A Kiss from a Martini Glass

Posted on Fri Jul 18th, 2025 @ 3:38pm by Lieutenant JG Constance 'Connie' Montoya
Edited on on Fri Jul 18th, 2025 @ 3:39pm

1,026 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: The Green Kiss, USS Guinevere
Timeline: 2387

The Green Kiss was loud. In the way that joy could be loud, or grief learning to wear a smile. The music carried a bassline that echoed heartbeats, the air had a faint taste of perfume and recycled air made fresh. It was not her usual scene. Yet as a new member of the crew, Connie Montoya had made the effort. She had dressed for it, but not in the way that some of the people here did. There were a mix. Flamboyant clothes that reflected people’s personalities, uniforms with sleeves pushed up and jackets open to show those who had sprinted the moment their shift ended, to catch up with friends.

Connie sat alone by the bar. Heels, open-toed. A skirt that reached her knees, a brilliant floral pattern with deep purples and reds. A black blouse, conservative. Chandelier earrings is a gentle gold, a flash of a dark red stone that could be ruby, mirroring the simple gold necklace that graced her elegant neck. Her hair was free, soft waves framing a face that could be both cold seriousness and gentle laugh. Her nails were not painted. Her lips had a kiss of colour, more natural than for show. Her hazel eyes took in the life around her, observing in a way that showed that the counsellor was never quite off duty. Mapping body language, the way some danced close as if they wished to crawl into each others’ skin, while others held friendly distances meant for conversation.

The feel of the place was warm, welcoming, inclusive. No one had glanced twice at her when she walked in, and she passed between them like water running between pebbles.

She ran a finger over the rim of her glass, a subconscious movement as her eyes traced the people. Then she turned her head away, back to the bar. Picked up her glass, sipped the cocktail. Classic. Martini. Heavy on the gin, the olive. Dirty. So dirty she could most likely get another drink out of sucking the olive later.

Someone settled next to her. Close enough to announce themselves, not so close to make her tense. She turned her head, saw brown eyes framed in a handsome face, freckles across skin, red hair damp from movement. Dancing. It may have been styled hours ago but the man had been on the dancefloor. “Hey…this seat taken?”

She glanced down, as if to check. Long legs. No uniform, a tight almost see through shirt and tight trousers to match. Boots were Starfleet standard though, slightly scuffed on the toes. Someone who sat and got restless. “Looks like you took it,” she said lightly, not flirting, but not pushing away. Measured.

He grinned, showing off pearly white teeth and a grin that she was sure had melted hearts in the past. “I’m Marcus.”

“Connie,” she introduced herself, with a slight incline of her head.

“You wanna dance, Connie?” he asked, motioning to the dancefloor with hope.

She kept watching him. Already ruled out departments based on his hands, the state of his skin. Clean. Mild callouses, not from holding tools. Ruled out Engineering, Operations. Didn’t have the stillness of someone from Medical or Science. She knew he wasn’t a counsellor.

“It’s not really music I can dance to,” she finally said, remembering the dances she had done. Growing up. Balls. Ballroom. Places where you danced for private conversation with all eyes on them. She hadn’t liked it back then. She certainly didn’t like it when the music meant shouting rather than whispers. “So…no. Thank you.”

He looked a little disappointed. Not much. Just resettled himself with a nod. “So, not seen you in here before. First time, new transfer?”

He was younger than her. Ten years, maybe.

“Somewhat,” she said, with a small smile and turned to face him. Properly. Made up her mind about him. “You’re a pilot.”

He grinned and she knew she had made the right guess. He nodded eagerly, leaning a little closer into her personal space. She didn’t pull back. Just stayed still, studying his face. “Yeah! How did you guess?”

“I’m a counsellor,” she said with a nod and sipped her drink. Kept watching for the reaction.

It came as expected. A double take. A shift, a little more guarded, the smile a bit more forced. “Yeah? You think I need therapy? Close up…intimate?” the words were bravado. Warm and flirty, yes, but a little harsher. Covering up insecurities like putting on another jacket.

Classic.

High achiever hiding insecurities about himself behind smiles, a high adrenaline job and partying. Youth, but fragile youth, slipping away between his strong fingers. She could see it. Not trauma, no. Just self-esteem and image. Most likely liked losing himself to whatever, or whomever, he was doing.

“Oh, everyone needs someone to talk to,” she said softly, shaking her head. “Doesn’t mean that it all needs to be classified as therapy. Sometimes, counsellors are just a sounding board,” she said before she glanced around. A quick look. “I’ll save you some time, Marcus. I’m ace. But that brunette by the table over there has been sneaking looks at your since you sat down with me.”

He turned his head. Looked at the brunette. Connie exhaled, hiding a chuckle. She hadn’t said ‘don’t look’ because people always looked regardless. It wouldn’t do either of them harm to see mutual attraction. A beat. A pause. He turned back to look at her. “Okay,” he said and stood, smiling. “Well…maybe I’ll pop by someday, for…when I got stuff I need another opinion on.”

She gave a nod at that. She wasn’t sure he would, but in that second there was intention there, not false politeness. “My door’s open.” She watched him go and turned back to her drink, a small smile on her lips.

Sometimes, being the one sitting in a crowded room watching? It wasn’t a lonely place.

It was a place of truth.

----

Lt. jg Connie Montoya
Counsellor
USS Guinevere

RSS Feed