don’t do a lot of ‘boring’ holodeck programs, then?” The curve of his mouth was subtle, the edge of dry humor there, but lighter this time. “Or was Paris secretly a war zone in the early 2000s and I just never heard about it?”
The Andorian's expression had shifted subtly, at least in his mind the change was subtle, more muted, wistful. But the human's words caused his emotions to turn again.
"No," he replied the hint of a smile on his face. "Well, no to Paris being a war zone anyway. I can do holodeck simulations with nuance. But yes to avoiding boring. I'm in operations, my whole existence is boring."
Mateo watched the shift in Ren’s expression, the way something in his demeanor flickered—more muted, quieter, like an old recording played at half-speed. He didn’t know what pulled that change, didn’t know if it was the Paris program itself or something adjacent to it, but the shift was there. Not enough for most people to notice.
But he wasn’t most people.
Ren recovered fast, his emotions shifting again like light catching at different angles. Mateo let it slide, didn’t push, just let the moment exist for what it was.
At Ren’s response, his brow lifted slightly. “Right. So you’re telling me you spend your entire shift preventing catastrophic malfunctions and keeping the ship running, but somehow that’s boring.” He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Sounds more like you’re keeping us from exploding in a fiery vacuum death, but sure. Boring.”
His fingers drummed absently against his bicep, but his gaze didn’t leave Ren’s.
There was something about the way the light caught his glacier-blue eyes—cool, but not cold. Sharp, but not unkind. There was something measured in the way he held himself, in the way his antennae tilted toward Mateo even when the rest of him stayed relaxed.
Mateo felt himself lingering, caught just half a second too long. Long enough to realize it. Long enough to feel a quiet pull he hadn’t accounted for.
His lips parted slightly before he caught himself, a blink snapping him back into place. Reset.
The moment passed, and his head tilted slightly, expression settling back into something wry. “So, what? You compensate by throwing yourself into high-stakes survival simulations? That’s the trade-off?” He let the question hang, then added, “Or is it more of an adrenaline withdrawal thing? Like if you don’t almost die at least once a week, the monotony becomes unbearable?”
The Andorian noticed how Mateo kept his gaze on him. He knew it was mere curiosity or politeness, nevertheless, the attention made him feel good.
"I could you it was due to my Andorian physiology, but I'm pretty sure you're bright enough not to fall for that."
"When I'm on duty, I'm laser-focused on the task at hand and I'm trying to think fourteen steps ahead. I guess in a sense it is compensating, but I've always been this way, since I was a teenager anyway."
"Would it be too personal to ask why you avoid such programs?"
Mateo should have looked away sooner. He should have kept the moment brief, a passing glance, nothing more. But he hadn’t, and now Ren had noticed.
The Andorian didn’t call it out, didn’t make a point of it, but Mateo felt the shift. The subtle way Ren’s antennae remained angled toward him, tracking. The flicker of quiet amusement in those glacier-blue eyes, like he was piecing something together but choosing not to say it aloud. Heat flared at the back of Mateo’s neck, creeping upward, settling along his cheekbones in an unwelcome flush.
His fingers twitched against his arm before he quickly shifted his stance, feigning a casual scoff as if that might smother whatever the hell just happened. “I mean, I appreciate the effort, but I think you’ll have to try harder than mystical Andorian physiology if you want to sell me on something.” His voice was even, controlled, but his body had already betrayed him.
Ren kept talking, shifting the focus, and Mateo let himself exhale, grateful for the out. He latched onto the words, grounding himself in a safe, neutral conversation that wasn’t about him. But then the question came.
Why did he avoid those kinds of programs?
His fingers stilled against his ribs.
He could give the easy answer—could laugh it off, say something sharp about not being a masochist, about preferring not to simulate his own death for fun. But Ren had been honest, explaining himself without pretense or forced detachment. Maybe that meant Mateo could do the same.
Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he exhaled a slow, measured breath. “It’s not that deep.” He shrugged, keeping his expression carefully easy, dismissive without being dismissive. “I don’t enjoy being scared. Some people get a thrill out of adrenaline, but I’ve never understood the appeal of being chased, hunted, fighting for survival. Even if it’s fake, my brain doesn’t care. It still feels real.”
His arms remained loosely crossed, but his fingers now tapped idly against his ribs, the rhythm shifting—less idle, more thoughtful. “Even holodeck safeties don’t help much. My brain doesn’t make the distinction.” His fingers tapped absently against his ribs, the rhythm slower now, deliberate. “Sometimes too well.” He exhaled, just slightly, the weight of that sitting for a fraction of a second longer than usual before his mouth twisted, letting humor slip back in. “Let’s just say I don’t have the healthiest imagination.”
He let the words sit between them, not heavy, just matter-of-fact.
Ren noticed Mateo's blush; even with his Hispanic skin tone, it was hard to miss. What puzzled the Andorian was why he was blushing. It couldn't be attraction; they had just met each other five minutes before, and well, it just couldn't. Embarrassment? True but that much was obvious. The reason still wasn't.
It wasn't something he was going to ask about. That would only make things awkward if they weren't already becoming awkward already.
He almost took another step backward to give them more space. But, he didn't. Instead, he just turned his head so he was no longer looking fully into the other's face though he didn't turn entirely away. And his antennae still tracked Mateo's movements
"I get that," he said after hearing Mateo's words. I guess everyone has their own taste, what they like and don't like."
"What about this? I can write a new program. You know in between saving the ship from total annihilation and taking care of a teenager Something both of us might like."
Mateo should have expected Ren to notice. Maybe, in the back of his mind, he did. But knowing something and having to deal with it were two very different things.
Ren didn’t comment, didn’t make a joke, didn’t push. He just registered it.
And somehow, that was worse.
People either ignored things completely or pounced on them like a social maneuver—something to tease, something to dissect. But Ren? He simply acknowledged it and let it sit. That kind of restraint was disorienting, an unfamiliar middle ground Mateo wasn’t used to navigating.
His fingers twitched, then flexed slightly before he slipped both hands into his pockets, a practiced motion, a deliberate shift. Not defensive, not closed off—just casual enough to move the attention elsewhere. But the fact that Ren’s antennae still tracked him didn’t help. That was a whole different kind of being perceived. It made Mateo’s skin itch.
The comment about personal taste gave him an exit, and he latched onto it, nodding sharply as if that alone could reset the conversation and erase the fact that he had been noticed at all. But then Ren kept talking.
A new program. Something they might both enjoy.
His gaze flicked toward Ren, studying him for a fraction longer than necessary. That wasn’t just a passing suggestion—it was an intentional adjustment. Ren had noticed his discomfort with action-heavy programs and, instead of dismissing it, he was actively offering an alternative. That was... unexpected.
Mateo shifted his weight slightly, the movement subtle but deliberate. The offer wasn’t unwelcome, but he knew how much work went into writing a holoprogram. It wasn’t just something you whipped up in five minutes. And they had only just met.
His fingers curled slightly inside his pockets before he exhaled, slow and even. A second later, he withdrew one hand, crossing his arms loosely—not rigid, just a comfortable shift in posture.
“I don’t know,” he mused, his voice deliberately measured. “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for pulling you away from your primary duties. You know—keeping the ship from imminent destruction.” His tone carried the expected sharpness of humor, but beneath it was a quiet, deliberate attempt to keep expectations low. He wasn’t rejecting the offer outright, but he also wasn’t about to take it for granted.
He let the moment settle before rolling a shoulder, a gesture of quiet consideration. “It’s… not a bad idea,” he admitted, carefully choosing his words. “But holoprograms take time to write. It’s not exactly a casual, five-minute thing.” His fingers tapped idly against his arm, the rhythm uneven but thoughtful. “I wouldn’t want you to take that on just because I happened to be standing here when you had the idea.”
A beat.
He cut a quick glance at the control panel, the illuminated interface still waiting for input. His reservation time was slipping away. Not much left. Maybe fifteen minutes, if he was lucky.
That was enough of a reason to wrap things up.
He shifted his stance, weight rolling to one foot, making the transition feel natural, not abrupt. “Unless, of course, this is one of those I’ll figure it out later situations where you’re hoping I’ll say yes first before realizing you have no actual plan.” His smirk was light, almost lazy, the kind that said he wasn’t expecting a real answer—at least, not yet.
Then, with a quiet exhale, he nodded toward the control panel. “I should probably get started before I waste what’s left of my reservation.”
His arms remained loosely crossed, but his posture had shifted, signaling the conversation was winding down. He wasn’t brushing Ren off, wasn’t walking away just yet, but the social cues were there. If Ren had something else to say, now was the time.
The Andorian's face turned from cerulean to cobalt as he realized his prolonging the conversation was curtailing the other's program, the exact opposite of why he'd been summoned in the first place.
"I rarely have an actual plan," he deadpanned, "which is probably one of the many reasons I'm not an admiral now. I've taken too much of your time already. I'll get back to you when I've had a chance to create something.
He turned and started to exit.
"One more thing. What kind of program would interest you?"
Mateo noted the way Ren’s expression deepened from cerulean to cobalt, a shift subtle enough that most wouldn’t catch it. But he did. A quiet realization settling in—that he had, inadvertently, taken up too much time. The irony wasn’t lost on either of them.
He tilted his head slightly at Ren’s deadpan response, the corner of his mouth twitching just enough to register as amusement. "No plan? Well, that’s reassuring," he murmured, the sarcasm light, absent of any real bite. “Starfleet dodged a real threat to the command structure there.”
The Andorian had already started to turn away when he paused, throwing a final question over his shoulder.
What kind of program would interest you?
Mateo hesitated—not because he didn’t know, but because no one usually asked. His programs were his own, crafted out of personal necessity, not for group appeal. The idea of tailoring one for someone else’s inclusion? That was new.
His fingers drummed lightly against his bicep, a soft, unconscious rhythm as he considered. “Something quiet,” he admitted, rolling a shoulder. “Something structured. I like environments that make sense.” He glanced toward the holodeck doors, nodding toward them as if they held the answer. “I don’t do well with unpredictability.”
He could have left it there, let that be enough. But something about Ren’s willingness to adjust—not to accommodate, but to genuinely meet him somewhere in the middle—made him add, after a beat:
“…but I don’t mind exploring, either. As long as I know the map.”
The words sat between them, an acknowledgment without overexplanation. Then, finally, he exhaled, shifting his stance. “You come up with something, let me know. No promises, but… I’ll consider it.”
His smirk was there, light but present, before he gave a final nod. "Thanks again, Lieutenant. I’ll try not to lock myself out next time."
And with that, he turned back toward the holodeck, the console now waiting, the reservation clock ticking down.
Ren almost returned the smirk. Almost.
Instead, his color now fully restored to its normal state simply continued on his way to his cabin.
[OFF]
Crewman Mateo Gardel
Medical Science Specialist
USS Fenrir
&
Lieutenant JG Riaothren (Ren) ch'Shaorhs
Assistant Chief Operations Officer
USS Fenrir
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