The Wolf Unchained: Part 2/4

Posted on Mon Feb 23rd, 2026 @ 5:40pm by Lieutenant JG Lovisa Montague & Crewman Mateo Gardel

1,383 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Prologue: To Boldly Go
Location: USS Fenrir - Stellar Cartography
Timeline: Day 14 - 11:10

= Below Decks - Stellar Cartography =

Mateo stood near the primary console in Stellar Cartography, arms loosely crossed as the ship’s holographic dome shimmered above. Stars wheeled slowly across the massive curved display—mapped projections of what lay ahead, set to update the moment Fenrir cleared Utopia Planitia. It wasn’t real yet, not exactly, but it was close enough to feel like prophecy. The projection painted his skin in ghost-light, cool white and spectral blue dancing faintly along the inked lines of his forearms, the subtle curve of his jaw. His uniform—sleek, tailored, distinctly non-regulation—hugged his frame in clean lines and deep teal, the matte-satin hybrid fabric catching faint metallic glints where the light hit it just right. Short sleeves revealed portions of his tattoos and the soft gleam of a silver hoop in his left ear; the communicator badge on his chest shimmered in sync with the starscape. Meticulous, functional, and unmistakably his.

The morning had been full—long corridors and longer lists, tasks stacked with quiet precision. He and Lovisa had spent hours working their way through every lab on Decks 6 and 7, checking stabilizers, logging volatile substances, securing open experiments, and triple-checking containment seals. It should have been exhausting, but there was a rhythm to the work, a kind of wordless synchronicity between them that made it feel almost easy. The order of it—the predictability—helped keep his thoughts aligned, one checklist chasing the next until everything clicked into place. He’d even rechecked a biosample cabinet after they’d already moved on, just to be sure the latch had engaged properly. Lovisa hadn’t questioned it. She hadn’t rushed him. That mattered more than he could say.

He hadn’t asked Lovisa to join him here. She just… had. Slipped in beside him without ceremony, her presence as soft and natural as breath. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that—still wasn’t—but he hadn’t told her to leave, either. There was something about the way she stood near him, eyes tracing the slow arc of starlight above, that didn’t feel intrusive. She didn’t fill the space with noise or need. She was just there, her silence colored by curiosity rather than discomfort. That felt rare. Rarer still was the sense that she saw him—really saw him—and wasn’t trying to fix the shape of him to fit her comfort.

He shifted his weight subtly, feeling the fabric of his uniform stretch just enough to remind him it was built to move with him, not bind. He had taken care dressing this morning—more than usual, even for him. Not that anyone would notice. But the precise line of the piping along his shoulders, the clean fall of the fabric at his ankles, the controlled glimpse of the black undershirt beneath the angled collar—it all made him feel sharp. Composed. Like he could walk into the unknown without flinching. His lip ring caught the light as he turned his head, the smallest glint against the curve of his mouth. He caught Lovisa looking once, not for long, and didn’t call her on it. He tapped a few meaningless commands into the console to occupy his hands. To remind himself he was grounded. The faint haptic response beneath his fingertips—the slight resistance and subtle give—helped ease the low static hum building behind his eyes. Too much space. Too much silence. But this helped.

The ship thrummed around them—low, anticipatory, like a breath held just before the plunge. He wondered if Lovisa felt it too, that ache of waiting. He could see it in her posture, a kind of tension wrapped in awe. She wasn’t fidgeting, but she radiated energy, all the same. Mateo glanced sidelong at her, the edge of his mouth twitching—not quite a smile, but close. “Hard to believe we’re actually leaving,” he said, eyes on the shifting stars above. “All this time getting ready, and now it’s real. Kind of wild.” He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe because it was true. Maybe because the silence was starting to echo. Maybe because if she answered, he knew she’d tell the truth.

And even if she didn’t, he’d still hear it—in her voice, in her eyes, in the way she didn’t try to touch him again. Not after last time. He appreciated that more than she probably realized. She’d adjusted—just enough distance, no sudden shifts. That kind of attunement didn’t come easily for most people. It made the space between them feel safe. The low hum beneath his boots shifted—subtle, but there. Forward motion. Real. He didn’t look at her, not yet. But he didn’t step away, either.

Lovisa smiled warmly at the words, keeping her gaze fixed on the soothing, glowing display. Her hands moved with ease across the console, matching the relaxed ebb and flow of their surroundings. "It's exciting," she openly agreed, the gentle smile remaining as she fed recent local reports into the system to update predictions. "I've...never actually been part of a launch before. I've only ever joined ships that are already underway. It feels like a big responsibility...but a pretty special one."

Mateo didn’t answer right away. Her voice lingered in the air between them, soft but certain, like she’d laid something gentle on the table and trusted it wouldn’t be broken. He watched the curve of her hand as she worked the console, precise but unhurried, and let the silence stretch just a little longer than was comfortable. “Firsts are overrated,” he said at last, his tone dry but not unkind. Then, after a beat—quieter, more careful—he added, “But yeah. This one… feels different.”

Lovisa tilted her head towards him as she smiled fondly, but kept her eyes on the vibrant display that reacted to the new intel being fed in. "You're right...firsts probably are overrated...but they're probably the ones you'll remember most. Good or bad," she chuckled softly at the prospect, clearly not adverse to the idea. "Besides, life would get pretty boring if we stopped having firsts."

Mateo didn’t answer right away. He stood still, letting her words drift over him like background radiation—persistent, gentle, impossible to ignore. The glowing dome above shifted as new data fed into the system, starfields bending and warping across their heads in slow, deliberate motion. He watched it without really seeing it, the familiar hum of the console under his fingertips grounding him against the static buzz gathering at the back of his mind. Firsts. He didn’t like to think about them. Most had been survival instincts, not celebrations—etched into memory by accident, anger, or necessity, not choice.

And yet, here he was—on the edge of another he hadn’t asked for. The Fenrir wasn’t some bright-eyed dream; it was Starfleet’s last warning shot across his bow. Fall in line, or fall out completely. He knew that. He felt it every time he logged a report, every time he caught the flicker of doubt in a superior’s glance. This wasn't freedom. It was the last rung on the ladder before the fall. But today, standing here, steady beneath shifting stars and beside someone who didn’t demand he be more—or less—than himself, he realized he’d made a choice anyway. He was still here. He tucked his hands into his pockets, slow and deliberate, a small concession to the swirling energy inside him that he refused to let show. Maybe life did get boring without firsts. Maybe, against every instinct he had, he didn’t want boring after all.

He didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. Not yet. But he stayed where he was, close enough to feel the edge of her presence, steady as gravity. And that, too, was a first. A real one.

To Be Continued...

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Crewman Mateo Gardel
Medical Science Specialist
USS Fenrir

Lieutenant JG Lovisa Montague
Science Officer
USS Fenrir
(PNPC Blake)

 

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