Working Things Out, Part 1

Posted on Fri Oct 24th, 2025 @ 10:12am by Lieutenant JG Ryan Kellerman & Ensign Marcus Chen

1,493 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: What was Lost is Found
Location: Athletic Facilities/Gymnasium, Deck 4
Timeline: Prior to "Discoveries"

Marcus Chen was a fairly new arrival to the Valkyrie. He'd met the folks in his department. His department chief was handsome, if you cared for the exotic type. Marcus wasn't. Not exactly. Besides, he'd just come out of a bad relationship and Darius had a reputation. Deserved, or undeserved he wasn't sure and he didn't want to find out the hard way.

Not that he was looking at the moment

At the moment, he was shirtless A rivulet of sweat traced its way between his pecs as he did reverse chin ups his feet laced into a pair of boots connected to bar above him

He was breathing hard, but not too hard yet.

Ryan finished his last set with the tempo of an officer who was pacing his own ghosts--one clean lift, exhale, another. His breath was coming sharp but steadily. The mat beneath him smelled like a mixture of iron, sweat, and antiseptic. When he lowered the weights, the silence between each clank of metal felt heavier than the weights themselves.

He rose, rolling his sleeves, beads of sweat tracing down the back of his neck. He reached for a towel, wiped his palms, and that's when he saw him.

Marcus had noticed the man before he'd started his routine, but only out of his peripheral vision. It wasn't until he really noticed him. He couldn't help himself. He was distracted He fumbled one of the bindings holding his left leg and landed awkwardly on his right ankle. He cursed. Not loud, but enough to draw attention.

Ryan had been telling himself for two days that he'd have to start trying.

Not trying in the sense of overreaching--he'd done enough of that as a younger man--but just making a small effort in getting to know the people around him. Who knows how long he'd be on the Valkyrie? There's no way he could keep to himself--even if Intelligence was meant to keep quiet.

He had been folding his towel when Marcus landed wrong. The sound wasn't much--a grunt, if anything--but it was enough to catch the attention of those at the nearest exercise stations.

Ryan looked up, instinct pushing against the inside of his chest. The younger man was crouched, one fist braced against the floor, the other gripping his ankle. Sweat shone along his shoulders.

"Hey," Ryan said, crossing the short distance. "You all right?"

Marcus looked up at the older man, he wasn't about to tell him what happened. Not the details anyway. "Yeah," I think so," he said as he stood to his feet. He tried putting weight on his foot and winced in pain. "Uh, maybe not. I think I may have twisted my ankle. Nothing serious, but I probably won't be running any marathons for a bit."

"I'm Marcus, Marcus Chen, by the way," he said holding out his hand.

Ryan took the offered hand, his grip firm but brief, the way someone shakes when they're not quite sure how much to give away.

"Kellerman," he said simply. No rank, no first name--just the surname. Behind a wall disguised as civility.

Up close, Marcus looked younger than he seemed from across the gym. There was something open about his face, an ease not yet worn down by multiple assignments or too many people leaving. His eyes were dark, sharp, but not hard. He was definitely cute, Ryan admitted silently.

"You should get that looked at," he said. "Twists have a tendency to fool. It may feel fine right now, but once the swelling starts, there's no telling how ornery that ankle might get." His tone wasn't patronizing--it was entirely measured, only a hint of authority from someone who had walked in the younger man's shoes.

Ryan paused, a towel still slung over one shoulder. "I can help you down to Sickbay, if you'd like," he added. "Or--" he gave a half-smile, "--if you'd rather limp it off, I'll at least make sure you don't face-plant on the way out."

The Ensign considered just walking it off. It really wasn't that bad. Walking, or limping it off as the other man had said, might be the best thing. But he changed his mind. The other man was right, it could have gotten worse.

"Maybe I could use a hand," he said.

He should have just left it at that. That would have been the smart thing to do.

But that's not what he did.

"Besides, this is your fault. Or half your fault anyway."

"My fault?" Ryan said, half a smile curling the edge of his mouth.

"Only half," Marcus corrected with a coy smile. 'I may or may not have been looking at your ass instead of my landing."

The color rose in his cheeks, "Sorry, I probably shouldn't have said that, I've been told I was incorrigible. You probably think I'm a jackass."

Ryan blinked at him, and just for a fraction of a second, the corner of his mouth twitched. There was no hurry to correct, no need to polish a response. Sometimes the universe handed you little nuggets of truth wrapped in awkwardness, and this was one of them.

"You are incorrigible, Marcus Chen," he said, attempting to maintain some modesty. "Jackass, though... I don't know if that's fair. Curiosity isn't a crime. Just... try not to let it take you down next time."

"I understand. You're right. And I do apologize, but in my defense, I was mostly being a smart ass. But you are an attractive man. Just sayin'."

Ryan chuckled, a low, amused sound that was partially meant to relieve the small tension between them. "I haven't heard someone say that in... well, a few years now," he admitted, letting the words float like water vapour. He almost added the rest--"since Darius and I split"--but he swallowed it down, kept it behind a locker door. Three years. That's how long it had been since he'd offered himself, socially or otherwise, beyond polite smiles and calculated words. A couple of brief romances had flickered and died out quietly in that time. Nothing at all worth remembering.

He let his gaze fall onto Marcus, noting the lean curve of his shoulders, the way the muscles flexed under the skin, the subtle strength in his arms and pecs. He could quietly admire him without comment, the way some things should be appreciated.

"All right," he said, guiding Marcus to a nearby bench with a hand at his elbow, steadying him. Ryan crouched beside him, fingers moving to remove the athletic shoe. He lifted Marcus's foot, inspecting the ankle carefully, eyes checking for swelling or any sign of misalignment.

"Yeah," he murmured. "We'll want to make sure it's nothing serious. Could be fine, could be ornery later."

Marcus noticed the other man looking at him. He was observant, he wasn't a mind reader, so he didn't know what it meant, or if it meant anything at all.

"That stings a little," he admitted. "I heard in the old days they'd wrap an ankle. You could use my shirt, unless you have something else in mind, or know of a different way to get me to sickbay with minimal effort for you and minimal embarrassment for me."

Ryan smirked and it came across as being seated in experience rather than humour. He set Marcus's foot down gently, rising to his feet with a sigh that was firmly rooted in practicality.

"I'll tell you right now," he said, brushing his palms against his thighs, "carrying you through the corridor would be embarrassing for both of us."

He glanced toward a nearby bulkhead, where the cool lighting of the gym's overhead fixtures beamed down, catching the sheen of sweat clinging to his forearms. "And calling for a site-to-site transport? That'd take the cake. I can just see myself trying to explain that one to Captain. 'Yes, sir, we beamed Chen six decks down because he twisted an ankle staring at my ass.' That's not a conversation I want to have."

"God," he said a chuckle escaping his lips, "I am so glad it doesn't hurt to laugh. "I'm a lowly ensign, I'd still be an ensign at forty if that happened."

Ryan slung his towel around his neck and looked back at Marcus, that half-smile still hanging around, melting into something slightly more companionable. "So, I'm afraid we'll have to go old school. Hobble and lean. You up for that?"

"The old fashioned way it is," he replied as he reached for his shirt. "Em, would you mind handing me that?" he asked pointing.

Ryan reached for the shirt before Marcus could. The fabric was soft from wear and carried the faint scent of sweat. It was the smell of a man alive in his own body.

Ensign Marcus Chen
Strategic Operations Officer

&

Lieutenant JG Ryan Kellerman
Chief Intelligence Officer


~TBC~

 

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