Drink and Gossip, Part 3 of 4
Posted on Sat Apr 19th, 2025 @ 5:35pm by Crewman Mateo Gardel & Lieutenant JG Aria Rice & Petty Officer 1st Class Gabriel Stark
2,571 words; about a 13 minute read
Mission:
To Boldly Go
Location: Valhalla Bar, Deck 6, USS Fenrir
Timeline: Day 13
[ON - Continued from Part 2]
He swirled his drink slowly, considering. “So, we’re either fixing someone else’s mess, pacifying an angry planet, or getting thrown at a scientific phenomenon and told to make ourselves useful.” His voice was dry, but there was an analytical edge beneath the sarcasm.
Then, with a tilt of his head, he added, “Or hunting Maquis insurgents, apparently. Because nothing says ‘welcome to your new assignment’ like dusting off threats from the 2370s.” The corner of his mouth twitched, but the skepticism was clear.
His fingers tapped idly against his glass as he considered the Betazed theory. “The defense grid rumor’s at least based in reality,” he admitted, gaze flicking to Aria. “Federation oversight’s been patching Dominion War damage for decades, so it’s not completely out there. But us? Getting sent to deal with planetary defenses?” He took a slow sip of his drink before setting it down again. “If that’s the case, then someone seriously overestimated this ship’s first-week capabilities.”
The warmth of the alcohol settled deeper, unwinding him just a little further. He let his fingers drift absently against the bar, studying them both.
“Though, if it does turn out to be Betazed, I’d take Aria’s coma idea under advisement. Last thing I need is someone pulling thoughts out of my head I didn’t give them permission to have.”
The words were casual, but the honesty was threaded between them.
"Right?!" Gabriel jumped on the words, with the kind of urgency reserved for finally finding someone that agreed with something that seemed blindingly obvious to him. He leant forward to him, his hand palm up on the bar, in a gesture meant to implore and engage. "I don't understand how other people don't understand why telepaths make me nervous. It's bad enough when you have to tell your lifestory to a counsellor and you're able to filter as desired...but people who can bypass my rights to privacy and rifle through my mind like a filing cabinet? I know they can't help it, but it doesn't mean it's comfortable to be on the other side."
Mateo noted the way Gabriel’s expression shifted—not sharp, not tense, but genuinely pleased. There was an ease in his posture now, a particular kind of satisfaction that came with finally finding someone who understood. That alone was enough to make Mateo pause. Agreement wasn’t something he was used to.
Exhaling lightly, he tipped his glass toward Gabriel in an easy, acknowledging gesture. “See? Finally, someone who gets it.” Taking a sip, he let the warmth settle before setting the glass down again. “I don’t care how much control they claim to have. It still happens. And sure, maybe they don’t mean to pick up every stray thought, but that doesn’t exactly make it better.”
His fingers traced the rim of his glass, amusement creeping in at the edges. “And that’s just surface thoughts. I don’t need someone knowing I’ve been mentally critiquing Gabriel’s shirt under this lighting or that I noticed Aria practically vibrating with excitement over her drink when I walked in.”
The moment the words left his mouth, heat crept up the back of his neck, slow but inevitable. Why had he said that? He kept his expression neutral, but the warmth settled stubbornly across his skin. It wasn’t like he’d meant to say it out loud. His focus dropped to his glass, fingers tightening around it slightly as if that might ground him, but the slip had already happened.
He should’ve stopped at Aria. That would have been fine—casual, harmless. But no, he had to mention Gabriel’s shirt. A shirt that, under Valhalla’s lighting, shimmered just enough to be distracting. Not bad, exactly. Just… noticeable.
And purple—which was the worst part, really.
Mateo liked purple. It was one of his favorite colors to paint with, a shade that could be bold or subtle depending on how it was used. He had a shirt—old now, something he only slept in—a deep, vibrant purple that had once caught his eye under the glow of an Andorian music festival’s cavern lights.
The festival had been an experience. The music had been the main draw, of course, but it wasn’t just about that. The way sound traveled through the ice cavern had been fascinating, refracting off walls sculpted by time and pressure. The bass had rolled in waves, the acoustics making every note stretch and twist in a way no engineered concert hall could replicate. He had spent as much time listening as he had analyzing—mapping the way sound bounced, the way different species reacted to it, how the crowd moved with the music, how some stayed rigidly still.
He had liked being there—liked knowing he was surrounded by people who shared his love for the music, even if he didn’t quite feel like he was part of them. The energy was infectious but also draining, the communal thrill of it balanced by the creeping need to step away every so often to recalibrate. He had spent moments pressed to the periphery, watching, absorbing, adjusting before letting himself sink back in.
The shirt had been an impulse buy at a vendor stall between sets. He hadn’t needed it. Hadn’t even planned to keep it this long. But something about the way the fabric had caught the light, the memory of the music still thrumming in his chest—it had been enough.
Now, years later, it was worn soft, a piece of something he didn’t often think about but never quite let go of.
His fingers curled loosely around his nearly empty glass, thumb tapping once against the side before he gave a small, dismissive exhale and gestured vaguely. “It’s just—” He shifted slightly, eyes flicking anywhere but their faces. “—very purple.”
Subtle. Completely subtle.
Rather than linger, he pivoted, catching Gabriel’s gaze with something that resembled composure. “So, is this just general unease, or…” He tilted his head slightly, casual despite the lingering warmth at his collar. “Have you actually had someone go digging before?”
It wasn’t probing, just an extension of the moment. A natural question between two people who, for once, weren’t alone in their unease. And if it redirected attention away from whatever reaction they might’ve had to his observation, then all the better.
But Gabriel was looking down at himself, now. He arched a delicate, dark eyebrow, running his hands over his chest to feel the shirt, letting the fabric shift with the touch to see the hue for himself. Had he meant critiquing in a good or a bad way? He guessed bad. Otherwise he'd have said admiring, or enjoying even. Critiquing usually meant bad. Well, unless someone didn't want to be accused of being critical, then they'd try and pretend that criticism was actually good. He finally chuckled though, shaking his head lightly as he dismissed it. Maybe he'd just be flattered he'd noticed. Not everyone could like purple. It was sad, but true. "I had a boyfriend who'd do it when we were arguing. I say boyfriend...that implies something more meaningful than it actually was, but...you get the idea."
Mateo’s fingers stilled against his nearly empty glass as Gabriel glanced down, smoothing his hands over the shimmering fabric as if reassessing it under scrutiny. Of course, he took it as a critique—Mateo had literally called it that. And maybe it was, technically, but not in a bad way. The color was striking, shifting in the light, bold without being obnoxious. But critique implied judgment, and somewhere between thought and spoken word, Mateo had lost control of the tone.
Heat flared at the base of his neck, creeping up, slow and inevitable, prickling across his skin in a wave of secondhand embarrassment for himself. He could already feel the warmth blooming over his ears, the unmistakable tell of a blush deepening beyond his control. It was a familiar sensation, the static charge of a social misstep, a wrong note played too loud in a quiet room. It was exactly how he always managed to find himself in hot water—saying the right thing the wrong way, or worse, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. A pattern he recognized too late, like stepping on a tripwire after it had already triggered.
His lips parted, an impulse to correct the assumption, but Gabriel was already chuckling, shaking his head as if it didn’t matter. It shouldn’t have mattered. But his pulse still thrummed against his collarbone, his skin still felt too warm, and even as he exhaled and rolled his glass between his hands, the discomfort clung to him, warm and persistent. It was fine. Not everyone liked purple. But he did, and he had meant it in a good way.
Aria watched them both with wide eyes, at the exchange, before she exhaled. A small smile was tugging at the corner of her lips, because she could tell there had been a moment where things were...well, could have gone either way. And yeah, when the atmosphere shifted, there was one person who could help. She! So she did what she did best, which was lean back against the bar and eye them both. "Boys, boys..we can all agree on a few things. One!" she held a finger up for dramatic effect. "Betazoids will fish your brains if they can, accidentally on purpose. Two, no one knows what they're doing, they're all faking it...Three..." she paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Oh! Three, there's always a plan, and the best plan are those that happens after several drinks. There! Three things that everyone in the entire universe can agree on." She winked and took a large gulp of her drink. "Oh Hells, that's good...seriously, keep it flowing and you can then all just shake me until I sober up."
The tension in his shoulders ebbed the moment Aria spoke, her theatrical cadence slicing clean through the charged undercurrent between him and Gabriel like a well-timed scalpel. Mateo didn’t move at first—he simply blinked, eyes narrowing in subtle disbelief as she delivered her list with the kind of confidence only she could make sound like gospel. Betazoids, faking it, drunken strategy. He wasn’t sure if any of it was comforting or mildly terrifying, but it was effective. His fingers, which had still been lightly curled against the side of his glass, loosened as he finally exhaled, a breath he hadn’t fully realized he’d been holding.
Then it happened—barely there at first, like a shadow unsure of whether it belonged. But it grew into something real. Mateo’s expression softened, the sharp lines of his face giving way to something rare: a smile. Not one of practiced charm, nor a sarcastic smirk meant to deflect. This one was warm and quiet and entirely unguarded, as if Aria’s absurdity had opened a space where he could safely let something honest slip through. And damn, it suited him. The expression lit his features in a way that made him look just a bit younger, a bit less like someone constantly at war with his own reputation. He turned his head slightly to hide it behind the rim of his glass, but it was there—genuine, if fleeting. And for the first time that evening, Mateo didn’t feel like he needed to be on edge.
Gabriel noticed it though, smiling with him. Mateo looked like a different man. He almost leant to tease him for being cute when he smiled, but he got the sense that it might frighten him back into his shell, so he held back. Because frankly, he was enjoying the eye candy more when he was like this. He envied Aria though, with how easily she could pour oil on troubled water. He was more inclined to throw matches on oil. Still, it was just another reason why they fit so well together. He got to set things on fire, and she could clear up the mess. Seemed fair, he thought with a wry smile to himself. "Listen, I joined security for a reason...so I never have to know what I'm doing or make plans. I point and fire and stand outside of doors looking intimidating."
"Yeah, unfortunately I can't just be awesome and shoot a phaser into the ceiling and shout 'I'm cranky, I got a headache and I got a phaser, behave'...apparently that is frowned upon by the officers," Aria said with a dramatic sigh, shaking her head before she smiled. "And I don't look intimidating. And...Assistant Chief...so there will be plans. They will all crumble when someone does something brave and Starfleet-y and then...chaos and big barabooms..." she held her hands up as if to step back from the imaginary plan and problems associated with them.
Mateo watched them volley with the ease of people who’d done this a hundred times—Gabriel dry and biting, Aria flamboyant and gleefully catastrophic. Their rhythm was natural, almost instinctive, and for a moment he just let himself enjoy the cadence of it, the way it filled the space like background music he didn’t have to analyze. Still, the mention of barabooms—and the way Aria gestured like she was orchestrating one—earned a sharp flick of his eyebrows and the slow pull of a smirk. He shifted in his seat, his glass cradled loosely between his palms, now nearly empty but forgotten in favor of something far more intoxicating: the illusion of camaraderie.
“Sounds like a flawless mission profile,” he drawled, glancing between them with a small tilt of his glass. “I get to be the wildcard consultant—minus the civilian status, and the consulting. Mostly just panic-flavored commentary while something explodes three decks below.” He shrugged one shoulder, deadpan but not unkind. “We all play to our strengths. Allegedly.”
"Oh! See, I like that," Aria said, nodding eagerly at the idea of it. "We'd be Team Awesome Force...you know, the super-smart, good looking and sassy one with a heart of gold..." she motioned to Mateo as she said it to make it clear that was the 'role' she was casting him in. "The strong, arse-kickery handsome one," her finger went to Gabriel and she winked, her lips curling into a smile. "And me as the sidekick who somehow manages not to blow the ship up and ruin whatever great adventure we are on. This should totally be a holonovel, we'd be excellent!" she reached for her glass and tipped it to her lips, then frowned and outright sulked for a moment. "Drink fairy took my last sip...barkeep! Another!" Realising she had practically shouted she gave their trusted barkeeper a bashful smile. "Please? Pretty please?"
[OFF - To be concluded in Part 4]
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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