Musical Interlude [2/3]

Posted on Sun Aug 31st, 2025 @ 10:50pm by Petty Officer 2nd Class Khlynt Medan & Crewman Mateo Gardel

2,604 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: To Boldly Go
Location: Holodeck 2, Deck 9, USS Fenrir
Timeline: MD10, 22:00

ON - Continued from part 1


"You have a good ear," Khlynt said with interest. The boy's attempts showed promise. The thing holding him back was most likely the audience of one rather than anything else. There was something raw and unsure with the one before him, something that Khlynt warmed to out on instinct. "And a good memory..." he moved over to him and crouched, his hands flicking the long waistcoat away from his legs. There was three feet between them, enough distance to not trap him. "You're still new to the instrument though. You hold it as if it might bite you if you...relax." He shifted to kneel, finding it easier.

For a moment he just studied him, a patient look on his face as if he was waiting for something. But he wasn't. Not really.

and now the continuation

Mateo froze when the man moved closer, every muscle in his body going wire-tight under the soft fabric of his sweater. Even with the careful, respectful distance between them, it set off the low static hum at the base of his skull—too close, too close—that he instinctively fought down. But the man didn’t crowd him. Didn’t push. He just knelt there—steady, patient, solid as the sea cliffs outside the open doors. It was disarming in a way Mateo hadn’t expected. Most people either demanded space or pretended not to notice it. This man seemed to understand it without needing to be told.

The comment about his playing caught Mateo off guard, a sharp flicker of heat creeping up the back of his neck. His fingers fidgeted against the fretboard, brushing lightly over the smooth wood in small, unconscious circles. "I'm... still pretty bad," he muttered, voice low and gruff. The instinct to keep going—to tear himself down before anyone else could—flared hot and immediate. But this time, he caught it. Bit it down hard behind his teeth. He didn’t owe this man an apology for not being perfect. Not here. Not yet.

He shifted, pulling the guitar a little tighter against his chest, his knee bouncing once before he forced it still with a sharp breath through his nose. The salt-heavy air of the villa felt thick around him, the warm scent of lemons threading through it like a lifeline he could hold onto if he needed it. His gaze flickered upward, cautious, meeting the older man's blue eyes just for a breath before sliding away again. There was no sharpness there. No amusement at his awkwardness. Just quiet patience—and something Mateo couldn’t quite name.

"You play a lotta things?" he asked finally, thumb brushing the strings in a slow, soundless pass. His voice was rough around the edges, like it had been scraped clean of all the usual sharp armor he wore without thinking. He wasn’t good at asking questions. He wasn’t good at inviting anything closer. But something about the way the man simply waited made it feel... safer. Like maybe, just this once, it wouldn’t be a mistake to stay.

"Hm..." Khlynt looked down with a small smile at the words, at the way that the youth in front of him had managed to dismiss himself. What he had heard hadn't been bad. But he suspected if he told him that to his face he would struggle to accept it. And he wouldn't push him either into playing for him. He looked back at Mateo, his head tilted just a little to the side as he could almost pick out the cords he was playing...well, almost. No sound yet.

He focused on the question before him. "Yes. String instruments are my...passion. I learned to play on an instrument close to an Earth lyre..." he motioned gently to the guitar. "Not far off that, really. I managed to capture a Queen that way." The smile widened for a moment before it settled down again, his blue eyes on him. "I'm Khlynt Medan."

Mateo tilted his head slightly, unconsciously mirroring the man's earlier motion. It wasn’t something he thought about—more like an instinctive calibration, the way he sometimes matched his breathing to the rhythm of machines when a room felt too big. His fingers tightened on the neck of the guitar, brushing the strings in silent, rhythmic patterns. He caught the flicker of humor in the older man's smile, soft and brief, like a flash of something private offered and then tucked safely away again.

Captured a Queen. The words rolled strangely through Mateo’s mind. It sounded like something from a fairy tale or a history book—definitely not something you'd expect to hear in a holodeck villa, where lemon trees leaned lazy and golden against a blinding blue sky. He huffed a quiet breath through his nose—not quite a laugh, not quite disbelief—and glanced sideways at him, curiosity gnawing at the edges of his caution.

"Guess that's... one way to make an impression," Mateo said, the words dry but without heat. His foot shifted slightly against the tile, tracing the pattern of a crack with the toe of his boot. He wanted to ask more—wanted to know how someone could pull off something like that with just a few strings and their hands—but the questions tangled up in his throat, too many, too soon. So he let them settle, heavy and patient, the way he imagined the man would have.

The name—Khlynt Medan—landed with the weight of something important, though Mateo wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it was just the cadence of it, the way it didn’t feel rushed or thrown away like names sometimes were when people didn’t expect you to remember them. He shifted the guitar against his chest, sitting up a little straighter without thinking about it. His fingers stilled, resting lightly on the strings, the unfinished ghost of a chord still humming somewhere between them.

"Mateo," he offered quietly, after a beat too long. No rank, no department, no titles. Just him. It felt strangely vulnerable, the simplicity of it, like setting something down between them without armor wrapped around it. His voice dipped a little lower, softer. "Mateo Gardel."

He hesitated, worrying the inside of his cheek between his teeth before glancing back up at Khlynt. There was a steadiness there he wasn’t used to seeing. Most people wanted something from you—information, obedience, performance. Khlynt just seemed content to exist alongside him for a while. Mateo didn’t know what to do with that. He was better with expectations he could fail.

Still, he found himself speaking again, the words tentative but sincere. "Could you..." Mateo shifted, the guitar creaking faintly under his arms. His throat tightened, but he pushed through it. "Could you play that... again? The one from before." His voice was quieter now, almost a request, like he was afraid that asking might shatter whatever fragile thing had formed between them.

Khlynt looked at him with surprise before he smiled, nodding as he stood with a surprising grace and ease for a man who looked his age. He walked out and sat down, picking up the harp as he looked over at Mateo for a moment. His hands rested against the string for a moment before he started to play, closing his eyes as he let the music flow. Still slower than how he had been taught it, but somehow it had seemed right. His fingers moved with ease, the melody gentle and melancholic, filling the space. He could remembered as he played, teaching his daughter this melody, her fingers on a different instrument as she looked at him with bright green eyes, her mop of dark hair standing out like a halo against the sunlight. He hummed along, not realising it as he quietly started to sing, a low baritone that barely was heard over the sound of the harp.

Mateo stayed frozen at first, listening with a kind of aching stillness that rooted him to the floor. The music seeped into the air like slow sunlight, threading through the cracks of the old villa tiles and catching on the salt-damp edges of the breeze. It was simple, sure, but it carried something deeper—a sadness so familiar it hummed against the thin walls he kept around himself. His fingers itched against the guitar, the silent promise of strings pressing lightly into his skin. Before he could second-guess himself—before the voice in his head could tell him he didn’t belong in this moment—Mateo shifted, moving closer by slow, cautious degrees.

He stayed low to the ground, wary of disrupting the fragile current between them. Each step was deliberate: the creak of boot leather, the soft scuff of worn soles against stone. He settled finally on the floor a few feet away, cross-legged once more, the guitar nestled into his lap. His heart pounded too fast, too loud, but he forced his hands steady as he mirrored the rhythm Khlynt wove into the air. His fingers fumbled the first few notes, awkward and uneven against the harp’s fluid grace—but Mateo pressed on, softer, quieter, trying to let the melody catch him rather than chase it.

He didn’t look at Khlynt. Couldn’t. It was too much like looking directly at the sun. Instead, he focused on the way their sounds braided together—rough and smooth, young and ancient, broken and whole. For a long, careful moment, Mateo played not to be perfect, not to impress, but simply to be there. To stay in the current instead of drowning in it. His knee brushed lightly against the cool stone floor, the scent of lemons curling in the warm breeze between them, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel like he was trespassing.

The only recognition or acknowledgement of Mateo joining in was a small smile that curled Khlynt's lips. The guitar added a warmth to the music and it changed it. It was not a bad change, rather an evolution. And he could appreciate it, because he hadn't played with someone for years. He could sense the flow of time, this time, the way the universe moved with it. This moment was one he would remember, for the feelings...for the way that Mateo had joined in, as careful as a kicked animal gaining trust once more in people. One sudden movement and he might run away, or bite, or scratch. But Khlynt was a patient man. It had always served him well, in many different lives. The music ended quietly and his hands stilled, his eyes still closed. "You are better at playing than you think you are, Mateo," he said, using his name for the first time.

Mateo didn’t answer at first. He stayed still, fingers curled loosely around the guitar’s neck, the final note echoing into the lemon-sweet air before dissolving into the hush of waves and wind. His chest rose and fell in slow, uneven beats, as if the stillness had crept up on him and now he didn’t quite know how to move inside it. Silence rarely felt this... safe. Usually, it pressed in like static. But today, it felt like exhale—like something fragile and real had just happened, and if he breathed too hard, it might crack.

The use of his name startled him more than the compliment. His gaze lifted, tentative, and for once, he didn’t immediately look away. He didn’t know what to say—his mind had already queued up a dozen self-effacing responses, each jostling to escape—but none of them made it past his lips. Instead, he blinked once, twice, as if unsure he’d heard it right. His name sounded different when Khlynt said it. Like it wasn’t a placeholder. Like it meant something.

"...I mess up the fingering a lot," he said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper. The words weren’t defensive—just honest. He adjusted the strap of the guitar with a quiet motion, then softened. "But... I wanted to remember it. Before it disappeared." The last words slipped out quieter than he meant, but he didn’t take them back. He didn’t run. He just sat there in the golden light, the quiet stretching around them like warm cloth.

Mateo hesitated, his eyes drifting to the older man’s hands where they still rested on the harp’s strings. The notes lingered in his mind like dust motes caught in sunlight. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but steadier. "Did you... write it?" His fingers brushed lightly over his own strings, not playing, just touching. "That song. Where did it come from?"

"Ah...I can't take credit for it," Khlynt said as he let out a soft breath, looking from Mateo to the harp. "It is an El-Aurian song. A sweet courting song in its own right, about the courting and life that unfolds for a couple, until their death. It was...popular when I was young," he chuckled softly at himself. It was one he remembered. His wife had found it insipid. His daughter had loved it. He had taught her it, they had danced around in the garden playing it.

A lifetime ago.

"I suppose over the years, I've come to see it as the wish for love rather than the promise of it," he turned his head to look at Mateo, at this young man with the guitar. "Songs change meaning with our experiences as much as they do with our age."

Mateo blinked—slow, surprised, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard the man correctly. He looked down at the guitar resting in his lap, his fingers draped loosely across the strings, and let the silence sit between them for a moment. A courting song? He almost asked if Khlynt was joking—but something about the older man’s voice, the quiet weight in his expression, told him it wasn’t meant as a joke. Mateo tilted his head slightly, brow furrowing, his mouth pulling into the faintest half-frown of disbelief.

"That was a love song?" he asked finally, his voice soft with quiet astonishment. His gaze drifted out toward the sea beyond the open doors, scanning the bright edge of the horizon as if the answer might be waiting out there. "I mean… it didn’t feel like that. It felt like..." He hesitated, the sentence tapering off into nothing. It felt like grief, like longing and memory and the heavy ache of something you couldn’t quite reach anymore—but he didn’t have the words for that, not out loud.

He glanced sideways at Khlynt, unsure if he was supposed to laugh or apologize for feeling something entirely different. "Guess that says more about me than the song, huh." The words were soft, self-deprecating, but not cruel. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t fold inward. He just sat there in the golden light, the warmth catching in his hair, quietly absorbing the idea that maybe the saddest melodies once came from something whole—and maybe love, too, could echo long after it had ended.

To be continued in part 3

Crewman Mateo Gardel
Medical Science Specialist
USS Fenrir

&

Petty Officer 2nd Class Khlynt Medan
Counsellor
USS Fenrir

 

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