When Matthys had finished, Samwell topped up both their glasses and blew out a long breath. “Alright. My turn. Though I warn you, parts of it are ridiculous, and parts of it are not, and they don’t always give notice before switching.”
He turned his glass slowly by the stem as he spoke, the sky behind him deepening from peach towards rose. “The Odyssey was… an education. Chief communications officer of the smallest department on the biggest ship in the fleet. I spent the first six months terrified of everyone above the rank of lieutenant and the next year discovering they were the finest crew I could have asked for.” He smiled at some private memory. “And then the Delta Quadrant stopped being a grand adventure and became the Vaadwaur, and the Blackout, and eighteen months of things I will tell you about properly some evening when we have a bottle of something stronger and nothing to do the next day.”
Matthys could only imagine how much pressure that must have been, to be thrust into such a prominent position aboard one of the fleet’s most notable vessels so early in his career. He knew Samwell was more than capable, of course, but that knowledge did little to lessen the weight of the responsibility it must have felt like for him.
“The Vaadwaur…” Matthys’ own expression faltered for a moment. He had been aboard Pathfinder when it all unfolded, and like so many ships in the fleet, their own journey had been marked by loss. Even now, he could remember the smell of Sickbay as though it were yesterday. The blood. The unmistakable scent of death.
His gaze drifted back to Samwell, pulling himself away from memories he had no desire to revisit tonight either. He wouldn’t force the issue or conversation, but instead wanted enough to get the context he needed.
“Cliff notes then?” he asked with a small, encouraging smile, raising an eyebrow. “The bottle can wait for the full edition.”
Samwell paused. The lanterns along the beach glowed brighter as the light failed. “The short version is that a ship called the Whirlwind was sent out to find us and got torn half apart doing it. We pulled the survivors out of the wreck. Most of her crew were Vulcans, and most of them had just lost people they had served beside for years, and when Starfleet rebuilt her, they filled the gaps in the senior staff from the Odyssey. Captain Duncan took the chair. And somebody, in what I can only assume was a moment of administrative weakness, made me her chief science officer.”
“Most of the crew were Vulcans?” It was more a confirmation of his own thoughts than a question he expected Samwell to answer.
Matthys’ mind immediately wandered to what that must have been like. Samwell had gone from being Chief Communications Officer aboard one of the fleet’s largest and most prestigious starships to Chief Science Officer on a vessel where half the staff were Vulcan. He didn’t remember Samwell ever describing that as a particular challenge in their correspondence, but his own imagination filled in the blanks.
The endless, subtle critiques with undertones of shade.
The perfectly logical disagreements.
The impossibly high standards his friend must have navigated every single day.
Shaking his head, still half in disbelief at it, Samwell let the smile come back. “So that’s me. Head of sciences on a ship where half my department could out-logic a computer and the other half are transfers from the Odyssey like me, serving under a captain I would follow through a supernova. It’s good, Matty. It’s genuinely good. It has also been the heaviest year of my life, and I have discovered those two things can be true at the same time.” He lifted his glass again, wry. “Anyway. You may now tell me how impressed you are. I left three dramatic pauses in there specifically for that purpose.”
“If anyone can handle it, it’s you, my friend.” He offered Samwell a cheeky smile and took another sip of his drink. “You’re one of the smartest people I know.”
He paused for a moment. Giving his own dramatic pause.
“Well, you know I do love a good dramatic pause. Or three.” Matthys’ innocent smile turned decidedly less so as he continued. “But before I shower you with compliments, I need to call out that comment about following Captain Dunc the Hunk into a supernova. You know that’s what they call him, right? Dunc the Hunk.”
Matthys tried his best to keep a straight face. “Samwell… how do you even look him in the eyes without blushing? I know what happens to those cheeks of yours.”
Samwell choked on his drink, which was unfortunate, because his cheeks chose that exact moment to prove Matthys’s entire argument for him. He set the glass down with great dignity and lowered his voice to a scandalised whisper, glancing at the neighbouring tables as though Starfleet Intelligence might be dining among them.
“Matty! He is my commanding officer. He is married. To my first officer, who I brief every single morning, and who would know. And nobody calls him that on the Whirlwind, because we are professionals, and also because we would all like to live.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Matthys waved him off dismissively, though the grin never left his face. “But you have to admit… the nickname fits, doesn’t it?”
Samwell opened his mouth, closed it again, and took a long, deliberate sip of his wine instead.
“I am declining to answer that question,” he said at last, with all the composure he could gather, “on the grounds that I am fond of my career, my posting, and my continued existence. What I will say is that you were, as I recall, supposed to be showering me with compliments. I left those dramatic pauses in for a reason, and I am still waiting.”
“Fine.” Matthys chuckled. “Yes, I am impressed. Beyond impressed, actually.”
His teasing expression softened into a genuine smile.
“I’ve known since the Columbia that you were destined for great things, my friend. I never had a doubt. You’ll make captain before you’re thirty-five at this rate.”
He lifted his glass toward Samwell.
“And when that happens, I’ll be the first one reminding everyone I knew you before you got important enough to have your own ship.”
