As Bollwyn strolled down the gleaming corridor, the soft hum of the ship’s engines echoed around him. With a towel snugly wrapped around his waist, he headed towards his bunk, his mind buzzing with anticipation for the upcoming diplomatic reception. Before grabbing his fresh, clean clothes, Bollwyn pushed his damp, tousled hair away from his forehead. 

Tapping the panel, the door to his personal storage unit slid open with a whisper, revealing the neatly arranged uniforms within.

As he rummaged through his belongings, his fingers brushed against the smooth fabric of his dress uniform. It had been ages since he last wore it.

Sitting on the edge of his bunk, Bollwyn started to dry himself. The sonic shower he had just indulged in had left a faint, refreshing scent lingering in the air around him. As he began to get dressed, he noticed a familiar figure approaching him.

“Hey Matty,” Bollwyn said smiling, using the nickname he had given Clark a few days ago. 

“Samwell,” Matthys replied in his usual disinterested tone as he closed the distance between them. He had already been dressed in his dress uniform and looked immaculate. A grin that formed just slightly on the right side of his face would give away his act of indifference, though. Unbeknownst to Bollwyn was the fact that the only person in his life who got away with calling him Matty was his late grandmother. Scorned was anyone else in his family who dared to speak that name to him. For some reason, though, he had taken to it immediately when it came out of Bollwyn. It felt right. 

Over the last month or so, since Columbia’s mission along the Talarian border, the two of them had started to see eye-to-eye on things and were beginning to socialise more. Bollwyn had indulged himself in Clark’s enjoyment of a weekly mud bath while he had taught Clark how to play Velocity. Then, only a week ago, the two of them had been assigned to the same set of bunks. Bollwyn was on the bottom, and Clark was on the top. 

As he pulled his trousers on and started on his undershirt, Bollwyn looked up at Clark, “You ready to mingle with the Cardassians, Matty?”

“I’m ready to mingle. Whether or not it’s with Cardassians is yet to be determined,” Matthys’ grin grew into a more mischievous expression. He was only going to this event for two reasons: Samwell wanted him to, and it was an opportunity to socialise with perhaps some special beverages involved.

Matthys stood back and took a once over his friend; he then quickly moved in closer and adjusted Bollwyn’s comm badge to be a bit straighter. His hands brushed across his friend’s shoulders in a mock dusting motion. 

“Got to say Samwell. You clean up pretty good.” Matthys gave Bollwyn a playful wink and admiring expression.

“Come on, we best get ourselves to Ten Forward. Otherwise, the captain may tell us off for being late.”

Moments later, the two friends and bunkmates entered the lounge. The lighting was dimmed ever so slightly to assist with what appeared to be an evening lounge vibe. The room was full of officers in dress on both sides, and a collision of inaudible chatter filled the entryway where they stood.

“See any liquor, Samwell?” Matthy stated inquisitively, his eyes focused on surveying the room.

Bollwyn rolled his eyes at his friend. “Really? This so soon into the reception?” 

“Joking—joking, of course,” Matthys raised his hands in surrender. He had become quite attuned to just how far he could push his new friend and what he couldn’t get away with. Matthys nodded in agreement. There was time and place for letting loose, and while this was meant to be a social gathering, it certainly wasn’t the type of venue where they would be dancing with one another to the beats of some bass. Perhaps it was a mistake to accompany Bollwyn, after all; the longer he stood there, the more uptight Matthys felt during this whole event.

Looking around the room, Bollwyn suggested they grab something to eat on the long buffet table spread across the bar. “Let’s get something to eat and then mingle with our guests,” he said. 

Matthys nodded in agreement as he observed the spread, some of it looked appetizing from a distance at least. He was thankful he had not eaten earlier.

“Ensigns Bollwyn and Clark,” spoke a formal but friendly tone from behind them.

Turning around together, both men saw their department head approaching them with a couple of other Cardassians. Lieutenant Commander Velesa appeared to be in a good mood (in fact, she was usually sending out positive vibes) as she introduced the two Cardassians on either side of her. 

“This is Gil Mereska,” she said, pointing to the woman to her left before turning to the man to her right. “And this is Gil Larman.” 

“Welcome to the Columbia,” Bollwyn said with a nervous smile.

“Thank you,” Larman said with a pleasant tone. Mereska just bowed her head at her hosts.

“Samwell, these two will be joining you and Clark on your away mission to the McAllister C-Five nebula tomorrow afternoon,” Velesa said with confidence. 

Bollwyn blushed a bit as he noticed his friend looking at him. Instead of reacting to him straight away, Bollwyn told their guests and his superior he looked forward to it and then suggested he and Clark get their visitors some drinks. Both asked for a glass of Kanar. Bollwyn nodded and then pulled Clark away by the wrist toward the bar.

“So there’s something I need to tell you,” Bollwyn admitted in a hushed whisper.

Matthys remained as calm as he could in front of his superior and the Cardassian guests, for the most part, his usual neutral and slightly disintered look maintained its composure. This changed swiftly as he let Bollwyn pull him by the wrist to the bar. While his face had somewhat of a curious expression, there was also a sharpness in his eyes that looked like it wanted to cut straight through Bollwyn. “What exactly did you do, Samwell?” 

“Well, let’s just say I volunteered us for one of the joint missions, but I never expected for us to be picked,” Bollwyn remarked. “I’m sorry, Matty; I thought the commander would never have picked us for such an important mission.”

It had confirmed his suspicions at least, he had not heard their superior wrong when she had described this away mission that included Matthys’ participation. He groaned and rolled his eyes rather dramatically. This was not his idea of a good time. It involved being in a crowded small vessel without the comforts and conveniences the Columbia offered. No – in fact – this was his version of purgatory, that his own friend had gotten him into.

“I only got told this morning that I’d be leading the away mission, and I was thinking of a way to tell you,” Bollwyn said. “And anyway, you still owe me for that shift I covered for you!”  He playfully poked his friend on the chest. 

Matthys groaned again, he was wondering when this card would be played. Given how close the two of them had become as a result of his sickbay shift mishap, part of him thought that perhaps Bollwyn having to work that extra shift a month back had been mostly forgotten and old news by now. “I do owe you,” he stated flatly.

“Listen, it’s only a few days on one of our state-of-the-art runabouts,” Bollwyn pleaded. “Plus, you get to have the best bunk mate who promises to make it up to you when we get back?”

“A runabout. I suppose that’s not all that bad then.” Matthys pursed his lips together for a moment and pondered the situation over once more. “You’ll make it up to me, you say?” He continued, having picked apart the last part of his colleague’s statement. He gave Bollwyn an ever so rare smile, although it appeared eerily cheshire-like.

“Anything you want…” Bollwyn said and then paused “within reason!”

“If it were anyone else, Samwell,” Matthys stared him directly in the eyes, his expression returning to his normal slightly hateful look. He sighed once more and seemed to move into the acceptance stage of his grief process rather quickly.

“Fine. Just call us even on saving my rear-end a month ago.” Matthys stated and then looked at the kanar that was brought over for them by the bartender. He resisted the urge to gag, “this stuff smells vile, Samwell– if they offer us a sip, please take mine.”

The two men grabbed a glass of kanar for each of their new guests and went over to talk more with them.