Couch Session
Posted on Sat Jan 25th, 2025 @ 9:47pm by Crewman Mateo Gardel & Lieutenant Aristede Steele PsyD.
Edited on on Sat Feb 15th, 2025 @ 10:59pm
3,989 words; about a 20 minute read
Mission:
To Boldly Go
Location: Counselor's Office, Deck 7, USS Fenrir
Timeline: Day 7
[ON]
Mateo adjusted the elastic waist of his teal lab technician jumpsuit where it hugged his hips, his fingers lingering over the seamless fit as he smoothed it into place. The fabric felt familiar yet slightly stiff, a reminder of its functional purpose rather than comfort. His hand moved up instinctively to the dark undershirt’s collar, tugging it gently to ensure it sat perfectly against his skin. It wasn’t nerves, he told himself—not really. At least, not the kind of nerves that made his stomach twist or his palms sweat. This was more like… anticipation. A simmering energy that made his movements precise but deliberate, like a pre-performance ritual.
What’s this guy going to be like? The thought drifted unbidden, and Mateo let it hang for a moment before batting it away. Friendly? Overly analytical? Someone who takes notes on every word I say and spends half the time judging me? He shook his head slightly, the action more reflexive than intentional, as if trying to physically dislodge the thought. He’d read somewhere—probably in some self-help drivel—to approach every new interaction with an open mind. It was cliché, sure, but maybe it wasn’t entirely useless.
This wasn’t his first time meeting a counselor, and it likely wouldn’t be his last. He’d been through this dance before, enough to know that every session brought a blend of hope and hesitation. There was always that flicker of uncertainty about what to expect, but also the knowledge that he’d walked this path before and come out better for it. The restlessness inside him wasn’t fear; it was the quiet hum of change waiting to happen.
He exhaled, the breath leaving him in a soft hiss as he stepped into the lift. The enclosed space felt oddly calming, the muted tones of the walls and the gentle vibration beneath his feet grounding him. Maybe Steele will be like the best counselors I’ve had, Mateo considered. Or maybe he’ll be one of those types who just stares at you until you fill the silence yourself. A flicker of a smile crossed his face at the thought. At least the quiet ones weren’t pushy.
Counseling wasn’t a magic fix, but Mateo had seen it work—or at least he’d made it work for him. Over years of sessions, he’d built coping mechanisms, learned to pick apart his own thoughts and feelings before they overwhelmed him. Sure, there were slip-ups. There always would be. But he’d come a long way since the days when his defiance had been as much a shield as a weapon. That didn’t mean meeting someone new wasn’t its own kind of challenge.
He’s just a guy, though, Mateo reminded himself. Another person trying to do their job. Nothing I haven’t seen before. The unknown was a double-edged sword, sharp with both possibility and apprehension. The prospect of baring even fragments of his soul to someone he barely knew was as daunting as it was routine. He wasn’t sure if that was comforting or unnerving. Probably both.
The lift doors slid open, depositing him on Deck 7 where the counselor’s office was located. The corridor stretched out in both directions, its quiet broken only by the soft hum of the ship’s systems. The steady rhythm beneath his boots mirrored the beat of his heart as he walked. He slowed as he approached the door, the digital nameplate beside it displaying: Lieutenant Aristede Steele, Chief Counselor.
Mateo paused just long enough to take a steadying breath. His fingers flexed once at his sides before curling into loose fists. Here we go, he thought, stepping forward and pressing the door chime. The soft, melodic tone filled the corridor, marking the start of whatever this session would bring.
[Meanwhile, Inside the Office]
One entire wall of the office, to the right as one entered, had been made into floor to ceiling shelving. There was a wing-backed armchair and footstool sitting on a oriental rug. For visitors, there was a loveseat in a matching style with a coffee table in front and end tables on either side that matched the one to the right of the armchair. The lighting was softer, from tall lamps, rather than glaring overhead lighting and, on the wall directly across from the entry was heavy wood credenza and a set up for brewing coffee complete with good china cups, plates, and sugar bowl in a matching pattern, and silverware. One of the doors to the credenza was actually a built-in mini-refrigerator that was already stocked. Original art stood, leaning against one end of the credenza, ready to be hung, and everywhere there were stacks of books in clusters. As for color scheme, the wood was warm and the pattern on the rug was done in blues and greens with browns that reflected the color of the wood. The armchair was deep blue. The loveseat matched but had patterned throw pillows that picked up the colors in the rug.
Steele, crouched beside one of the groups of books, a book in either hand, called out, "Come on in," and continued with what he was doing, sorting and shifting the books, in that group, all written in Cardassian, into alphabetical order. He looked up as the man entered and gestured toward the piles. "You can alphabetize a stack of books just don't mix the stacks ... and we can get acquainted while we work. There's a fresh pot of coffee on the credenza if you'd rather just observe." His smile was almost sheepish, a slight quirk of the lips, "Should apologize, I suppose. Took me most of last night to get my quarters finished. Should have started in here but I do like a good night's sleep." He paused a second, reading their covers and deciding where in the order they went before continuing. "I'm Aristede Steele by the way."
Mateo stepped fully into the room, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft hiss. His gaze swept the space, his eyes immediately drawn to the towering wall of books on his right, their arrangement an intriguing mix of order and chaos. The muted lighting seemed to soften the edges of everything, from the rich, dark wood of the shelves to the patterned throw pillows on the loveseat. It was unlike any counselor’s office he’d been in before—warm and lived-in, yet far from cluttered.
The shelves immediately drew his attention, a wall of books that stretched from floor to ceiling. They weren’t orderly in the way he might have expected from a professional space. Some were tightly packed, others stacked in uneven piles that gave the impression of an ongoing, unfinished project. It wasn’t chaotic, though. There was an underlying logic to it, as if the disarray was intentional, telling its own story.
Then there was the coffee setup—a sleek, polished credenza adorned with china cups and plates, an actual sugar bowl, and polished silverware. Mateo blinked at it, the polished elegance contrasting sharply with the casual disarray of the books, leaving him momentarily at a loss. It looked like something out of a fine dining experience. His gaze lingered on the art leaning against one side of the credenza, still waiting to be hung. It felt personal, like every other detail in the room. Nothing about this place was clinical or detached, and that made him feel... off-balance.
When the counselor gestured toward the stacks of books and suggested alphabetizing them, Mateo froze for a moment, unsure if he’d heard correctly. The apology that followed caught him even more off guard. Mateo gave a faint shrug, unsure whether to be amused or reassured by the unexpected candor.
"No need to apologize," he said lightly, though his tone carried a trace of curiosity as if still trying to piece together the man in front of him. "Looks like you’ve been busy."
"Uh, Mateo Gardel," he added, almost as an afterthought, introducing himself while his gaze flicked between the counselor and the books. He quirked an eyebrow, letting a flicker of playful sarcasm slip into his tone. "So, is this like a test? Decipher the alien library to unlock my psyche?"
His brows furrowed slightly as he processed the request. Sorting books wasn’t the kind of task he’d expected to be doing here, and the alien scripts on the spines only added to the challenge. For a beat, he considered brushing off the request. But then something tugged at him—the realization that this was a small, harmless thing he could do, a quiet act of kindness in a setting he hadn’t yet figured out. The thought lingered, softening his hesitation.
“Uh, sure,” Mateo said, his voice low but steady as he crouched by a stack. His fingers hovered over the spines, unsure where to begin. He tilted his head slightly, studying the strange, angular script on one book. "I’m probably going to butcher this," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a faint, wry smile.
He slid the book into what he hoped was the right place, his hands deliberate and gentle. Each movement was slow and measured, as though any misstep might disturb the harmony of the space. He shifted each book with an almost reverent care, pausing between movements to steady his hands, aware of the weight of trust implied by the task. It wasn’t just about getting the order right; it was about showing respect for something that clearly mattered to someone else. With every book he handled, Mateo’s movements stayed intentional, lifting and placing each one as if it held profound significance. His focus sharpened with each adjustment, ensuring the books rested exactly as they had before he touched them.
Mateo felt a quiet responsibility as he worked, treating every book as though it were a fragile artifact entrusted to his care. As he worked, his attention kept flicking back to the room. The loveseat looked inviting, with its deep blue upholstery and carefully chosen throw pillows that matched the colors in the rug. The armchair beside it was the same shade of blue, its wing-backed design both elegant and functional.
As he worked, Mateo couldn’t help but notice how deliberate everything in the room seemed. Even the unfinished stacks of books contributed to the room’s distinctive rhythm, adding a sense of purpose to the apparent disorder. It was unsettling how different this felt from any other counseling space he’d been in before. There was no desk, no computer terminal, no tissue box strategically placed for the inevitable tears. This room felt... human. Lived-in. As though the person who occupied it genuinely wanted to connect.
Mateo straightened slightly as he picked up another book, his shoulders loosening as he settled into the quiet task. The scent of coffee and polished wood filled the air, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. Sorting books wasn’t what he’d imagined doing today, but somehow, it didn’t feel entirely out of place.
"Course not," Steele answered as he started shifting the Cardassian volumes to one of the shelves, one by one. "These are all books I've been collecting." He gestured, one wave of his hand, toward the stacks. "More than thirty years worth of work, tracking these down." He smiled almost lovingly at the book he currently held. "Played poker with a Ferengi for twenty-four, no twenty-six hours, to get this set. Needed it for a paper I was writing. The Ferengi was cheating of course but then, so was I." He tapped the side of his head. "Eidetic memory."
Mateo paused mid-motion, one hand hovering over the stack of books in front of him. Steele’s words hung in the air, drawing his focus. Thirty years. That kind of dedication was something Mateo could respect, even if it felt foreign to him. He thought of Kit’s encouragement during their last talk, nudging him to see value in his own long-term efforts, even when they didn’t feel immediate or complete. Steele’s passion for his books reminded him of that—a quiet reassurance that some things were worth the time they demanded.
His gaze shifted to Steele, studying the man as he spoke. His dark, expressive eyes seemed to glint with a mix of mischief and intelligence, drawing Mateo in despite himself. The subtle curl of Steele’s lips as he recounted the poker game gave him an almost boyish charm, a striking contrast to the quiet authority he carried. The lines etched into Steele’s skin hinted at a life full of stories, each one layered and complex, like the pages of an old book. Then there was the tattoo—a bold, sweeping design that crossed one side of his face, both commanding and oddly harmonious. Mateo’s thoughts flicked briefly to his own tattoos, smaller and far less conspicuous but still enough to draw looks and questions over the years. Maybe Steele had dealt with the same, or maybe he carried his tattoo with a confidence Mateo couldn’t help but admire. It made him wonder if he’d ever fully embraced his own markings—or if they were still more shield than statement.
He leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping lightly against the spine of the book in his hand. "So, thirty years of book collecting," he said finally, his tone even but carrying an edge of incredulity. "That’s some dedication." His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk betraying the humor in his words.
The mention of cheating in poker earned a small chuckle. "Well, that explains the books," Mateo quipped, his head tilting slightly as he set another volume in its place. "But twenty-six hours? That sounds more like a test of endurance than a game. And cheating a Ferengi? Bold move. They’re practically born with a deck of marked cards." For a moment, he smirked to himself, the thought crossing his mind that a Starfleet counselor lying and cheating probably wasn’t an ethics course highlight. The irony of it was almost too good—wasn’t honesty supposed to be their whole thing? But then, maybe Steele’s quirks made him better at the job. Mateo could appreciate someone who didn’t always color inside the lines. Then again, he supposed everyone had their quirks.
As Steele tapped the side of his head and mentioned his eidetic memory, Mateo raised an eyebrow, his curiosity shifting into something more analytical. "Eidetic memory," he repeated, almost to himself. "That must come in handy." His tone softened slightly, the edges of his usual sarcasm blunted by genuine interest. He wondered what it must be like to carry so much in your head, to never forget. Would it feel like a blessing, or more of a burden? Mateo’s mind lingered on the idea, drawing parallels to his own memory. While eidetic recall wasn’t in his arsenal, there were some things he wished he could forget, moments that played on loop when he was alone. Maybe Steele had his own loop, his own ghosts.
For a moment, he considered asking, but something held him back. Instead, he picked up another book, running his thumb along the spine before carefully placing it in the growing row on the table. "Must be nice, though," he said casually, keeping his focus on the task at hand. "Never forgetting anything. Bet you always win at poker."
Humor negated almost immediately by an accompanying smirk. Careful, precise movements. Commenting while processing on what he had said. Steele took it all in as he worked. "I wasn't always a counselor," he said after a moment. "And I rarely play poker but nice? Not a word I'd apply to my memory. I do not forget. Fifty years from now? I'll remember every detail of this conversation as though it were happening in that moment." He finished shelving the Cardassian books and moved on to the ones in Klingon. "Everyone has something they'd rather forget, I think. But handy, yes." He waggled his eyebrows ever so slightly. "Especially in school."
The books in Klingon fell into place far faster than the Cardassian ones had and now, he moved onto the ones in Vulcan. The last of those in a foreign language while he mentally backtracked through Matteo's comments. "When you deal with the Ferengi, especially that particular Ferengi, everything that happens is part of a piece. I told him I wanted that particular book and he believed it. Played me for it. There was more to it than that but well, that's another story."
He continued working, book by book, shelf by shelf, slotting each book into the place behind the book rail that would keep them from falling should the ship hit a rough patch ... or twelve. "Do you read at all," Steele asked.
Mateo slid another book into place, his movements deliberate and precise, though his thoughts churned with more speed than his hands. The thought of remembering every moment with perfect clarity gave Mateo pause. Fifty years? That sounded less like a gift and more like a curse. His lips pressed into a thin line as the idea sank in, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. He’d spent enough time trying to let go of things he couldn’t forget—things he didn’t want to forget but knew he needed to if he ever wanted to move forward. The idea of carrying every single moment, sharp and clear, forever? That would be suffocating.
The mention of school earned a quiet smirk from Mateo, though he kept his focus on the books. Bet he never had to cram for an exam in his life. Just one look and he’s got it. That’d save a lot of late-night study sessions. It was a fleeting thought, one that settled easily, adding a faint warmth to the otherwise routine task. It was the kind of observation that made the conversation feel a little less formal, the sort of nudge Mateo didn’t mind. Subtle, but enough to let him know Steele wasn’t all business.
He placed another book on the shelf, letting the quiet settle for a moment. Steele’s gaze seemed to linger, his expression inviting but not overbearing, and Mateo could almost feel the weight of an unspoken question hanging in the air. The pause was brief but deliberate, a nudge for him to share something about himself.
Mateo’s fingers paused over the spine of the next book, his expression thoughtful rather than surprised. He recognized the rhythm Steele was setting, and while the question was simple, it was clearly deliberate. Classic rapport-building technique, he thought, his lips pressing into a faint line of acknowledgment. Share a little, draw the other person out, repeat. It was a move he was familiar with, and a part of him appreciated the effort, even if it felt a little textbook. At least Steele wasn’t being overbearing.
“Yeah, I read,” Mateo said, keeping his tone casual. He tilted his head slightly, considering his response as he slid another book into place. “Kind of comes with the job, doesn’t it? Scientific journals, medical reports, research studies. You name it, I’ve probably had to read it.”
He paused briefly, shifting his focus back to the stack of books in front of him. “But outside of work? I guess I lean toward nonfiction. Keeps me grounded.” The practiced response came easily, almost too easily. The truth, though? Mateo had a guilty pleasure he wasn’t about to admit in this setting. His digital library was full of steamy romance novels, complete with scandalous trysts and forbidden love. The collection wasn’t anything compared to Steele’s wall of books, but it had grown embarrassingly large over the years—hundreds of titles, all tucked away neatly in a well-organized, private archive. It wasn’t something he’d ever admit to, though. Not exactly the kind of thing you bring up in a first session, he thought, suppressing a smirk as the idea flitted through his mind.
Mateo’s focus shifted briefly to the shelves, watching the methodical way each book found its place. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of kinship in the quiet, deliberate work. He slid the next book into place before glancing over, his tone light but curious. “What about you?” he asked, letting the question slip out before he could overthink it. “Do you get much time to read, or is collecting more your thing?”
"This," Steele said as checked the book for dust (that wasn't there) before sliding it into place on the shelf and gestured toward his collection, "Is research. Every book here has taught me something I didn't know." He glanced over at Matteo for a moment before returning his gaze to the job at hand. "But, off-duty. No, I don't read all that much. My hobbies are more on the active side. It's a way to get out of my own head for awhile, if that makes sense."
Mateo nodded slightly as Steele responded, catching the glance sent his way before the man turned his focus back to the shelves. The comment about hobbies being a way to escape one’s own thoughts resonated deeply. He knew that feeling all too well—the gnawing restlessness that came from being trapped in his own head for too long.
Yeah, that makes sense, he thought, a flicker of understanding crossing his expression. There were days when the silence in his quarters felt like it was pressing in on him, driving him to find something, anything, to occupy his hands and his mind. Music helped, sometimes. Other times, it was more about the movement—getting out and doing something physical, something that reminded him he wasn’t just a brain spinning in circles.
He shifted his weight slightly, sliding another book into place with deliberate care. “I get that,” he said finally, his voice quieter but not hesitant. “I mean, I’m not exactly the kind of guy who sits still for long. Hobbies are... a good distraction. Something to keep the noise down.”
His fingers hovered over the next book, his lips twitching into a faint smile as a thought crossed his mind. “For me, it’s usually music. Playing it, listening to it, whatever. That, or getting out somewhere I can move. I guess it depends on the day.” He glanced briefly toward Steele, his tone light but genuine. “Guess it’s good to have options, right?”
"Always," Steele said, "at least as far as things to do in your 'spare' time. I don't play an instrument myself but I love attending performances of all kinds. I prefer live and in person of course but, now and again, I have been known to be an audience of one for a concert on the holodeck. I have a friend, a classical pianist, who prepares them for me from time to time. Quite the experience. Though like you, sometimes, the need is for something more physical. I train fairly regularly."
Things finished, as they do, and they spoke a while longer over a good cup of coffee before the crewman had to depart, to attend to his duties. Steele, satisfied with the progress he'd made, both with the crewman and with his office, tapped his combadge. "Steele to Quartermaster. I'm finished unpacking these crates ..."
[OFF]
Lieutenant Aristede Steele
Chief Counselor
USS Fenrir
and
Crewman Matteo Gardel
Medical Sciences Specialist
USS Fenrir
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