Starlight, Part 3
Posted on Sat Feb 15th, 2025 @ 11:47pm by Crewman Mateo Gardel & Petty Officer 3rd Class Constantin Vansen
3,168 words; about a 16 minute read
Mission:
To Boldly Go
Location: Valhalla Bar, USS Fenrir
Timeline: Day 10
[ON - Continued]
He could almost see it—Vansen, standing there, the horizon stretching endlessly before him, nothing holding him in place but gravity itself.
His tone was light, but there was a quiet respect in his gaze.
Because whatever Vansen had gone through, whatever it had cost him to be here now, he had survived it.
And Mateo? He could respect that.
"Well, my...brain is sorting it better now, I think," Vansen said with a chuckle, shaking his head as he watched him. It felt strange, yet also...nice. Just nice to talk to someone, to get to know someone new. "And the daily hypos make sure that my body can withstand this. So unless the inertial dampeners go, I should be fine," he added with a wink. He reached for more of what Mateo had put to the side, not out of hunger, but out of curiosity.
It felt a bit one sided though. All about him and he knew very little about Mateo. "What...about you? How is it to grow up at on a planet?"
Mateo’s gaze dipped briefly to the food between them as Vansen reached for more of what he had set aside, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he let the quiet settle for a moment, taking in the easy way Vansen moved, the way he seemed to simply exist in his own skin without hesitation. It was a stark contrast to how Mateo often felt—too aware, too present, too much.
Then Vansen winked, and warmth crawled up the back of Mateo’s neck before he could stop it. He dropped his gaze to his plate, shifting slightly in his seat as if that might somehow make the reaction less obvious. Stupid. It was just a wink. It wasn’t anything. And yet, the way his face heated betrayed him, making it very much something.
His fingers curled loosely against the side of his glass as he refocused, latching onto the shift in conversation.
"What... about you? How is it to grow up on a planet?"
The question was simple, direct—and yet it threw him.
Not because it was complicated, but because he didn’t know how to answer it in a way that would make sense to someone who had never experienced it. How did you explain something so fundamental that you never even thought about it?
Mateo frowned slightly, turning the thought over in his mind before answering. “It’s... constant,” he said finally, pausing as if searching for the right words. “Like... it’s always there. Under you. Around you. The weight of it.” He let out a quiet breath, his brow furrowing slightly. “But not in a bad way. You don’t notice it—gravity, the horizon, the sky—it’s just there, and you never question it.”
He exhaled softly, a wry flicker of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s only weird when you try to imagine not having it.”
His gaze flicked toward Vansen, studying him briefly. “But I guess that’s how it was for you, huh? You didn’t think about not having gravity because it just wasn’t part of your reality.” A slow, thoughtful nod followed, as if he were still wrapping his mind around it. “So... I guess it’s like that. You don’t think about it. Until someone asks.”
Letting the words settle, he reached for his drink, fingers resting against the cool glass for a moment before lifting it. “And for the record? If the inertial dampeners do go, I’d rather be in here with you than stuck in Sickbay when we all start bouncing off the walls.”
His lips quirked, but beneath the sarcasm, there was something genuine.
Because this? This wasn’t so bad.
Mateo didn’t talk about himself often—not really. But this? This was different.
"If we're moving at warp, I'll be a pancake," Vansen said as he looked at him, with warmth. And he supposed someone would have to scrape him off the walls if that happened.
Actually, he had done 3 gees and survived. Without medication though, he'd be...well, it was a risk with going out here. Same risks he had been born into. Even so. He was more aware of it than most. He also knew how quickly he'd die if he went out there without a suit.
His mind went back to the conversation, of how Mateo described growing up on a planet. As alien it was to him, it was natural to Mateo. It was how the human body was designed to be. He studied the other man for a moment, at the differences between them. Vansen's sleeves were pushed out because they were always too short to cover his wrists unless he replicated them specifically with adjustments. Mateo's clothes fit him perfectly.
Vansen had lost height when he came to Earth, his spine not used to the weight. He had gained a little more height once diet had taken hold, but he would have been taller if he had stayed in space, on his parents' ship.
And then what?
Eventually, loneliness, isolation.
Some things happened for a reason.
He chuckled warmly, shaking his head. "If we're not...well..." he looked down, thinking about it. "You must have done space walk at the Academy. Or Zero Gee training. I've heard people saying it is fun."
Mateo huffed softly, shaking his head as he lifted his glass. “Well, I’d rather avoid having to scrape you off the bulkhead,” he muttered before taking a slow sip. The warmth behind Vansen’s words lingered, and Mateo—being Mateo—chose to focus on the humor instead of whatever was unspoken beneath it. Still, something about the way Vansen said it, like he’d already considered the risks in detail, sat with him. Not in a bad way, just… something to turn over later.
For a moment, the conversation drifted—not into silence, exactly, but into something quieter, something that didn’t need to be filled. Vansen seemed to be lost in thought, and Mateo let him have that space, his own mind trailing back over the things he hadn’t said—the way he had never even thought about the presence of the sky until Vansen made him.
Then, a chuckle from across the table, warm and easy.
"You must have done spacewalk training at the Academy. Or Zero-G training. I've heard people say it's fun."
Mateo made a face, an undisguised look of skepticism and sheer disbelief. “Fun?” he echoed, dragging the word out like it tasted bad in his mouth. “Yeah. Fun in the way that food poisoning is fun.”
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I did the training. Passed it. Hated every second of it. I swear to God, they dropped me into that chamber, and my stomach flipped inside out. Spent the first five minutes convincing my body that I wasn’t dying, which—by the way—didn’t work.”
His fingers curled loosely around his glass, thumb tracing absent circles against the condensation. “It’s the lack of orientation. No up, no down. Your brain tells you something is wrong, but you can’t do anything about it. You try to adjust, but everything’s either too slow or too fast, and suddenly, you’re spinning, and you have to pretend it’s fine because Starfleet expects you to function through it.”
He drummed his fingers against the table, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly—not quite amusement, not quite frustration, just something caught in between. “They tell you not to panic.” A slow breath left him as he shook his head. “Which is great advice. If you’re not already panicking.”
Lifting his glass again, he let the rim hover near his lips before glancing at Vansen, something contemplative in his gaze. “You wouldn’t have that problem, though.” He hesitated briefly, then tipped his head toward him in something that wasn’t quite a question but wasn’t not one either. “Bet it felt like breathing to you.”
As much as he’d trained in Zero-G, it had always been temporary. For Vansen? It had been home.
"Up is down, down is up," Vansen said with a small smile, watching him with warmth. The way he described it...it sounded exhausting. He could identify. Just...not in that situation. "It was all I knew for 15 years. Storing your gear so it doesn't float too much, how to deal with spillage."
He considered something for a moment, thinking. He did things on instinct when he was in Zero-G. Maybe...
"If you want to, I can teach you some tricks," he met Mateo's eyes, holding them for a long moment. "They might not help with all of it, but they'll...help you focus down to the tasks."
Mateo let out a quiet breath, shaking his head as he traced a finger along the rim of his glass. “See, that just proves my point. If you have to actively think about where to put your shit so it doesn’t float away, something has already gone fundamentally wrong.” His voice was dry, but the corners of his mouth twitched slightly, not quite a smile but close enough.
The warmth in Vansen’s gaze didn’t go unnoticed, and for reasons Mateo couldn’t fully unpack, he found himself looking away—not sharply, not in avoidance, but in the way someone does when they’re suddenly too aware of being watched.
"If you want to, I can teach you some tricks." That got his attention.
His fingers stilled, his gaze flicking back up to meet Vansen’s. There was something steady about the way he said it, something certain, like the offer wasn’t just a casual suggestion but something real—something meant. Vansen held his gaze, not pressing, just offering, waiting.
Mateo didn’t look away this time.A long beat stretched between them, quiet but not uncomfortable.
Finally, he exhaled, a slow, almost reluctant breath, before tilting his head slightly. “You think there’s a trick that can override my entire nervous system’s rejection of weightlessness?” The sarcasm was there, but it was softer now, edged with something else—consideration, maybe.
His fingers tapped against the table absently. “I don’t know…” He let the words trail for a second before glancing at Vansen again. It wasn’t a no. It wasn’t even really a deflection. Because maybe, just maybe, the offer didn’t sound so bad.
Vansen nodded at the hesitation, a small smile coming to him. He didn't blame him, he had learned people didn't like Zero-G. And no one wanted to purposefully do it. "It wouldn't...overwrite that. It's...more like convincing yourself. It's..."
He stopped and looked down, thinking, considering.
"When I first went outside on Earth, the counselor told me to start by looking down at my feet. Slowly raise my head until I saw the horizon. And don't look up. Until I got used to it. It took a while, but it worked," he said and looked at him, sitting back. "It is easier inside. It's why I like ships. No horizon, it's enclosed. Sure, I...still feel the weight. I sometimes spill things because a part of me thinks that...I will have time to catch it when it floats. I just think like all things, you get used to stuff."
Mateo listened, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass as Vansen spoke, the weight of the words settling in ways he hadn’t quite expected. Convincing yourself. That was what it came down to, wasn’t it? It wasn’t about changing the way your body reacted—it was about teaching your brain not to fight it.
The way Vansen described his first time outside on Earth—having to look down first, not up, easing himself into the horizon like it was something to be tamed—it struck him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. A careful process of acclimation. A way to make the unfamiliar survivable.
That made sense.
More than he wanted to admit.
His grip tightened slightly around his glass before he forced himself to relax, shaking his head as if to clear the weight of the thought. “Yeah, see, that’s the difference between us,” he said finally, his voice measured, thoughtful but still carrying the dry edge of humor. “You had to train yourself to look up. Me? I had to train myself to stop looking down.”
He wasn’t sure why he said it. It wasn’t something he normally admitted, even indirectly. But it was true. He had spent years walking with his head tilted toward the ground, noticing things no one else did, avoiding things he didn’t want to see.
He wasn’t sure which was worse—having to remind yourself the sky existed, or pretending like it didn’t matter.
Mateo exhaled slowly, shifting his weight in his seat before meeting Vansen’s gaze again. “I guess you’re right. You do get used to things.” A pause, considering. “Or at least, you convince yourself that you do.”
He let that sit between them for a moment before reaching for his drink, fingers tightening slightly around the nearly empty glass. Then, before he could think better of it, before his usual instincts kicked in and told him to deflect, to shut the door before it could fully open, he sighed.
“Alright.” The word left him quieter than he expected, but he didn’t pull it back. Instead, he lifted his gaze to Vansen’s and held it. “If you really think you can teach me without me throwing up on you, I’ll give it a shot.”
The words felt weird coming out of his mouth, like they weren’t quite his. But he didn’t take them back.
The corner of his mouth quirked slightly—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. Something caught in between. “No promises, though. If I end up floating in a slow-motion spiral of existential horror, I reserve the right to blame you.”
It was easier to end on humor, but the offer was real.
And for once, he wasn’t talking himself out of it.
"Deal," Vansen said with a laugh at the way he said it, nodding. "Feel free to blame me. I wouldn't let you spin though...that's just rude," he said as he looked down, the smile curling his lips. "And I can dodge vomit in Zero-G easier than here...." he looked at him again, the smile becoming a grin that crinkled the corner of his eyes. "And it means I can book the time in. I love any excuse to shake the shackles of the gravity and stretch my spine out."
And breathe. And feel free.
He missed that. And he didn't often get the chance to go and do it. External repairs were rare and even then, here he was a proper Operations officer, not a hybrid with Engineering. So chances were low he'd be allowed out there.
Mateo huffed a quiet breath, shaking his head, but the usual sharpness in his tone had softened. “I appreciate that. Really.”
For once, his smile wasn’t a smirk, wasn’t sardonic or edged with dry amusement. It was genuine—small, fleeting, but real, and it had the effortless effect of amplifying the quiet beauty already present in him.
“I can’t promise I won’t regret saying yes, but… I think I’d like to try.”
It was easier to frame it that way—like a test, an experiment. Something controlled, something with clear parameters. But the truth was, he was looking forward to it, even if he wouldn’t say it outright. Maybe not the Zero-G part, but… the company.
His gaze flicked toward Vansen briefly before he reached for his tray, but he didn’t rise just yet. Instead, his fingers rested against the edge, tapping lightly against it as if caught between two impulses—one to leave before the moment lingered too long, the other to hold onto it just a little longer.
“I should probably get back to the lab before someone thinks I’ve abandoned it,” he admitted, though there was no urgency in the statement. He let the words settle before glancing at Vansen again, something quieter in his tone when he added, “But… thanks. For the offer.”
His fingers tightened against the tray for a moment, then released. “I’ll let you know when I’m free.”
He wasn’t sure why that part mattered, why he felt the need to say it like a promise instead of something casual. But he did.
And still, he didn’t quite move to leave yet. Instead, his gaze lingered, searching Vansen’s face for something he wasn’t even sure how to name. For the first time in a long time, staying in a conversation felt just as safe as leaving.
"I probably should crawl back to a Jeffries tube or something. Or see if anyone needs anything diverted anywhere," Vansen said as he looked at him, giving a small nod. He let out a breath and stood, smiling to him. "If you want, I can recycle your tray," he added, wanting to be helpful.
Scientists are so clever, I bet he has the answers to all the questions of the universe in his lab, he thought, unable so stop the smile.
"And I'm flexible. Like I said, any excuse to float," he admitted, his voice quiet as he looked at him for a moment.
Mateo shifted his tray, fingers curling around the edge as he glanced at Vansen. “Thanks. For letting me sit with you,” he said, his voice quieter than before but no less certain. “And for—” He gestured vaguely, as if trying to encompass the entirety of their conversation. “—you know. The offer. To train me.”
Vansen’s offer to take his tray made warmth creep up the back of Mateo’s neck before he could stop it. He shook his head quickly. “I’ve got it,” he muttered, brushing off the gesture—not ungrateful, just not quite knowing how to accept it.
Still, he hesitated for just a second longer, his grip tightening slightly before he exhaled. “I enjoyed this.” A beat. “Spending time with you.” His lips quirked slightly—not quite a smile, but something softer.
He stepped back from the table, tray in hand, and nodded. “I’ll let you know when I’m free.”
Then, without any real urgency, he turned, making his way toward the recycler.
For once, leaving didn’t feel like walking away.
[OFF]
Crewman Mateo Gardel
Medical Science Specialist
USS Fenrir
&
Petty Officer Constantin Vansen
Operations Officer
USS Fenrir
[PNPC - Hanlon]
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