Bad Reputation [1/3]

Posted on Sun Jan 19th, 2025 @ 9:12pm by Commander Cornelius 'Kit' Hanlon & Crewman Mateo Gardel
Edited on on Sun Jan 19th, 2025 @ 9:38pm

3,925 words; about a 20 minute read

Mission: To Boldly Go
Location: First Officer's Office, Deck 2, USS Fenrir
Timeline: Day 7

[ON]

Commander Kit Hanlon sat back in his chair, his eyes on the personnel file in front of him. Crewman Mateo Gardel. Age 23. Six years’ service and still a Crewman, which was never a good sign. There was various notes from former Commanding Officers too, which stood out the same way the short service on various postings had been. Yet he was clearly intelligent, with his specialisms. Plural. Quick to grasp things. Wasted potential, someone had written.

Kit didn't believe in it. That potential could be wasted. It could be misread. Misunderstood. Misused. Not wasted. Waste indicated that it was gone, used up or discarded. Potential was always in someone. Forever. Although it could be forgotten.

Kit didn't like forgetting things. Or people. He deliberately didn't look at the counselling notes. He didn't like cheating when meeting new people, he liked getting to know them as they came to him. And he wasn't a counsellor at half the words would be wasted for him anyway.

He glanced at the time, knowing that the Crewman would be coming to the scheduled meeting soon. And if he didn't, Kit didn't mind tracking him down.

Mateo stood outside Commander Kit Hanlon’s office, his hands resting lightly in the deep pockets of his uniform jumpsuit. He exhaled slowly, his gaze briefly flicking to the clean lines of the corridor around him, his thoughts running as methodically as the footsteps that had carried him here. Meeting with the Executive Officer wasn’t unusual for a new posting—standard protocol, like signing your name at the bottom of a long contract you’d barely read.

Still, this time felt different. The Fenrir wasn’t his first ship, but if Starfleet had its way, it would be his last. Transfers had become as routine as logging xenohistology samples under a microscope. His reputation preceded him, no doubt etched into whatever personnel file sat in front of the XO right now. Wasted potential. Difficult. Resistant to authority. Mateo knew the words well enough to recite them from memory.

But something about this assignment had sparked a faint ember of hope in him, one he’d tried not to acknowledge for fear of extinguishing it. The Fenrir’s mission profile, its crew—everything felt like an opportunity, however slim, to make something stick. Maybe the Executive Officer would see that. Maybe this would be the assignment where things finally clicked. Or maybe he’d be walking out of here with discharge papers in hand. Time would tell.

Adjusting the cuff of either sleeve, Mateo straightened slightly and took a moment to school his expression. Guarded, neutral, but not closed off—it was a delicate balance he’d mastered over the years. With one last glance at the blank surface of the door, he reached out and pressed the chime.

Then he waited, standing still and deliberate, ready to face whatever this meeting had in store.

"Enter," Kit said as he stood, because he had noted that the man was human and from Earth. Buenos Aires in fact. He watched the man enter, noting he was a little taller than him. Dark hair, dark eyes. Striking, he'd describe him as striking. He noted the piercings and the face tattoos, not unusual in humans but unusual in Starfleet. He carried himself with elegance and Kit almost sighed. He had never possessed that himself, certainly not at that age. The face was...

Blank, almost. No. Controlled. Schooled. None of that nervousness Kit himself had, that energy that needed to go somewhere. No, Mateo Gardel looked to Kit like a still lake. He wondered what was hidden in the depths, because what he saw didn't fit with what he had read. So, he decided to disregard what he had read. Just because a lot of people say the sky is yellow, doesn't mean it is, he thought to himself.

"Crewman Gardel. I'm Commander Kit Hanlon," he walked around the desk and offered his hand to the man.

The familiar whoosh of the door sliding open accompanied the crisp command to enter, and Mateo stepped inside, his movements deliberate, neither rushed nor hesitant. The office was tidy, functional, and as unremarkable as he’d expected for someone in a command role. It told him little about its occupant, which was both frustrating and oddly reassuring.

The first thing Mateo noticed about Commander Kit Hanlon was his stature. Not towering, but definitely on the tall side of average, with a solid, athletic build that hinted at someone who made physical activity a regular part of their routine. The faint light caught the edges of Hanlon’s neatly trimmed beard, framing a pale face with sharp features. His eyes, a striking mix of blue and green near the iris, held an intensity Mateo hadn’t expected but didn’t shy away from.

The man carried himself with ease—not quite casual, but not rigidly formal either. There was something about him that didn’t scream “Starfleet template,” and Mateo found that... intriguing. Hanlon looked like someone who could climb out of a Jeffries tube just as easily as he could sit behind a desk giving orders. It was a practical kind of confidence, and it radiated subtly without veering into arrogance.

Still, it was the way the man’s eyes flicked over him—sharp but thoughtful, searching for something deeper—that made Mateo straighten just slightly, as if to meet an unspoken challenge. Whatever judgment Hanlon was forming, Mateo could only hope it was fairer than the ones he’d faced before.

Adjusting the hem of his jumpsuit, Mateo reached out to shake the commander’s hand. “Commander,” he said simply, his voice steady, his Argentine accent soft but present. Then he waited, standing still and deliberate, ready for whatever came next.

Kit shook his hand before he let go. He had noticed the way he had straightened a little, curious what had made him react like that. The accent was interesting, held a warmth that his own watered-out Bostonian found oddly soothing. "Welcome to the Fenrir," he said, the sentiment genuine. He wanted the crew to feel welcomed here, a potential home. He motioned to the seats in front of the desk. "Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?" The offer too was genuine and hinted that this meeting was going to take time, yet not too formal. And Kit wanted Gardel to feel relaxed, and have something if he wanted to, because he wanted to get to know the crew.

And it is impossible to get to know someone if all you do is scare them, or make them feel small, he thought to himself as he went to the replicator.

Mateo’s grip was firm as he shook Kit’s hand, but there was a moment—barely perceptible—where he hesitated. The contact was brief, customary, but enough to stir the familiar discomfort that came with the ritual. Physical touch, even in this innocuous form, wasn’t something he enjoyed, and though he’d grown used to the routine of handshakes over the years, it never felt natural. As soon as the handshake was done, he let his arm drop back to his side, the tension dissipating just slightly.

“Thank you, Commander,” Mateo replied, his tone polite but reserved, the faint warmth of his accent softening the edges of his words. He followed Kit’s gesture toward the chairs in front of the desk, lowering himself into one with the same deliberate control he brought to most things. His back was straight, his posture neutral but composed, and he rested his hands lightly on the tops of his thighs, fingers curled inward.

The offer of a drink was unexpected. Mateo’s eyes flicked briefly to the replicator as Kit moved toward it, his lips pressing into a thin line. He could sense the effort behind the gesture—genuine, no doubt—but the thought of relaxing enough to sip on a drink while the Executive Officer dissected his life on a personnel file was... out of reach.

“I’m fine, thank you,” he said after a moment, his tone measured but polite. He wasn’t here to get comfortable. He was here to figure out what Kit Hanlon saw in him—or didn’t. The Fenrir might not be a clean slate, but it was at least a chance. Whether that chance turned into anything lasting... well, Mateo would reserve judgment on that.

Instead, he let his gaze settle on Kit, watching him with quiet curiosity. There was something about the man that was different from most of the officers Mateo had encountered before. He didn’t radiate authority in the typical way—no posturing, no air of superiority. It was subtle, but Kit seemed more interested in understanding than commanding. That was... unusual.

Still, Mateo remained cautious. People like Kit could afford to seem approachable, at least until they had reason to change their mind. Mateo had seen it happen before. For now, he’d play his part, answer the questions, and keep his guard firmly in place.

"Alright," Kit gave a nod to his answer. Polite too. Very polite. "Coffee, black, hot," he said, watching the glass mug materialise in front of him. A red handle cradled the glass, almost blending into it, and he picked it up and carried it over. He gave a small smile as he put it down on an actual coaster, a slice of treated tritanium. He didn't drink it just yet, experience and a burnt tongue had taught him the lesson of leaving it a little.

Sitting down into the surprisingly comfortable chair, he took in the posture of the younger man in front of him. He gave a small smile, tilting his head a little to the side. "I have to admit, I am somewhat relieved we have a medical science specialist onboard. Usually those are reserved for much bigger, more important ships. Still not sure if that is an omen for what to come, or just really good luck," he commented. "What drew you to that side of science?"

Mateo watched as the commander settled into his chair, the small smile and relaxed posture a contrast to the sharp, appraising way Kit had studied him earlier. The red-handled coffee mug caught Mateo’s attention briefly—more out of a need to focus on something other than the scrutiny he could feel radiating from across the desk.

Kit’s comment about the rarity of a medical science specialist on a smaller ship was something Mateo had heard before, and while the words weren’t hostile, they carried a weight that made him shift slightly in his seat. His fingers pressed briefly against his thighs as he adjusted his posture, leaning back just a touch in an attempt to seem at ease. It didn’t quite land.

He didn’t reply immediately. Instead, Mateo let the silence hang for a moment, his dark eyes studying Kit as though trying to gauge the sincerity of the question. When he did finally speak, his voice was calm, almost dispassionate, though there was an unmistakable thread of dry humor woven into the words.

“Honestly? I was always more interested in the ‘how’ than the ‘why,’” he said, his Argentine accent adding a slight lilt to the words. “Why something happens is important, sure. But figuring out how it works? That’s where it gets interesting.” He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into the faintest smirk. “And if that means poking at things under a microscope until they make sense, I’m your guy.”

He paused, his fingers briefly brushing the seam of his jumpsuit as he resisted the urge to fidget further. “That, and… biology doesn’t lie. It doesn’t sugarcoat. You can dress it up in words, theories, and protocols, but at the end of the day, the facts are right there. You just have to know where to look.”

Mateo shifted again, his gaze dropping to the desk for a moment before snapping back to Kit. “Guess that’s the short version. The long version would probably need another meeting and a stronger drink.” The words were flippant, but his tone carried an undercurrent of self-awareness, as if he was testing how much of his personality Kit was willing to tolerate—or even appreciate.

Then he fell quiet again, watching to see how the commander would respond.

Kit chuckled softly at that, giving a nod of acceptance. Maybe one day he'd get the long version, he'd even supply the strong drink. He could identify with the figuring out how something worked. Hell, he was an Engineer, for him it had always been about figuring out how something worked, how it was built, maintained, repaired. "Then we're lucky to have you. Someone with a passion for their profession, not just something they do to get by in Starfleet," he said, his voice quiet.

He found it interesting though. The way Gardel had said that biology didn't lie or sugarcoat. Maybe that was what this man needed. Just honest truth. And trust. So he offered some up, a little piece of himself and how his own mind worked. "I'm from an Engineering background," he sat back, his eyes drifting to the coffee for a moment. "I like figuring out the how as well. And fixing it if it is broken." He met his eyes again and the smile stayed, warm, but less relaxed. A little bit more self-conscious. "I like seeing how things could be and the path there. Rather than replacing a part, I want to make it work with the whole."

Mateo felt the unexpected warmth rise to his cheeks at Kit’s words. Lucky to have me? The phrase echoed in his mind, a strange combination of disbelief and cautious hope stirring in his chest. He shifted in his seat, willing the flush to fade as he quickly looked down at the desk, brushing his fingers along the seam of his jumpsuit. Compliments like that—especially from people in command—always felt like they came with strings attached. Gracious now, distant later.

He forced a small shrug, his voice tilting toward sarcasm as a defense mechanism kicked in. “Well, that’s one way to look at it.” The words came out evenly enough, but Mateo could feel the walls building back up, brick by brick. Compliments like that were dangerous. They always started warm, filled with good intentions, but Mateo had seen where they led. Gracious words turned into sidelong glances, into frustration, into dismissal. It was easier not to let the warmth in—easier to keep it at a distance where it couldn’t hurt later.

Still, something about Kit’s tone gave him pause. It felt different, somehow. Genuine. And Mateo hated how much he wanted to believe it. He shifted again in his seat, pressing his fingers against his thighs, trying to ground himself. People had praised him before, called him talented, full of potential. And when he’d failed to meet their expectations, they’d abandoned him just as quickly. That lingering bitterness kept his guard firmly in place.

But then Kit shifted the conversation, leaning back and speaking about his engineering background. Mateo felt his attention sharpen, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly as curiosity flickered to life.

“Engineering and biology aren’t so different,” Mateo said after a moment, his voice quieter now, thoughtful. “Both are about systems. Connections. Figuring out how they work together, where they fail, and how to fix them without throwing everything out of balance.” He paused, his gaze narrowing slightly as he considered Kit’s words more deeply. “And yeah, sometimes you can replace a part, but… that’s a shortcut. A crutch. It’s better when you can make it fit—make the system whole again.”

The words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, Mateo felt a strange weight settle in his chest. Whole again. He’d never said it out loud, not like this, but the truth of it lingered at the edges of his thoughts. Systems were supposed to work together, each piece fitting into the greater whole. But Mateo had never felt like he belonged in any system—Starfleet, his old assignments, even his own skin sometimes. He was the part that didn’t quite fit, the one people tried to force into place before eventually tossing aside when it didn’t work the way they wanted.

He glanced down, breaking eye contact with Kit as the faintest flicker of unease crossed his face. It wasn’t just the words that had come out of his mouth—it was what they meant, the deeper truth he usually kept buried. He’d spent his entire career, maybe his whole life, feeling like an outsider, someone the system tolerated but never truly integrated. No one had ever tried to make him fit. Not really. It was always easier for them to replace him with someone who could slot in cleanly, someone less complicated, less… him.

He swallowed the thought, forcing himself to meet Kit’s gaze again, his expression carefully composed. “Anyway,” he added, his tone turning slightly brisker, almost deflective. “I guess it’s about seeing the potential, right? What something could be, not just what it is.” He leaned back in his chair, trying to mask the weight of his own words with a veneer of casualness.

But deep down, the thought remained: maybe systems could be whole again. Maybe even people could.

Though whether that included him… well, he wasn’t sure. Not yet.

"Do you ever miss it? Engineering, I mean."

"Can't lie and say I don't," Kit said, giving a small nod. Honesty. He had seen honesty in the man before him. His file spoke of wasted potential. But Kit saw it wasn't wasted, it was mismanaged. Trying to force a square peg into a hole. Creativity and different approaches were what officers were praised for, but what of the enlisted? Sure, there was attitude there too, the fire, in Mateo. He could see it easily enough, but there was something else. More vulnerable.

Pushing it aside for now, Kit gave a small shrug. "But if I get desperate enough, I go down to engineering for a visit. And I...can still make things. I think that is what I miss the most, the troubleshooting, the finding a viable solution. What I don't miss is the eyerolling whenever a Captain, or a First Officer, asks for something that the warp core can't do," he smiled with humour, finally reaching for the coffee and taking a careful sip. "I guess on the bridge I won't see it. And they don't need to know that I know." Because he had been an ensign onces. And a junior officer. For him, knowing that the Command staff were people too helped a lot, the ability to roll eyes at a request or giggle about something that the Chief or Captain had said. And he wasn't going to be offended if someone did that to him, as long as he couldn't see it. And as long as they still respected him and followed lawful orders.

Mateo’s lips quirked slightly at Kit’s mention of eyerolling, and before he could stop himself, a quiet laugh slipped out—short, but genuine. He quickly straightened, as if catching himself, but the momentary lapse into amusement lingered in his expression. “Yeah, I’ve... been guilty of that,” he admitted, his tone lighter now, almost conversational. As if to prove the point, he gave a deliberately exaggerated roll of his eyes, a playful touch that felt surprisingly natural in the moment.

“You’d be surprised how much eye-rolling goes on in the labs, too,” Mateo added, leaning back slightly in his chair, his posture less guarded now. “A lot of times, we get handed these impossible deadlines or weird demands, and it’s always us enlisted folks who have to figure out how to make it work. Then, when it does? The officers are the ones who get the credit. We just... fade into the background.”

He paused, the words spilling out easier than he expected. Mateo hadn’t realized until halfway through that he’d stopped filtering his thoughts, caught up in the ease of talking to Kit. For a moment, he’d forgotten he was speaking to an officer—the Executive Officer of the Fenrir, no less. Kit didn’t act like most officers, though. He wasn’t stiff or condescending, and something about the way he talked made it easy to forget the uniform.

Mateo shifted slightly in his seat, a small flicker of self-awareness creeping back in. “It’s like no one notices who’s actually running the show. You’d think they’d remember who’s keeping the ship from falling apart. Or who’s making sure they don’t get sick from some alien pathogen.” He shrugged, suddenly aware of how blunt he’d been, but he pressed on anyway, figuring he’d already said too much.

“I guess what I’m saying is... it’s nice to see someone who gets it. Even if you are an officer.” The last part came out with a faint smirk, and he rolled his eyes again, this time more playfully.

As the words settled, Mateo leaned back in his chair, quietly debating whether he’d said too much. Still, there was something oddly satisfying about speaking his mind—even just a little. Maybe it wouldn’t come back to bite him this time.

Kit's expression had softened a little as he heard Mateo talk. And really talk, not really thinking. Being open. Genuine. And he was seeing into what may have led to some of the comments in his file. "The enlisted don't get half of the recognition they deserve, usually work under incredible pressure and...don't often get more than a decent review from their Chief," he said, his voice soft. Thoughtful, even. As a Chief, he had always tried to treat enlisted and officers the same, face to face. He had the same approach for both. As the First Officer on a ship it was more difficult to be so into the details, but he had always tried.

But he was realising as he was talking and getting to know the young man that he needed a different approach. "I get it," he said, after a moment. "I've never been enlisted. But I have worked alongside them all my career. And most have been...dedicated, experts in their field, with so much hope and passion for what the Federation stands for." He sat back a little, considering something briefly. Whether or not to mention it.

He needs honesty, he thought in the end, even if it might backfire. But I need his honesty too.

He met Mateo's eyes in that moment, holding them. The tone had become more serious when he spoke, but genuine: he wanted his honesty, not anything else. He could work with honesty. "Mateo, what do you want? From this posting, from this ship?" he asked before he broke eye contact. He didn't want to make him feel judged or too scrutinised.

[TBC]

Commander Cornelius ‘Kit’ Hanlon
First Officer

&

Crewman Mateo Gardel
Medical Science Specialist

 

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