Lost Property, Part 2 of 3
Posted on Sun Apr 27th, 2025 @ 6:24pm by Crewman Mateo Gardel & Civilian Temas Latham
Edited on on Sun Apr 27th, 2025 @ 6:25pm
3,001 words; about a 15 minute read
Mission:
To Boldly Go
Location: Medical Laboratory 1, Deck 7, USS Fenrir
Timeline: Day 14, 08:00
[ON - Continued from Part 1]
Mateo’s breath caught—small and sharp, tucked beneath his ribs. Identity. The word dropped like a stone into still water, and he felt the ripple of it move through him, slow and inevitable. It wasn’t an unfamiliar term. It lived in his textbooks. In clinical trials. In data sets about gender variance and interspecies physiology and brain chemistry across planetary systems. He had studied it. Catalogued it. Dissected it. But this was different. This wasn’t about a concept. It was about him.
His gaze dropped to the book again, the faded red of its cover blurring just slightly as his eyes adjusted to the shift inside him. Then, without looking up, he accepted it—cradling it in both hands like something rare. Not claimed. Not owned. Just held. The cloth was still warm from Temas’s touch, but there was a coolness beneath it, a dryness that reminded him of old museum wings—places that asked for quiet without demanding it. He didn’t open the book. Didn’t ask another question. Instead, his thumb traced the edge of the spine, following the slight warp in the binding where it had been most often read.
“No lo conozco.” (I don’t know it.)
The words weren’t just an admission—they were an excavation. He’d spent his life assembling his identity from fragments of others. Renata’s touch. Benji’s laughter. The way he was supposed to fit into this world that never quite seemed to make room for him. The questions lingered, sometimes louder than any answers: Who was I before? And how much of what I am now is really mine?
“A veces… ni siquiera sé si pertenezco a algún lugar.” (Sometimes… I don’t even know if I belong anywhere.)
There was no drama in the words, only a raw truth that tasted of something far older than the moment they shared. He had learned early that belonging was something you had to earn—something others decided for you. And each time he thought he’d found his place, it had slipped just out of reach, leaving him to question whether he’d ever truly belong anywhere at all.
The silence stretched between them, not awkward, but full of weight. The museum-like quiet he felt when something—someone—made him stop pretending for just a moment. And maybe that was why it felt like the right moment to say the words, even if they weren’t finished yet.
“Todavía no lo sé del todo.” (I still don’t, not entirely.)
He blinked, feeling the weight of his own admission settle like stone in his chest. It wasn’t that he regretted speaking, but something inside him recoiled at how much he had let out—how raw and unfinished it felt, like a wound that had been uncovered too soon. There was no turning back now. No taking it back. And for a fleeting moment, he wondered if he had said too much, been too honest, too... open.
The apology surged quickly, cutting through the silence before he could think better of it.
“Lo siento, no debería... no debería decir tanto.” (Sorry, I shouldn’t... I shouldn’t have said so much.)
He quickly looked away, shifting uncomfortably, as if regretting how much had slipped out.
Temas shifted to just sit down on the floor, looking up at him as he took in what he said, and the emotions. He hadn't realised he would get this reaction. This depth. He took a slow breath to ground himself, to distance the awkwardness and regret he felt from the other man. "Don't be sorry," he said, with a small smile at the words.
We've all felt that, he thought, letting out a soft breath.
"The truth is...I don't think anyone belongs anywhere, not truly," he said as he considered it, a slight frown coming to him, drawing his eyebrows together. The smile was gone but there was no harsh expression on his face. Instead, he looked thoughtful. "We try to, we pretend to, but everyone have times where we don't know where we fit in. I've never lived on a starship before. I don't know if I will...belong here, or be a bother to...Starfleet." The admission was honest and the frown eased as he looked at Mateo and gave him a small smile. "We are the sum of our experiences, Mateo. That changes each day...and we grow from it. Who we are changes with it...except what is deep inside. There's a seed there that is the essence of you. It can take a lifetime to find it, but it is there. And that...might change with situations, or days, or blood sugar."
Mateo hesitated for a beat, still holding the book in his hands like it was something he might drop at any moment. The silence that stretched between them was different now—not uncomfortable, just… thoughtful, as though it had shifted from a gap to something shared.
He finally lowered himself to sit on the floor beside Temas, crossing his legs in a way that made his movements slow and deliberate. The tension in his shoulders eased just slightly, though he still couldn’t entirely quiet the flutter of his heart. He settled into a space of quiet contemplation as he absorbed the weight of Temas’s words. Then, after a pause, he spoke again—this time in English.
“Sometimes, it feels like... I’m carrying someone else’s idea of who I’m supposed to be.” He looked at the floor for a moment, the words coming easily now that the apology was out of the way. “It’s not like I’ve ever gotten a chance to figure it out on my own. People always have something they expect from me. Sometimes it feels like I’m just—rearranging pieces to make it fit.”
His gaze flicked back to Temas. There was a quiet sincerity there now, beneath the guarded surface, as if he’d found a new language—not just words, but space—to articulate something that had lived inside him for a long time.
“Maybe... I don’t know where I fit in either. Or where I’m supposed to belong. But…” He paused, unsure how to finish the thought. But Temas’s words had taken some of the pressure off. He looked up at him again, his voice a little softer now. “I don’t mind the idea of being a work in progress. If I can figure it out. Or at least... try.”
The brief pause hung in the air before Mateo dropped his gaze again, fingers tapping lightly on the book he was still holding. He let out a small, almost self-deprecating sigh, the humor returning to his voice.
“Anyway... sorry if I’ve scared you off with all this... emotional prattling. You probably just wanted to pick up a misdelivered crate, not listen to me spill my complicated life story. I promise I’m usually much more chill.”
Temas looked at him with a small smile, his dark eyes gentle as he studied him. "Not scared me off," he said, lightly, finding the phrasing interesting. You said stuff like that to a date, not someone you'd just met. He took the moment to study his face, his expression...his eyes.
"I think you know who you are, inside. It might just be warring with what people expect and have told you that you are," he added, thinking back for a moment to his own childhood, and his restlessness that had led him to Betazed, to South America, to this ship. A want to learn and expand his knowledge, to find out where he fitted into in this universe. "You got time, Mateo. And if you try and make yourself something you're not, you'll be miserable. So..." he turned to face him, fully, watching him. "Forget the crate for a moment. It doesn't matter, it's...going to be there in ten minutes, or twenty, or a week. This conversation is much more interesting to me."
Mateo shifted slightly, crossing one leg over the other, pulling his knees in toward himself as he turned to face Temas more directly. The distance between them remained—respectful, unspoken, a subtle boundary he wasn’t yet ready to cross. But his posture had changed. It wasn’t a sudden shift, more of a gradual pull, as if the space between them was no longer something he needed to protect so fiercely. Still, he kept a measured distance. There was something about Temas that made him want to lean in, to learn more, but that feeling didn’t come without discomfort. Not yet.
He found himself noticing more than he had before—the way Temas's dark eyes seemed to catch the light, the gentle curve of his mouth as it lifted into that small smile, the softness in his expression that reminded Mateo of something familiar, even if he couldn’t place it. There was a calmness about him—like someone who was perfectly at ease in their own skin, completely unlike Mateo, who often felt as if he were wearing an outfit that didn’t quite fit. Temas was like a person who belonged—in every way Mateo had never quite been able to feel.
It wasn’t that Mateo considered himself of any particular interest—he never had. People didn’t usually look at him like that. But Temas did, somehow, and it wasn’t something Mateo fully understood. The curiosity felt almost foreign to him, like a soft pressure in his chest, but there it was, undeniable. He glanced down at the book still resting in his hands, then gently returned it to Temas. Their fingers brushed, just a slight contact, but it felt like a charge—one that he quickly suppressed, slipping back into his usual guarded demeanor. But the question came anyway. He had to ask.
“Why these books, specifically?” he asked, his tone softer than usual, but edged with curiosity. “And when... why did you learn Spanish?”
The words came quickly, almost more from instinct than thought. He wasn’t sure why he was asking. Maybe it was to deflect, to redirect the focus back to Temas, away from whatever it was that had just slipped out of him. Mateo wasn’t used to being the one in the spotlight, especially not like this—open, vulnerable. It didn’t feel right, and yet it did. That alone unsettled him. So instead, he found himself deflecting, shifting the attention to something he could control.
Why had he asked those questions? He wasn’t sure. Maybe because it was easier to understand someone else’s story than face his own. Maybe because it was simpler than trying to explain the mess inside of him. Mateo’s curiosity was a shield, a way to look at something else, something he could at least partially grasp, even if only for a moment.
Temas was different.
Temas blushed despite his best efforts, feeling it rise up his throat, his cheeks, the tips of his ears. He took the book and looked at him, clearly thinking about the why question first. "They're books I loved growing up," he finally said and gave a small shrug. "Books that shaped me and changed me, helped me figure out who I was when I was being pulled between two cultures. I thought here, maybe...other kids, teenagers, had the same sort of feeling and didn't want to discuss it all with a grownup..." he put the book down and smiled.
"The when is the last...year and a half. I was temping as a teacher in South America," he said with a chuckle at himself. "I like learning new languages. I'm fresh off a two month course on teaching on a Starfleet vessel, so...right now I'm learning Klingon. Not that I think it'll be much needed with the universal translator, but...you can tell a lot about a culture based on the language."
Mateo’s eyes flickered to Temas’s face as he took the book, and he couldn’t help but notice the flush creeping up his neck, rising steadily from the tips of his ears to his cheeks. It was subtle, but Mateo was too observant to miss it, especially with the way Temas tried to hide it by looking down at the book. For a moment, Mateo almost wanted to grin—but he chewed lightly on his bottom lip, glancing away just for a second, as if to collect himself. The small action helped him regain a bit of composure, though his curiosity continued to simmer beneath the surface. He studied Temas without speaking, his gaze lingering on the soft curve of his smile and the slight shift in his expression. The vulnerability there, however fleeting, caught Mateo’s attention—something in Temas’s demeanor felt unexpectedly open, and it intrigued him.
As Temas spoke about the books, the words seemed to settle into Mateo like a slow burn, drawing him in with every passing sentence. The idea of being “pulled between two cultures” struck a chord with him, though in a way he wasn’t sure how to explain. He had never experienced that exact kind of split—the quiet discomfort of existing between worlds—but he understood the feeling of being out of place, of not quite fitting into a world that expected him to be something he wasn’t. His own identity, though complicated, didn’t carry that kind of duality. Still, Mateo’s mind latched onto the idea, wanting to understand it better. He didn’t press it just yet, though, sensing that it wasn’t a topic for light conversation. Still, Temas's voice had taken on a reflective edge when he spoke of the books that shaped him, and Mateo couldn’t ignore the weight behind those words.
It left Mateo wondering—who was Temas, really? What were the cultures that had shaped him? He thought back to the subtle things Temas had said, the way he mentioned being pulled between two cultures. Where had Temas come from? What experiences had shaped his view of the world—the books, the places he’d lived, the people he’d met? Mateo couldn’t help himself: the curiosity was too strong. There was more to Temas than the man sitting here beside him—and for some reason, Mateo needed to know what that was. He didn’t ask yet, though, the question sitting at the back of his throat, waiting. But his curiosity had already taken root, and it spurred him forward. It made him want to dig deeper, to understand who Temas really was, beyond just the kind words he had shared.
Mateo leaned forward slightly, catching himself before his curiosity pushed him too far. He didn’t often ask personal questions like this, not without a sense of awkwardness creeping in. But right now, there was something about Temas that made it feel natural. "So... South America, huh?" Mateo asked, his voice soft with genuine curiosity. "Where exactly? What was that like?" His question came out easier than expected, the intrigue slipping out before he could stop it. He’d grown up in Buenos Aires, so he knew South America well enough to understand the broad strokes, the cultural complexity, the rhythms of life in the cities. But Temas’s experience—his time there, his journey between cultures—felt like an exotic window into a life completely different from his own. Buenos Aires was a world of its own, but Temas’s experiences must’ve been shaped by places Mateo hadn’t seen, people he hadn’t met. And right now, he wanted to look through it.
"Oh...I taught in Lima, Sucre, Santiago, Posadas, Montevideo...and I spent two weeks in Paramaribo on holiday," Temas said thoughtfully as he remembered, a soft breath escaping at the warm memories. "I loved the music, the food, the culture...the strong sense of history. Good and bad, it was all embraced as part of a journey." He blinked and looked back at Mateo, clearly remembering he was there. And closer. He could sense the curiosity, the emotions subtly rolling off the other man. He tried to ignore it, not wanting it to influence himself. "I loved the atmosphere of the old cities, but more the small towns where you barely saw a replicator."
Mateo’s gaze lingered on Temas as he spoke, processing the weight of his words. The idea of small towns with little to no technology fascinated him, especially given his own reliance on the conveniences of modern life. “That sounds… different,” Mateo mused, leaning forward slightly, intrigued by the contrast. “I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything quite like that.” He paused, considering his next question. “What was it about those small towns that drew you in so much? Was it the people, the pace of life? Or was it just the absence of... everything we take for granted?”
The soft smile that had been lingering at the edges of Mateo’s expression faded just a little, replaced by a more thoughtful curiosity. He couldn’t help but think about his own experiences, how Buenos Aires had always been a city that thrived on activity, culture, and bustle—so different from the quieter, slower rhythms Temas was describing. Mateo wanted to understand more, to see what Temas had seen. It felt like a window opening, offering him a glimpse into something beyond his own understanding of the world.
[OFF - To be continued in Part 3]
Temas Latham
Civilian Teacher
USS Fenrir
[PNPC - Hanlon]
&
Crewman Mateo Gardel
Medical Science Specialist
USS Fenrir
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