Drink and Gossip, Part 2 of 4
Posted on Sat Apr 19th, 2025 @ 5:34pm by Crewman Mateo Gardel & Lieutenant JG Aria Rice & Petty Officer 1st Class Gabriel Stark
2,259 words; about a 11 minute read
Mission:
To Boldly Go
Location: Valhalla Bar, Deck 6, USS Fenrir
Timeline: Day 13
[ON - Continued from Part 1]
Mateo barely had time to register the flicker of movement before Gabriel Stark swept into view, all confidence and easy charisma. The man navigated the thrumming bar as if he belonged in the center of it, his body instinctively catching the rhythm of the music, his saunter effortless. The tailored leather-like trousers and sheer, deep purple shirt only reinforced the impression—a man perfectly at home in his own skin.
Aria greeted him with equal warmth, the kind of unspoken ease that came from long-held friendship. Their movements were fluid—Gabriel’s arms looping around her waist, her laughter bright and familiar as she kissed his cheek in return.
Mateo observed the exchange without comment, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass in absent rhythm. Their dynamic was instantly clear: unshakable, effortless, deeply rooted. He wasn’t sure why that surprised him, but it did. There was no hesitation, no calculation, no second-guessing between them.
That was where he felt the difference.
He could process the pattern of their interaction - the way Gabriel’s arrival changed the energy, the rhythm, the weight of the space - but knowing the pattern wasn’t the same as knowing where he fit within it.
Aria’s introduction pulled him from his thoughts, framing him in a way that almost made him smirk. A brain-y science guy, having his cocktail horizons expanded. Gabriel, on the other hand, was the best friend, the trusted Security buddy, and the walking reason for Medical’s disapproval.
Mateo hesitated, fingers drumming once against his glass before shifting, adjusting, trying to decide where to put his hands, his attention, himself. He didn’t quite know how to slot into this, into their rhythm, into the familiarity of it. The pause stretched just a little too long before he made himself move, forcing a subtle shift in posture that felt deliberate rather than instinctive.
His gaze flicked between them, expression unreadable but quietly assessing. Two halves of a perfectly calibrated chaos machine.
The expected thing was to say something. Introduce himself, offer a handshake, mirror the ease that came so naturally to them. But forcing that kind of automatic social response had never worked for him.
Instead, he lifted his glass slightly, a small, measured acknowledgment, before finally speaking.
“Pleasure,” he said, voice even, but his eyes lingered a fraction longer than necessary, cataloging.
Then, with the faintest tilt of his head, he added dryly, “So… how bad should I be worried about this drink recommendation?”
Gabriel clocked the drink, a grin making its way to his features. "Fenrir's Jaws?" he asked it as a question, but even with such a short stint on the ship so far, he recognised the drink easily enough. "Well, that depends," he helped himself to the stool between the two of them, hopping up lightly before resting an elbow back against the bar. "Are you the hardened, experienced type? Or are you still flirting with the spirit world?"
"Oh, he's going to be educated," Aria said with a knowing smile, leaning forward so she could catch Mateo's eyes. "Gabriel here, he is a cocktail expert. Like, he can tell you everything that is in a cocktail by drinking it, I swear!" she shook her head and reached for her own drink, taking a gulp. "Me? The Moon just does white or blue strong drink...think it stripped most of my tastebuds before I was born..."
Mateo’s fingers curled loosely around his glass, turning it slowly against the polished bar top. The motion was deliberate, measured—a quiet anchor as he adjusted to the shift in attention. Gabriel was studying him, not in a passing way but with a practiced ease, a deliberate cataloging that set his nerves just slightly on edge.
The heat started at the back of his neck before creeping upward, slow and insidious, a traitorous flush that he felt more than he wanted to acknowledge. He resisted the urge to fidget, but the awareness of being seen, really seen, settled uncomfortably beneath his skin. He preferred to be the observer, not the observed.
Shifting slightly, he exhaled softly, gaze flicking to his drink—a convenient point of focus, something tangible and familiar.
“That depends,” he said finally, his voice measured despite the lingering warmth in his face. “Do I get extra credit for surviving Aria’s drink recommendation, or is that just a rite of passage?”
Lifting the glass, he took a slow sip, letting the burn of chili vodka and cinnamon settle low in his chest, grounding him. The spice was sharp, but the warmth that followed was steadying. Tactile. Real.
When he finally set it down, he allowed himself another glance at Gabriel—brief, controlled.
“I can appreciate the talent,” he admitted, the words smooth but edged with dry amusement. “But if my drink starts getting performance reviews, I might start feeling judged.”
It wasn’t quite deflection. But it was close enough.
Aria laughed as she looked at them, her eyes wide. "Hey, now...let's be real here, it's not like I give people bad recommendations! Just sometimes...you know, what I like others don't!" she declared and shook her head, almost bouncing where she sat. With excitement at having them there. "And I've only ever poisoned people like...twice! No...three times! And they were all accidental poisonings, I can't keep track of every intolerance for every species..." she said and it was unclear with her smile if it was truth or just her teasing.
Mateo stilled, fingers hovering against his glass as he processed Aria’s casual admittance—three accidental poisonings, give or take. Or maybe she was joking. Probably.
His gaze flicked to her, expression unreadable but undeniably assessing. She was practically vibrating with energy, her excitement a living thing that refused to be ignored. It wasn’t overwhelming—not in the way a loud room or an intrusive presence could be—but it had a way of creeping in, filling the space between them without asking permission.
He didn’t draw from it so much as let himself be pulled into its orbit. Not fully, not in a way that would make it obvious, but in ways he felt in his own body—a slight shift in his posture, the loosening of his shoulders, the smirk he nearly suppressed but let happen anyway.
His fingers resumed their quiet tapping against the glass—a grounding rhythm, steady and familiar.
“Three times?” His voice carried its usual flatness, but his eyes betrayed him, sharp with amusement. Slowly, he lifted his drink, as if reconsidering. “Right. Well, that’s… reassuring.”
The glass lingered near his lips for a beat before he exhaled, shaking his head, the tension that had settled along his spine easing just slightly.
It wasn’t mirroring. He never mirrored. But there was something in the air between them—Aria’s relentless enthusiasm pressing at the edges of his restraint, Gabriel’s easy presence beside him—nudging him into something lighter, something easier.
He wasn’t giving in to it. Not fully. But he wasn’t fighting it either.
Gabriel watched him with amusement dancing in his dark eyes, the tip of his tongue touching his top lip with it. His eyes were on the glass and he finally laughed at the pause between glass and lips. "I promise, that one's safe," he finally assured him, tapping the back of his hand against Aria's shoulder in rebuke for putting the doubt in him. "Aria has this thing of pretending she's far more ditzy than she actually is..." he cast her a fond but knowing smile. If this guy was as smart as he suspected, she was in good company to let the guard down.
Mateo narrowed his eyes slightly, shifting his gaze between Gabriel’s easy amusement and Aria’s unrepentant grin. The casual assurance that his drink was safe wasn’t as comforting as it should have been—not when he could still hear Aria’s offhand “three accidental poisonings” bouncing around in his head.
Still, he let the pause stretch, fingers tapping idly against the glass as if debating whether the next sip might be his last.
“Hm.” He inhaled, lips pressing into a thoughtful line. “See, now I don’t know if I trust either of you.”
The words came out flat, but the glint in his eyes gave him away.
He lifted the glass again, this time with exaggerated suspicion, his expression unreadable as he finally took another slow sip. The spice hit first—chili vodka sharp against his tongue, cinnamon warmth unfurling at the back of his throat. It burned, but in a way he liked.
Lowering the glass, he exhaled, rolling his shoulders like someone bracing for impact. Then, after a beat, he gave a slow nod.
“Well,” he deadpanned, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. “I’m not dead yet. So I guess that’s a promising start.”
The warmth of the drink settled low in his chest, steady and grounding. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the atmosphere, but the tight coil of restraint he usually carried started to unwind—just a little.
The analytical part of his brain still cataloged everything—the way Gabriel’s teasing had an edge of knowing behind it, the way Aria’s excitement filled the space between them without effort. But instead of trying to position himself carefully within it, he let himself settle into the moment.
Leaning an elbow against the bar, he let his fingers tap once against the counter before speaking, the question forming as much out of curiosity as out of a desire to shift gears.
“We’re about to leave Utopia Planitia soon,” he said, his tone still casual but edged with something more thoughtful. “Any guesses on what our first mission’s going to be?”
He tilted his glass slightly, watching the liquid shift before glancing up again.
“Because if this ship’s first assignment involves anything remotely cursed, I’d like to get ahead of it.”
It wasn’t banter, not exactly. But it was a conversation starter—one that still carried his dry humor, but with genuine curiosity beneath it.
He glanced between them, waiting for their take.
Aria's glanced over at Gabriel at the mention of cursed. It had been a running joke, which at times had some basis in truth, that on their old ship together the Chief Security Officer's seat had been cursed. Due to the death and injuries and so on. However, this was a different ship.
And there was always scuttlebutt about what the first mission of a ship would be.
"Ah," Aria finally nodded and slammed her hands down on the bar, then grimaced and shook her left one where she had been a little bit overenthusiastic and hit a knuckle against the edge. "Ouch. Well, we got options. So there's always that classic 'oh no, it's a new ship with a new Captain, let's send them over to repair some stuff somewhere and all the natives will rejoice'. Classic. Then there's the 'oh no, we've messed up, we need to fix this' missions where a ship gets sent to smooth things over. And then...there's the classic 'look at this star, observe this black hole, science, exploration' and so on. Now..." she lowered her voice on purpose for the next bit.
"I heard a rumour from the Station staff that we're being sent to assist the repairs of the planetary defense system for Betazed. Like, they're still constantly trying to get them running properly, even after the Dominion War," she looked at them both and then shrugged, a small smile betraying she didn't actually believe that rumour. "If that happens, dibs on a medically induced coma. Last time I was on Betazed, someone's offhand comment had me in three counselling sessions a week. Those people are blunt."
Gabriel grimaced at the suggestion, shaking his head as if that alone could dismiss the possibility. "A planet full of telepathic and empathic beings? I think not..." he sighed, and for a moment, a hint of a more cut glass, aristocratic accent crept in with his disdain. When the moment passed and he regained his sense of humour over the idea, his tone of voice went back to the softer English accent - located somewhere in the 'shires - he'd adopted over the years. "Well *I* heard that we're being sent out to quash a resurgent Maquis cell..." but the gossipy tone he was using made it clear he didn't really believe it.
Mateo barely had time to process Aria’s sudden enthusiasm before the sharp crack of her palms against the bar cut through the ambient noise. He didn’t flinch exactly, but the quick exhale through his nose betrayed the way the unexpected sound momentarily grated against his senses.
He tracked the way she shook out her left hand, subtly cataloging the injury but saying nothing—it wasn’t serious, just an overenthusiastic miscalculation. Still, his gaze lingered just long enough to register it before shifting back to the conversation.
The rumors themselves? One plausible, one nonsense.
[OFF - To be continued in Part 3]
Crewman Mateo Gardel
Medical Science Specialist
USS Fenrir
&
Lieutenant JG Aria Rice
Security Officer
USS Fenrir
[PNPC - Hanlon]
&
Petty Officer 1st Class Gabriel Stark
Security Officer
USS Fenrir
[PNPC - Blake]
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