Xandaria was a world unlike any other Hawkins had ever seen during his time working for Starfleet Intelligence. It was a vibrant, independent hub that refused allegiance to the Federation or the Romulan Free State. Xandaria existed in a raw, unrestrained freedom zone. It was free from any restrictions and a perfect place for those who wanted to escape from the watchful eye of either government. Those who visited it needed to be wealthy and have strong ties with those who were well-connected. So, being an undercover Starfleet officer, Hawkins had to have a strong background that would let him move freely among those who visited and lived on this independent world. Everything had been set. Hawkins was now an ex-Starfleet officer who had won riches and joined the Collector’s Guild. He was on Xandaria to begin his lavish attempts at building his own new mini-empire. Or so those who would look into him would believe. Thanks to Starfleet Intelligence. 

Hawkins had access to a penthouse suite in one of the finest hotels on the planet. As he started to enjoy this assignment, he would use his backstory to help him mingle with the powerful and wealthy. 

The capital city stretched beneath a sky painted with bright lights from hovering shuttles and transporters zipping between the towering skyscrapers that seemed to shimmer in the artificial glow. Buildings on Xandaria were grandiose, crafted from rare materials gleaming in metallic rose-gold hues and deep azure with walls embedded with crystals mined from Xandaria’s own surface, reflecting light like a fractured star.

He had only been on Xandaria for a brief amount of time now, and with help from his contacts within Starfleet Intelligence, was able to find out where Briasyraa, the apparent leader of the Orion Syndicate faction, stayed while on Xandaria. From what he had learnt more about the wealthy and influential woman, she liked to splash out with her wealth, almost showing it to people’s faces. Now, he found himself making his way towards an event, again helped by Starfleet Intelligence, to see Briasyraa and her mighty riches. If what the reports told him were true, she was suspected of hiding the technology stolen from the Mary Rose, and his former partner was involved, too.

This gala was meant to be one of many that Briasyraa held daily to showcase her wealth to those who could afford to attend. 

As Hawkins arrived at the gala’s entrance, he noted the attention to detail that marked the city’s ethos of lavish excess. Ornate arches adorned with silver and emerald carvings of mythical creatures marked the entrance to the gala. Exotic flowers bloomed in towering vases, their petals glowing faintly in bioluminescent shades of violet and green, filling the air with a subtle, intoxicating fragrance that hinted at power and allure.

The streets leading to the gala pulsed with activity, a constant thrumming of people from all walks of life. Merchants sold rare wares from kiosks, offering trinkets, gemstones, and fabrics spun from precious silks. Every stall exuded a sense of grand abundance. Alongside them, towering holographic ads promoting everything from high-stakes gambling venues to boutique resorts in the distant asteroid rings.

Xandaria’s population was as eclectic as the city itself. A mix of species—Orions, Betazoids, Ferengi, Humans, and others—moved fluidly through the streets, dressed in elaborate outfits that ranged from extravagant robes lined with precious stones to skin-baring ensembles meant to catch eyes and inspire curiosity. Conversations in a dozen languages filled the air with snippets of dealings, negotiations, and flirtations. It was a place where diplomacy, trade, and pleasure all existed within arm’s reach, and alliances could be made or shattered over a shared drink.

The gala was taking place within a glass-walled building at the heart of the capital city of Xandaria, a venue with multiple levels connected by spiralling staircases and glass lifts. The main hall was filled with various colourful lighting that cast the entire room in shades of green, gold, and violet. The ceilings soared high above, with chandeliers of raw crystal suspended in different shapes, softly glimmering. Tables were set with exotic dishes and drinks from across the galaxy, laid out for the guests, who lounged in plush chairs and on couches covered in rich velvet fabrics.

Music pulsed through the space, rhythmic and hypnotic, blending traditional Orion percussion and alien synth sounds that seeped into every corner of the room. Dressed in minimal outfits adorned with jewelled collars and cuffs, servers moved among the guests with practised grace, balancing trays of drinks and savoury delicacies. The performers were just as mesmerising, their bodies painted with glistening oils that shimmered under the lights, moving in rhythm with the music on small, raised platforms.

Hawkins slipped past a pair of emerald-lit fountains into the heart of the gala. His attire was explicitly chosen to catch the eyes of others without holding them for too long. His shirt was crafted from deep green and navy Tholian silk, the tight fabric clinging closely to his frame, almost translucent under the lights. Swirling patterns woven into the fabric hinted at glimmers of silver, highlighting the shirt’s delicate construction. The garment hugged his torso. Paired with dark, sharply tailored trousers just above a pair of sleek, ankle-high black boots, Hawkins looked extravagant and understated, perfectly designed for an event hosted by Briasyraa.

Hawkins ordered an Aldebaran whiskey at the bar, keeping his voice casual as he leaned against the counter, waiting for his drink. Scanning the crowd, he tried to discern familiar faces, picking up snatches of conversation. As he took his first sip, the bite of the whiskey warming his throat, he moved toward one of the platforms where two Orions danced, their movements undeniably provocative. For a moment, he lost himself in the performance, allowing himself to fade into the backdrop of the gala.

Then, a voice pierced through the music, low and unmistakably familiar.

“I always said you looked handsome in Tholian silk.”

Hawkins froze, his heart skipping as the voice’s velvety tones washed over him. He turned sharply, and there he was—Orlando Radcliffe, standing just a step away, his dark eyes gleaming, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. Hawkins took in Orlando’s appearance: confident, a hint of mischief in his gaze, his features as familiar as they were heartbreakingly perfect. Radcliffe had aged, but the kind of maturity only sharpened his magnetism. His dark hair was stylised the same way he had when he left D-S-19 two years ago, a long on top with a side part. He had gotten longer with tousled strands that fell just above his brows, framing his face with an effortless, almost roguish style. There was a glint of mischief in his hazel eyes, a brightness that seemed familiar and foreign, reflecting the memories they shared and the secrets he had been gathering since they parted ways.

Radcliffe wore equally elegant and defiant attire, ideally suited to their surroundings. His jacket, cut from deep charcoal fabric that shimmered under the low lights, hugged his shoulders and tapered down his torso, its metallic-threaded accents catching the faintest glimmers of emerald and gold. Beneath it, a shirt in midnight blue clung to him, almost second-skin tight, with a subtle, translucent quality that highlighted the athletic contours of his chest and arms, honed from years of Starfleet training and whatever rogue pursuits he’d adopted since.

A thin silver chain rested just at the base of his neck, barely visible but hinting at a talisman or a keepsake beneath his shirt—perhaps something meaningful, maybe something else. His expression softened as his lips curved into a familiar, crooked smile that looked both affectionate and daring—the same old Orlando with a few new twists.

For a second, Hawkins simply stared, absorbing the sight of his former lover, the man who had once shared his life, his secrets, and every small victory and failure in the academy dorms. The years had changed Radcliffe, but as he looked into his eyes, Hawkins knew the spark they once shared was still somewhere beneath the layers of mystery and time.

In an instant, Hawkins dissolved the restraint he had imposed upon himself. He crossed the gap between them, reaching out to pull Radcliffe close, their lips meeting in a fiery, almost desperate kiss. The world around them melted away, leaving only the warmth of Radcliffe and the familiar feel of his hands around him, grounding him in this moment. They broke apart only briefly, breathing in each other’s presence, eyes locking in silent acknowledgement of the years between them.

Without a word, Hawkins tugged Radcliffe away from the crowded room, weaving through the shadows toward a secluded alcove just beyond the reach of the gala’s pulsing lights. Once they were alone, Hawkins pressed him back against the wall and started to kiss him again. 

“Tom,” Radcliffe whispered between breaths, his voice thick with longing. “It’s been far too long.”

And in an instant, Hawkins pulled back and took a moment to take another long breath. “You son of a bitch.”