Volver a empezar: Part II - The Old Fence

Posted on Fri Jan 23rd, 2026 @ 1:17am by 1st Lieutenant Ángel Martinez
Edited on on Fri Jan 23rd, 2026 @ 1:19am

2,817 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: Character Backstories
Location: Arizona, Earth
Timeline: 2386

Later, when the kitchen was clean and Lucia had insisted on packing leftovers into containers Martinez would almost certainly forget to eat, the house quieted. The warmth of the meal still lingered in their chest, but the air inside felt heavier now, full of memory and spice.

Martinez stepped out onto the porch, still barefoot. The tiles were cooler here, shaded from the last of the sun. The sky was shifting into deep blue, the kind that held the first stars like promises. The wind moved gently through the plants along the path. Somewhere nearby, the cat hunted invisible ghosts.

They sat on the low step, elbows resting on their knees, hands loose. The scent of mesquite smoke drifted faintly in from a neighbour’s yard. It wasn’t Mars, but it had edges. Honest ones. They weren’t exactly excited to experience it during monsoon season, but now it was dry it…felt familiar, yet strange. Like someone had replicated a meal but left out some spice.

The screen door creaked behind them. Javier stepped out, carrying two mugs. He handed one over without comment and eased himself down onto the step beside them with a soft grunt. “Herbal,” he said. “Don’t ask me what kind.”

Martinez sipped it and then made a face. Mint, strong and punchy, but with camomile and a hint of cinnamon…it was not their favourite combination. But they’d still drink it.

They sat in silence for a while. Crickets chirped. A distant dog barked twice, then nothing. Javier stretched out his legs, then drew one knee up again like he couldn’t quite settle. “So,” he said, without looking at them, “how was training?”

Martinez took another sip, then lowered the mug. “Hard,” they said and gave a small shrug. “Different.”

Javier nodded, still facing forward. “Meant to be.”

“Yeah.” Martinez gave a nod in acknowledgement. Watched the mug, the leaves clinging to the inside of it, let time pass.

Another pause and then... “I saw the holos,” he said. “From graduation. Looked like you held your own.”

“I did.” Because they had. There weren’t many in the training that would transfer you from one branch of Starfleet to another, but there had been enough for it to feel like competition. And Martinez had done well enough, had passed enough to leave with a decent reputation…or so they at least though.

He scratched at the back of his neck. “You looked sharp. Tired, but sharp.”

Martinez didn’t answer. The silence stretched again, not uncomfortable, just uneven. Like a shirt borrowed too long ago that didn’t quite fit anymore.

“I never had the stamina for that kind of thing,” Javier said eventually. “I did one month of that…Federation planetary defence service when I was twenty-two and nearly passed out during basic drills. Your mother laughed for a week.”

Martinez smiled faintly. It was a familiar story, told many times but always forgotten who it was told to. They had heard it…oh….they had lost count. A lot.

“She said you’d be stubborn enough for it. She was right,” Javier said before he shook his head, frowning. “You have her stubborn streak.”

“I didn’t think I’d do it,” Martinez admitted after a moment, remembering the way they had felt, when they had been younger. They had trained for years and yet never been quite convinced they had been good enough for the Ground Forces. “Not until I did.”

Javier turned slightly to look at them, his face unreadable in the porch light. “Still glad you did?”

A long pause. Martinez shifted their mug between their hands. “Sometimes,” they said. Because it was the truth of it. Their career had shaped who they were now, but with it had…come a lot of bad things too.

Javier nodded again. “That’s enough,” he said and closed his eyes. A breeze stirred the edge of the porch. The wind carried dust across the tiles in soft hushes. The stars were clearer now. “She worries,” he said after a while. “You know that. But she doesn’t say anything. Not really.”

“I know.” Martinez let out a soft breath, sipping the tea…letting the heat of the mug settle in their palms.

“She was proud when the transfer came. Worried, too, but proud…” his voice drifted, became silent in the slight wind. “I was too,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

They didn’t speak after that. Not for a long while. The cat brushed past their ankles and leapt silently onto the railing, tail curling like punctuation. She watched the yard with the patience of someone who knew this ritual well.

Martinez finished the tea, let the warmth sit in their chest. The air was cooler now. Less heavy. They moved, to stand, then stretched. “Night, Papi,” they said and touched his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, and made their way to where their duffle had found its way.

The guest room was quiet. Too quiet, if Martinez were being honest. Not the hum of filtered air or the soft thrum of Mars powerlines. Just silence, wrapped in stucco and dark wooden beams, interrupted only by the occasional creak of the house settling.

They sat on the edge of the bed, their duffle still zipped at their feet. The lights were off, just a small lamp in the corner casting amber light against cream-coloured walls. Everything in the room was gentle. Neutral. The bedspread was pale and textured. A painting of desert lilies hung opposite the door. There was a chair tucked beside a low desk with nothing on it.

It was a guest room. Not a child’s room held in memory. Not the room they used to share with Marisol, before Diego was born and again when Sofia arrived and the space had to stretch around cribs and cousins and holiday visitors.

This wasn’t a room waiting for someone to return. It was one meant to make anyone comfortable.

It didn’t feel like home. But then again, when was the last time Martinez had felt they had a home? Fifteen years ago? Longer?

They stood and moved to the small dresser, opened the top drawer. Inside were spare blankets, folded towels, a wrapped bar of soap that smelled like lavender. Practical. Welcoming. Not personal.

Their old books weren’t here. The chipped mug they used to keep pencils in. The clay turtle they’d made in school, the one Diego had painted with stripes and called capitán del desierto, gone. Probably recycled. Or burned when Mars burned, in storage, waiting for the owners to pick them up.

Just lost.

They sat back down. There was nothing wrong with the room. It was clean. Thoughtful. Lucia had even put a small bottle of water on the nightstand, a folded pair of socks beside it. But everything in it said this is for now, not this is yours.

Martinez leaned back slowly, one arm behind their head. The mattress was soft. Too soft. The kind you sink into when you don’t plan to stay long. They looked up at the ceiling, blank and undisturbed. They could still remember the old ceiling in New Vallis. Low, with that one scuff where Diego had launched a toy drone that got stuck in the vent. This one held no stories.

Outside, the cicadas had quieted. The wind had settled. Even the stars felt still. Martinez turned onto their side, one hand tucked beneath the pillow. They didn’t cry. There was nothing sharp enough to cut. Just the slow press of displacement, the knowledge that they were loved here, and that was enough. But the room didn’t hold them. It held anyone.

And so they lay still, breathing quietly, feeling the unfamiliar weight of Earth gravity pull them down into a house that had made space for them, but not a place. Sleep came slow. Not unwelcome. Just unsure of the door it had passed through.

The morning stayed dry and sharp, the sun climbing steadily. After breakfast, Javier rinsed the dishes and set them in the rack, then wiped his hands on the edge of a tea towel and glanced toward the window. “Fence’s leaning again,” he said. “Might give out in the next wind.”

Martinez followed his look, curious. The wooden slats along the side of the garden were indeed crooked. A few had split near the base, leaning outward like they’d lost interest in standing straight. “I’ll help,” they said, automatically…but also because sitting still without purpose grated on them.

Javier only nodded.

They went out through the back, stepping into the pale light of late morning. The soil was dry, cracked in places. Desert plants grew in tough clusters along the edge. Martinez rolled up their sleeves and knelt by the fence. Javier fetched the toolbox, set it down, and sat on the low bench nearby with a soft grunt. “I’ll pass you what you need,” he said.

He didn’t. Not really. He just watched. Martinez worked in silence. Nails, hammer, gloved hands. The rhythm was easy, repetitive. They didn’t look back. Just fixed what could be fixed and replaced what couldn’t.

After a long while, Javier spoke. “Your mother was angry with you.”

Martinez didn’t look up, didn’t stop. They knew this tone, it was the tone Javier had once said that they had been a little disappointed that Martinez hadn’t settled down with someone…and in the same breath questioned what sane person would settle down with a soldier. No, they just waited.

“Not in words,” Javier continued. “Not in how she treated you. Not really. But deep down. After Diego died.”

Martinez pressed a new board into place. The wood felt solid…they wished they didn’t wear gloves so they could feel it properly.

“She blamed you,” Javier’s voice was soft in the breeze. “Not because she wanted to. Not because it was fair. But because you joined first. Because you made it real.”

“I know,” Martinez finally said, words dropped like stone in a lake. They had seen it in her eyes after the war. Made it more difficult to stay. Meant that visits every few years became the norm.

“I didn’t,” Javier admitted, shaking his head. “Not until later. I didn’t want to believe it. But she held onto it.”

Martinez picked up another nail. “She’s not wrong.” There was truth in that, for them. It no longer had the sting, it was more calm acceptance of choices made.

Javier frowned. “She was,” he said, voice hardening slightly.

“If I hadn’t joined, Diego might not have either,” Martinez countered and hammered the nail in. Took a breath and reached to tug at their work, to make sure it would hold.

“You don’t know that,” he said as he looked at them, frowning.

“No,” Martinez said. And in the space where they felt both ten and a hundred, the feeling rested. “But I think about it anyway.” They picked up another nail. Shifted their body. The hammer hit wood with a dull, clean sound.

Javier leaned back slightly, hands folded in his lap. “It’s one of the reasons we left. Not just the quiet after he was gone. Not just the empty bed or the hallway with his boots still there. But the things we didn’t say. The things we didn’t want to feel. We couldn’t stay in that house and carry all of it.” He paused, and then a soft chuckle. “If we hadn’t moved,” he said, “we’d be dead now.”

That part landed hard. Not heavy. Just final. Martinez finished the last board and sat back on their heels. Sweat had gathered along their brow, caught at the back of their neck. The sun was already starting to bake the path. They looked at the fence. It still leaned a little, but it would hold.

“So you saved us,” Javier said quietly, to finish the conversation, close the loop.

Martinez didn’t say anything. Just nodded once and stood, brushing the dust from their knees. The silence between them stretched again. But it wasn’t brittle. It was just honest. Everything that could be said had been, and everything that couldn’t lived in the air between them like heat.

Javier stood with a soft sound and clapped a hand gently to their shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s see if your mother will let us near the fridge without a lecture.”

They walked back to the house side by side. No more words. Just the sound of gravel underfoot and the repaired fence standing behind them, imperfect but still upright.

----

The shuttle was due in less than two hours.

Martinez stood in the guest room, fastening the high collar of their Marine field jacket. The uniform was dark green and black, precise, pressed into perfect order. Not flashy. Just sharp. The fabric felt different from the old duty gear. Heavier at the shoulders. Built to carry weight.

It wasn’t the first time their parents had seen them in uniform. But it was the first time it had been this one. The colour. The cut. The bearing.

Martinez checked the seams once more, then zipped the duffle closed. The civilian clothes were neatly folded inside, laundered and faintly fragrant with lavender and sun-dried cotton. Lucia had washed them without asking.

They glanced once around the room. The bed had been made, the same way Martinez had made the bed since they were 18 and a raw recruit. The mug and water bottle returned to the side table. Nothing personal left behind. The cat was curled on the window ledge, watching with unreadable eyes.

Martinez gave her a slow blink. She did not return it. Typical. But then again, Martinez might have preferred dogs and wolfhounds in the past, if they had the choice.

In the kitchen, Lucia was wrapping something in foil. She looked up as they stepped in and made a noise under her breath. “Too thin,” she muttered. “Still too thin. And so severe.”

Martinez said nothing, but raised an eyebrow and gave a small smile.

She held out a small paper bag. “For the trip. Tamal, dried fruit, a few sweets. One of the lemon biscuits, but only one or your teeth will fall out.” They took it and tucked it into the side pouch of the duffle. She stepped back, arms folded across her chest. “I don’t like it,” she said, eyeing the uniform. “Looks like it bites.”

“It does,” Martinez replied, taking a deeper breath. “It’s meant to.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’ll wear something soft next time. Or change when you’ve left…I don’t like watching you wear that. I don’t like you being someone who walks into a room with a weapon ready rather than a hand held out.”

Martinez looked at her, their jaw tightening a little. A small coil of anger, or disappointment, somewhere deep inside. They pushed it down. She didn’t need to understand, she just needed to keep loving them.

Javier stood by the door, keys in hand. “We’ll take you.”

“No,” Martinez shook their head and gave a small smile. “I’ll be on a ship for months…I’d rather walk. I got time.” They took a step forward, unsure what to say or do.

Lucia pulled them into a hug with one arm around their waist, the other reaching up to cup their face. “Be safe,” she said. “Even when it doesn’t feel possible.”

Martinez held her a second longer than planned. Then let go. Javier offered his hand. Martinez took it, but he pulled them into a brief, strong embrace instead. “You’ll write? Send holo messages?” he asked, without pressure.

“When I can,” Martinez said with a small nod. “If not, know I’m okay.”

“Fair enough,” Javier said softly, taking a deeper breath. Lucia wiped at something near her eye, then scolded him for nothing, and Javier rolled his eyes like it was all routine.

Martinez stepped back, went towards the door. “Take care of each other and give my…love to Marisol and Sofia.”

“Yes, yes…” Lucia looked them over once more. “Next time, come for longer.”

“I’ll try,” Martinez said, hand on the doorknob. Opened the door, stepped out.

“Bring soft clothes!” Lucia called out as they stepped outside.

“Alright,” they walked out, down the path, to the little gate. There, Martinez looked back once.

Their mother stood with arms still crossed, chin lifted, eyes sharp. Their father beside her, quiet and solid. Neither waved. Neither needed to.

Martinez nodded once. Then turned and left.

---end---

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