Sand & Stone, Part 2
Posted on Sun Mar 16th, 2025 @ 10:59pm by Crewman Mateo Gardel & Commander Scarlet Blake
2,105 words; about a 11 minute read
Mission:
To Boldly Go
Location: Ready Room, Deck 1, USS Fenrir
Timeline: Day 8
[ON - Continued]
Mateo considered the question, tilting his head slightly as if weighing his answer.
Look around? Technically, yes. He’d traced the corridors, familiarized himself with the ship’s layout, even managed to avoid Security—which, considering his track record, felt like a minor victory. He’d spent the better part of his time in his lab near Sickbay, cataloging equipment, double-checking supplies, and making sure everything was up to his standards.
"Feeling settled?" That was harder to quantify.
“I’ve done some exploring,” he said after a beat, deliberately vague. His tone was even, neither enthusiastic nor reluctant, just neutral enough to keep things balanced. “My lab is well-equipped. Quarters are… standard.”
A pause.
Technically true. Starfleet quarters were engineered for uniformity—practical, efficient, soulless. No real personality, nothing that spoke of permanence. Not that he expected otherwise. He never really left a mark on the places he was stationed. That required a sense of belonging, and belonging wasn’t something he did.
His gaze flicked toward Blake, gauging her reaction.
She wasn’t rushing him. There was no impatience in the question, no subtle pressure to perform. Just conversation. That was... unexpected. Most captains didn’t engage him like this unless they were leading up to something.
A reprimand. A warning.
But not this time?
“Still adjusting,” he admitted, shifting slightly in his seat. “I don’t think that phrase applies just yet.”
Understatement. He rarely settled anywhere.
Still, the words hung in the air, honest enough. Mateo wasn’t entirely sure if he meant them as a quiet offering of good faith or a carefully controlled deflection. Maybe both.
"I think we all are," Blake afforded herself a soft sound that was almost a laugh, but the wryness of the words kept it brief. His reply had been considered. Incredibly considered. It spoke of his analytical nature, not just in work, but throughout his whole life. "Tell me about yourself, Gardel," her tone remained casual, but there was an insistence to it that made it clear it wasn't a suggestion. As usual, she'd read his file. Thoroughly. But she learnt far more about a person when they told their own story.
Mateo’s fingers curled against his knee before flexing out again. Tell me about yourself.
The words landed heavier than they should have, too broad, too open-ended.
His foot tapped once before he forced it still. He exhaled slowly through his nose.
This was a trap.
Not an obvious one. Not the kind you saw coming. But he could feel it, coiled beneath the surface, waiting for him to step into it.
He knew the Captain had read his file. Every CO did, and someone like Blake wouldn’t skim. She already knew the answers—the facts, the reports, the warnings. So why ask?
To see if he’d contradict himself? To test whether his version of himself matched what Starfleet had documented? Maybe she just wanted to see how he reacted.
Or maybe this was like before. The polite invitation to speak, the false sense of control. Just enough rope to hang himself with.
His fingers curled into a loose fist, then uncurled again. He shifted slightly in his seat, adjusting his posture without really settling. His gaze flicked toward the desk, then the door—just for a second—before snapping back to Blake.
The silence stretched just long enough to be noticeable. Mateo kept his breathing measured, though his pulse betrayed him, quickening with the weight of the moment.
Finally, his voice cut through the pause, but it wasn’t as steady this time.
“What… what would you like to know, specifically?”
The words felt too careful, too deliberate. But he didn’t know how else to say them.
Blake tilted her head as she took him in, her years as a counsellor making her well and truly familiar with a person who was looking for a way out. And that brief glance towards the door said it all.
And then there was his search for extra parameters. Granted, for an intelligent man with a mind like his, knowing where to start with such an open question was probably a task in itself. But also, by trying to narrow the field, it reduced his chances of saying something he didn't need to say and that he didn't want to.
But the truth was, Blake wasn't asking to try and trick him. She just wanted to get a better understanding of him. And so far, he was already speaking to her...even when he didn't speak. "Anything you'd like me to know about you, your work, what's important to you," she spread her hands to either side. "Anything you think I should know."
Mateo’s fingers flexed against his knee, pressing down before releasing.
He had two options.
The first—the safe one—was to keep his answer measured, polite, and impersonal. A few words about his work, maybe something about how he was "grateful for the opportunity" or "eager to contribute." Those were the kinds of responses that made officers nod and move on. That was what he’d done before.
And where had that gotten him?
Here.
One last chance.
The weight of it settled against his ribs. Every posting before this had unraveled in its own way—some quietly, others spectacularly. He had spent so much time treading carefully, trying to navigate expectations he never fully understood, as if the right balance of competence and distance would be enough to keep him from falling out of favor.
It hadn’t worked.
Commander Hanlon hadn’t pushed him. He’d let him talk on his own terms, offering space instead of expectation. And yet, somehow, Mateo had walked away from that conversation knowing exactly what was at stake.
Blake was different. She wasn’t pressuring him, but she wasn’t leaving him an easy exit, either.
Maybe that was the point.
He exhaled slowly, his fingers smoothing against the fabric of his uniform, grounding himself in the present.
“I’ve… had a difficult time in Starfleet.”
The words landed heavier than he expected. Raw. Unpolished. A quiet admission. His pulse ticked up, his jaw tightening just slightly to keep from second-guessing himself. He didn’t look at Blake when he said it, keeping his gaze on the PADDs stacked neatly on her desk. Not defiance. Just caution.
“I’ve never struggled with the work,” he continued, voice even but measured, as if testing the weight of each word before committing to it. “I know my field. I know how to run my lab. I take pride in that.”
That was safe. True, but safe. It gave nothing away.
But this conversation was already past the point of playing it safe, wasn’t it?
He shifted slightly, adjusting his posture. Not retreating. Just… adjusting.
“My problem has always been… everything else.”
A pause. That was already too much. But it was also the truth.
Mateo’s fingers curled, pressing lightly against the fabric of his uniform again before he forced them to relax. He inhaled slowly, choosing his next words carefully, deliberately.
“I don’t—” He stopped, exhaling. Reframe.
“I haven’t always… fit. In Starfleet.”
There. That was better. Less sharp. Less like an exposed wound.
His lips pressed together for a second before he continued, voice quieter now, more thoughtful.
“I thought as long as I did my job well, the rest would work itself out. But it never did. I—” He shook his head slightly. “I never quite figured out how to be what people expected me to be.”
That was where things had always gone wrong. That was what Hanlon had understood.
The thought crept in, uninvited, unwelcome. Would it really make a difference? Or would she decide—like so many before her—that he wasn’t worth the effort?
His heart thudded hard in his chest. He felt exposed, even though he hadn’t said anything damning.
“I don’t want that to happen here,” he admitted finally. “I can’t let that happen here.”
Hanlon had made that much clear. There was no safety net, no more next time.
He stopped there, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. That was enough. More than enough.
Mateo let the silence settle between them.
Whatever came next, he had already committed to it.
Blake was, admittedly, relieved at his reply. Not surprised, but relieved. If he was able to say it openly to her, then he had a much better chance of achieving it. It was interesting though...that giving him the choice, he had decided to start with the bad rather than the good. His problems fitting into the fleet clearly sat forefront of his mind more often than not.
"I've read your file and some of the counselling assessments," she confirmed, wanting to be clear on that count. "I know what they think about you, but...I'm more interested in what you think might be the biggest blocker to being able to achieve that."
Mateo blinked once, slowly.
That wasn’t the question he expected.
He exhaled, shifting slightly where he sat, one hand curling against his knee. What he thought was his biggest blocker. Not what Starfleet thought. Not what the reports said. What he thought.
That was new.
For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t know—but because he knew exactly.
His fingers pressed into the fabric of his uniform, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles there. “I know how to do my job,” he said carefully, voice quiet but steady. “That’s never been the problem.”
He glanced toward the window before refocusing on a point just past Blake’s shoulder. Not direct eye contact, not yet.
“The problem is… everything else.”
It came out softer than he meant it to. He cleared his throat, shifting again.
“I’ve been in situations where it felt like—” A pause. He exhaled sharply, lips pressing together for a second. Reframe. “Let’s just say that by the time I arrived somewhere new, my reputation had already gotten there first.”
There it was. The truth of it.
The corner of his mouth twitched—not a smile, exactly. Something sharper, more resigned. “People don’t tend to give me the benefit of the doubt. And I—” He stopped, shaking his head slightly.
Careful. Too close.
“I know how I come across,” he admitted instead, tilting his head slightly, considering his own words before committing to them. “I push back when I shouldn’t. I question things I shouldn’t question. I don’t take well to—” Another pause, the hint of something like embarrassment flickering across his face before he masked it. “Being managed.”
The words sat uncomfortably in his mouth, like something he wasn’t meant to say aloud.
Maybe that was the problem. Authority had never felt like guidance—it had always felt like pressure. And the more they tried to contain him, the harder he pushed back.
He exhaled slowly. “And I know that doesn’t make things easier for anyone. But the thing is, I don’t do it just to be difficult. I don’t enjoy—” His fingers flexed slightly. “I don’t like conflict.”
A beat. He glanced toward her desk, exhaling through his nose.
“But I also don’t like being underestimated.”
There. That was the real problem, wasn’t it?
People saw the reprimands before they saw the work. And once they had a version of him in their heads, it didn’t matter what he did next.
And how had he responded to that? By becoming exactly what they expected.
The thought sat heavy in his chest.
“I guess the biggest blocker is that people make up their minds about me before I get a chance to prove myself. And if I feel like that decision’s already been made—” He shrugged slightly, forcing his expression neutral. “It’s hard to care about changing it.”
A silence stretched between them.
It was too much honesty, but at the same time, not enough.
His fingers pressed against his knee again before he forced them to relax. “That’s not an excuse,” he added finally, quieter this time. “I know I need to do better. That’s why I’m still here.”
Another pause. He swallowed.
“I’m still working on that.”
[To be continued in Part 3]
Crewman Mateo Gardel
Medical Science Specialist
USS Fenrir
&
Commander Scarlet Blake
Commanding Officer
USS Fenrir
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