Today's the Day

Posted on 15 Feb 2025 @ 12:15pm by Crewman Mateo Gardel & Lieutenant JG Selon Illialhlae
Edited on on 15 Feb 2025 @ 4:59pm

4,386 words; about a 22 minute read

Mission: Episode 21 - Helix
Location: USS Galileo-A - Deck 4 (04-2815 JO)
Timeline: MD 01 0630

[ON]

Selon was first to stir on the date of their departure, his sleep interrupted by the staid voice of the computer alerting him of the time and raising the light level in his pitch-black alcove by thirty percent. His blond hair was askew, his sleep having been restful but fitful, and as he sat up, he scratched and trailed his fingers over his naked skin to deliver some sort of stimulation to arouse the mood to further get up and get going.

After getting dressed and taking his meds, Selon strolled out to the common space (such as it was) of their shared quarters and ordered some tea with copious amounts of milk, cream, and sugar and some scones. He began to start his day more in earnest by looking at the FNS headlines while flicking back and forth between reports from the previous shifts.

The sharp increase in brightness drew a muffled groan from Mateo’s alcove. He rolled onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow to escape the invading light. The effort was in vain; the dull hum of Selon stirring in the common space signaled that morning—and all its annoyances—was here to stay.

"Computer," Mateo mumbled, his words muffled by the pillow, "remind me again why I signed up for this? No, really—just play it back for me." The computer didn’t dignify him with a response, leaving him to groan once more as he finally flung an arm over the side of his alcove, letting it dangle lazily while he summoned the will to move.

Last night’s painting session had stretched far later than intended. Mateo had set up his supplies in the common room, careful to keep the lighting low and his movements quiet so as not to disturb Selon’s rest. The faint scent of watercolor pigment still lingered in the common room, blending with the warm aroma of Selon’s tea. On the small table, a half-finished piece lay tucked beneath a clean cloth—a swirl of teal and amber that had kept him engrossed well into the early hours. His fingers still carried the faintest scent of pigment, a reminder of how he’d lost himself in the quiet rhythm of brushstrokes while the ship’s hum filled the empty space around him.

Kicking the blanket off with little fanfare, Mateo ducked out from under the alcove’s low ceiling, his sweater—an oversized, well-worn emerald one—rumpled but soft, the fabric worn to a perfect comfort over years of use. It had been a gift from his mother, Renata, given to him during a particularly cold winter when he was still a teenager. The hem fell to about mid-thigh, brushing against his bare legs as he moved, and the wide neckline hung off one shoulder, exposing the sharp angle of his collarbone and a hint of ink from one of his many tattoos. His feet were bare, and a slight chill from the deck plating made him scrunch his toes as he padded into the common area.

"Morning, Selon," he muttered, his voice scratchy from sleep and heavy with his Argentine accent. "Hope you don’t mind me joining you, but I’m running on fumes and questionable life choices."

"Today’s the day," Selon said cheerfully, his optimism as warm as the tea in his hands.

"Yeah, I know," Mateo replied, his voice carrying a blend of grogginess and relief as he grabbed a glass of orange juice from the replicator. "About time, too. I was this close to launching myself out an airlock—at least it would’ve been quiet." He turned back toward Selon, slumping into a chair and setting the glass on its end table. His fingers flexed absently, still stiff from clutching the brush for so long.

"It’s been nonstop—inventory, restocking, helping everyone secure their experiments like we’re about to hit warp ten and break a few laws of physics. I get it, prep is important, but let’s go already. Sitting around makes me itch, and I don’t even know what we’re doing yet."

Mateo leaned back, resting one arm across the back of his chair, his expression softening slightly as a teasing smirk tugged at his lips. "You say ‘today’s the day’ like we’re expecting a birth announcement. Here’s to the great unknown—or at least a break from requisition forms."

The sides of Selon's own lips upturned at Mateo's teasing. "Definitely a sentiment I can get behind, though you know instead of requisition forms you'll be doing datalogs for six days while we're at warp?" Selon peered over the brim of his cup at his disheveled roommate. Painting, even when done late at night, wasn't high on his list of 'poor choices' but Selon had been friends with enough sensitive artists to know that it took a great amount of energy to produce work. The dark embrace of night was stimulating but it did not recharge one's mind, only make it run out of steam faster, and since Mateo had chosen artistry over sleep the night before, that meant he needed it all the more the next morning.

Mateo groaned dramatically, slumping further into his chair and letting his head fall back as though the ceiling itself could absorb his grievances. "Datalogs. Of course. Because nothing screams excitement like six days of staring at reports and pretending I didn’t zone out halfway through." Despite his tone, there was a spark of genuine fondness behind his words; he loved his work, even the tedious parts. The sense of accomplishment and contribution kept him going, though he’d never admit it outright.

He raised his glass and added with a dry chuckle, "Here’s to thrilling adventures in bureaucracy."

"I don't make the rules..." Selon said with a quizzical, knowing sip of his tea. "...or the duty schedule..."

"Sure, you don’t," Mateo shot back, his tone playful but laced with mock suspicion. He shifted his head to glance over at Selon, raising an eyebrow. "You and that tea look awfully smug for someone who’s not secretly pulling the strings. If I find out you traded a favor to get the cushy assignments while I’m neck-deep in data entries, we’re having words." Teasing Selon had become surprisingly easy—it was nice, in a way, to have someone around who didn’t take him too seriously." He adjusted his posture slightly, his hand briefly tugging at the hem of his sweater to ensure it stayed modestly in place as he leaned forward. Despite his grumbling, there was a faint grin tugging at his lips, the banter an easy exchange between two roommates settling into their rhythm.

"Not that I even need to be up this early," Mateo added, shifting again with exaggerated care. "Beta Shift doesn’t start for hours, so thanks for that. Clearly, you’re training me for mornings—evil genius-level stuff."

If Selon was contriving to turn Mateo into a morning person, with gears moving behind his sea-green eyes to have more of himself, this would certainly be the piece de resistance. "Oh but that's where you're wrong..." Selon tapped away at the PADD in his hands to bring up the duty schedule for the Galileo's departure. "You're on alpha shift today. You'll be with me in Astrometrics with me doing... well I don't want to call it 'busy work' but nothing terribly important, just last making sure everything runs smoothly as we cast off." Selon went to take another sip of his tea but found it empty as he looked for a reaction from Mateo's lethargic posture.

Mateo froze mid-drink, the rim of his glass hovering just below his lips as he processed Selon's words. His brain scrambled to reconcile the unexpected shift in his schedule. Alpha Shift? Today? What the hell—how’d I miss that? His brows furrowed, his nose scrunched, irritation flashing briefly in his brown eyes before he quickly masked it with a long sip of juice. He set the glass down with a small thud, unable to resist the urge to sigh aloud.

"Ah, of course," Mateo said, his voice edged with mock enthusiasm. "Nothing like a surprise shift change to kick off a glorious morning. I must've missed the memo while I was, you know, doing all that 'busy work' yesterday." His tone was sarcastic but not biting—irritated, sure, but tempered by the knowledge that grumbling wouldn’t undo the shift rotation.

He supposed it wasn’t the worst way to start the day—at least he wasn’t stuck inventorying samples alone in a lab. Silver linings and all that. His gaze drifted toward Selon purely by accident.

Selon’s angular jaw and sharp cheekbones were accentuated by the soft, warm tones of the suite’s ambient lighting, the glow lending his features a statuesque quality that Mateo found annoyingly hard to ignore. Then there were those eyes—their sea-green depths, full of intelligence and empathy, were otherworldly. Mateo felt the fleeting thought of damn, unfairly attractive creep into his mind, uninvited and far too distracting. Heat crept up his neck before he could stop it, pooling at his ears in a telltale blush.

He dropped his gaze too quickly, like a man who’d looked directly into the sun, and a restless energy settled into his limbs. Not in a bad way, just… aware. Not happening. Nope. No, thank you. Not even a little. I live with this man. I have to see him every day. I am not about to make things weird over a jawline. Or arms. Or eyes—stop it.

He exhaled through his nose, pressing his fingers briefly into the fabric of his sweater as if grounding himself before forcing a breath out through his nose. Just relax. It’s a shift change, not a crisis. But his fingers tensed slightly, and, if he was being honest, it did feel a little warmer in here.

Sliding his foot across the soft carpeting, Mateo adjusted his posture again, his long legs shifting as he ensured his sweater stayed modestly in place. He exhaled again, steadier this time, before lifting his gaze to Selon—though maybe a second too long. "So, what’s the game plan?"

Selon's own eyes had been firmly affixed to Mateo's form as he watched the Crewman's reaction to his 'sudden' change in duty schedule. He then noticed Mateo's gaze over him and as vain as it might be to say he did not particularly notice or mind the attention. He was a blond Vulcan, one who carried himself far differently than any of his fellows. He was used to scrutiny, but the sudden flush in Mateo's cheeks, impossible for his keen eyes to miss, let him know it was more than just simply being taken aback but also an appraisal of Selon's own form.

"O-seven-hundred and we start battening down the hatches and making sure all of the laboratories on board have secured their experiments and are prepared for departure. In the mean time however I would suggest getting some pants on and making yourself some breakfast and somewhat presentable." Selon gave a playful kick of his foot against Mateo's legs. "I'm a stickler for uniform code."

Mateo’s already-warm face burned hotter the second Selon’s foot nudged against his leg. He startled just slightly, his gaze snapping up in time to catch the teasing look in Selon’s sea-green eyes. Damn it. There was no hiding the way his blush deepened at the mention of pants—or the amused and nervous chuckle that slipped out before he could swallow it back.

"Yeah, yeah, noted," Mateo mumbled, waving a hand in mock surrender. "Wouldn’t want to traumatize the entire science division first thing in the morning." He scooted his chair back with a quiet scrape against the carpet, rubbing the back of his neck as if that might somehow cool the heat lingering there. Focus. Right. Work. Thirty minutes. That was doable—tight, but doable.

Abandoning what was left of his orange juice, Mateo pivoted straight for the head, peeling his sweater off in one smooth motion as he went. The sonic shower hummed to life the second he stepped inside, and despite his rush, he didn’t cut corners. He might not be as fussy as Selon about uniform code, but professionalism mattered, and he wasn’t about to show up looking like he’d tumbled straight out of bed—even if, technically, he had.

By the time he emerged, he was already shrugging into a fresh uniform, hands moving with practiced efficiency as he secured his tunic and smoothed the fabric into place. His hair, still damp from the shower, was swiftly combed into something that almost resembled order before he gave up, letting it settle into its usual artful disarray. The longer sections, with their bright pink streaks, clung stubbornly to the dampness, refusing to cooperate. He ruffled a hand through it in resignation, only to make it worse—ah well, it was part of the charm anyway.

With one last glance at the time, Mateo pivoted toward the replicator, swapping his abandoned orange juice for a large iced coffee with sweet cream and snagging a protein bar to go. He twisted the wrapper open with his teeth as he turned back toward Selon, already halfway to the door.

"Alright, Mister Uniform Code," Mateo quipped around a mouthful of protein bar, cheeks still faintly pink but his smirk firmly in place. "Let’s go make sure no one’s left a containment seal loose or rigged a centrifuge to turn into a projectile when we hit warp."

"No joke that actually happened on the Oakland." Selon relayed, almost as an aside. "We picked up a new substance, algae I think, and it reacted to the ship's warp-field, caused it to expand and heat up, change color too actually." The vagaries of chemistry and bio-physical reactions were beyond him but Selon tried explaining as best he could as they stepped out of their shared quarters into the corridor, which was beginning to buzz with activity as others moved to their assigned duty stations. There was nothing like a ship getting ready to depart, putting to close one chapter and then opening another. Selon never tired of it.

Mateo blinked, pausing mid-nibble on his protein bar as he processed Selon’s casual admission. His brow furrowed slightly, curiosity flickering across his face. "Wait—are you serious? That actually happened?" he asked, his Argentine accent curling around the words.

Lab accidents, while not unheard of, were typically rare due to Starfleet’s rigorous safety protocols. The idea that something as seemingly benign as algae could cause a warp-field reaction was both alarming and fascinating. What kind of biochemical properties could make algae sensitive to a warp field? Was it reacting to energy fluctuations? A change in subspace interference? And if so, was that reaction merely hazardous, or could it be controlled—replicated, even?

Mateo’s grip on his coffee tightened, and he glanced at Selon with a mix of intrigue and anticipation. His fingers tapped lightly against the side of the cup, a habit he wasn’t even aware of—small bursts of restless energy spilling over as his mind worked through the possibilities. "So, was this an ‘everybody stay calm, nothing’s on fire’ situation, or did someone have to file an incident report with at least three subspace advisories?" Mateo quipped, arching a brow. "Because if it was bad enough, I feel like Starfleet would’ve made us sit through a ‘how not to accidentally destroy your ship’ refresher by now."

Even as his mind chased the implications of Selon’s story, the shift in environment pulled at his focus. The quiet hum of their quarters was replaced by the steady thrum of activity outside, a stark contrast that made his shoulders tighten instinctively.

The transition from the quiet of their quarters to the organized chaos of the ship’s morning rush hit Mateo like a wave. Crew members moved with purpose, some chatting as they passed, others reading PADDs or tapping notes into their devices. The corridors thrummed with life, and though no one bumped into him, the proximity of so many people set his nerves just slightly on edge.

Instinctively, Mateo kept closer to the corridor wall, his shoulders tightening just enough to hint at his discomfort. His lips pressed into a thin line, his brow knitting briefly as his gaze flicked from one passing crew member to the next, cataloging their movements with a wary efficiency. To anyone paying attention, his expression might have read as standoffish—or even unapproachable—but in truth, Mateo was simply processing, taking in every detail with the practiced ease of someone who found comfort in observation.

His hand tightened slightly on the iced coffee he held, the cool condensation grounding him. He sipped at the drink, the sweet cream smoothing out the faint tension as he refocused on Selon’s story.

The right corner of Selon's mouth curled into a smirk as he watched both Mateo's uncharacteristic meekness. He didn't have a 'thing' for crowds but he could sympathize with Mateo's sudden processing of an environment that was much, much more active than the lazy enui of their quarters. "Things were relatively calm, the pressure caused the container to burst but no one was hurt and the expansion just left a colorful film on the surrounding consoles for... months afterwards." Selon returned to Mateo's questions as he deftly used his rapid walking pace and powerful arms to snag the closing door of the turbolift to carry them down to Deck 7.

With a cast of his head Selon gestured for Matteo to catch up with him and enter the empty turbolift.

Mateo hesitated for half a second, caught somewhere between finishing his protein bar and weaving through a passing pair of officers. He didn’t like squeezing between people in close quarters—it wasn’t a phobia, just an ingrained preference for space, for control over his movements.

Unfortunately, his options dwindled when the two officers in front of him slowed mid-stride, completely absorbed in their conversation, oblivious to the bottleneck they were creating. Mateo exhaled sharply through his nose, the kind of sigh reserved for situations where patience was tested and personal space was a casualty.

With no other way forward, he angled his shoulders and squeezed awkwardly between them, muttering a clipped, "Sorry," as he slipped past. His coffee nearly brushed against one of their uniforms, and he instinctively pulled it closer, scowling as he emerged on the other side like a man escaping a too-tight Jeffries tube.

I swear, I’m filing a proposal for a mandatory "How to Walk in a Straight Line" course at Starfleet Academy.

Once free, he rolled his shoulders like he was physically shaking off the moment, inhaling deeply as he picked up his pace.

He caught the tail end of Selon’s amused expression just before stepping into the turbolift. Of course, he’d seen that. Some people just exist like gravity works in their favor. Meanwhile, Mateo was dodging human traffic jams and praying his coffee survived the trip.

The doors slid shut behind him, and the sudden absence of background noise made him exhale slowly, tension unwinding bit by bit. He leaned against the railing, rolling his cup between his hands before taking a sip.

"Okay, but you know I have to ask—how long did it take before someone got sick of looking at it and scrubbed the consoles down?" His brow lifted, curiosity laced with skepticism. "Because if it were my lab, that stuff wouldn’t have lasted a shift."

He paused for a beat, eyes flicking to Selon. Then, as if the thought just occurred to him, his smirk sharpened slightly. "Wait—you weren’t the one who left it, were you?" He tilted his head just enough to make the challenge clear. "Because I feel like that’s exactly the kind of mess you’d pretend wasn’t there until someone else broke first."

Selon shook his head with a smirk. "Once again the situation as you imagine it is more dramatic than the reality." Selon craned his arms over his head to stretch out his arms, having to bend them more than slightly to avoid touching the turbolift ceiling. "The lab was in use at the time, we noticed it immediately and while we couldn't stop it, we were able to contain it and clean it up, though not with any particular... alacrity." A faint memory of the gelatinous substance with the consistency of a fern washed over his fingertips, causing a brief shudder in his upper body.

Mateo’s smirk deepened at Selon’s insistence that the situation had been far less dramatic than he’d imagined. Well, that’s disappointing, he thought wryly, though he supposed it made sense. Starfleet wasn’t exactly known for letting chaos reign in its science labs—though the Galileo seemed like the kind of ship where weird things might happen just often enough to keep things interesting.

His gaze flicked upward as Selon stretched, muscles shifting beneath his uniform as his long, powerful frame adjusted to the turbolift’s ceiling. The movement was effortless, fluid—an unconscious display of strength rather than something meant to draw attention. And yet, Mateo’s eyes lingered longer than he intended.

Damn it.

A faint flush crept up his neck before he caught himself, tearing his focus back to Selon’s words as if he hadn’t just been, well… looking. He cleared his throat lightly, covering by taking another sip of his iced coffee.

"You’re really out here crushing my dreams of a Galileo’s greatest disasters collection," Mateo quipped, trying to keep his tone dry and easy despite the residual warmth in his face. "Although, I don’t know—'we couldn’t stop it' still makes it sound a little dramatic. Maybe not warp core breach levels, but definitely an ‘engineering’s gonna be pissed’ kind of situation."

He was teasing, of course, but part of him had to admire the way Selon told a story—not just what he said, but the way he said it. There was an earnest enthusiasm behind it, a need to explain and share, but also an openness, a kind of effortless intelligence that made listening to him easy.

Selon had mentioned once, offhandedly, that he’d been raised in a V’tosh ka’tur commune—supposedly free from all that Vulcan suppression—but he sure as hell didn’t hesitate. He just was—comfortable, self-assured, expressive in a way that didn’t seem forced or calculated.

And then there was that tiny, barely perceptible shudder that ran through him at the memory of the algae. It was quick—almost nothing—but Mateo caught it all the same. That subtle physical response to sensation, to memory, to touch.

That was the part that intrigued him most.

Mateo couldn’t imagine growing up with a Vulcan father. His own childhood had been loud, messy, full of gestures and embraces—filled with emotion, even when it wasn’t convenient or wanted. But Selon was a contradiction in motion—not wholly Vulcan, not entirely Romulan, and seemingly uninterested in pretending to be either.

Fascinating.

Mateo glanced at him again, still studying him in that half-subtle, half-obvious way he did when something piqued his curiosity. Then, because he was terrible at ignoring questions once they formed in his head, he asked,

"So, the Oakland—" he tilted his head slightly, one brow lifting in interest. "You make it sound like that was home for a while. What made you transfer to the Galileo?"

He let the question hang in the air for a beat, his curiosity genuine but not prying. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he smirked.

"Let me guess. Your last ship couldn’t handle the sheer volume of your tea collection."

'Home' was an interesting word for Selon. Though it sounded cliche to say, to him 'home' very much was a state of mind rather than a place. It was always a private space within a shared community, large or small. Truth be told his bedroom felt more like home, a place all his own, than any of the various homes it had been in over his lifetime. Just the contrast of his earliest memories of the commune in T'Paal and his memories of his parents house in Chatteris was proof enough that 'home' was an maleable concept. Neither seemed atypical or contradictory to the other, much like other poles and dualities in his identity.

So where was 'home' for Selon? Wherever he currently put his head down. Sentimental as he was, he found those sentiments around home and belonging were infinitely more portable than the walls that contained them.

"Something like that..." Selon mused, memories of his friends and shipmates reminding him that not everything was as portable as what he carried within him. Junia, Victor, Adriuinn, Fasher, they were not with him physically this time and he definitely felt the vast gap between them as their subspace transmissions illustrated but no more than the rest of his 'family'. Perhaps it was also the variable relationships he had with the members of his family: close to his parents and grandparents but distant to his own siblings, that allowed him to operate on such an elastic conception of home.

The turbolift doors opened, interrupting Selon's own internal musings and he gestured for Mateo to step off first before following him down the corridor to astrometrics. Today would be an interesting start if nothing else, time would tell if it would be anything else...

[OFF]

--

Lieutenant JG Selon Illiahlae
Anthropologist
USS Galileo-A

&

Crewman Mateo Gardel
Laboratory Technician
USS Galileo-A

RSS Feed