Entrepreneurship 2: A Guy's Gotta Make a Living

Entrepreneurship 2: A Guy’s Gotta Make a Living, Kara…

Every time he thought he had hidden that – monstrosity – ‘it’ ended up appearing in the worst places.

When he got his hands on one Kara Thrace and was finished wringing her neck, the deck crew was going to have to make her a new name-plate: SpaceJunk.

It was one thing for – it – to show up on his desk, in his locker, or, even, threaded through the pouch of his last pair of clean briefs. But today… By the Gods, Starbuck was SO going to get it for what she pulled today!

Marching down the corridor, every half-concealed snicker, every smirk, every knowing look he got only added to the scale of what he was going to do to his ‘best friend’.

The day started fine – albeit his eyes were a little heavy from playing Triad the night before. A call from CIC relayed that Starbuck had drawn the short straw and had been pulled out of the flight rotation to go out on a long patrol to scout for a new source of tylium, leaving him to take her nuggets out for hands-on training. Fine, done, whatever – like he couldn’t manage a group of trainees and drill Basic Flight information into their skulls? Sure he knew that Kat had a big mouth, Hot Dog was a little short on brains and that Chuckles earned his call sign the hard way – the kid laughed at anything and everything. How Kara could stand it, without pulling the kid’s tongue out and wrapping it around the nugget’s head, was beyond him. But being trapped in a lecture room would be the equivalent of being sent to Tartarus. Although, as he listened to Katraine snap her chewing gum in between comments as she tried her best to imitate Starbuck’s natural insubordination, had him thinking that spending eternity in Tartarus might not be such bad price to pay for airlocking one of the nuggets before the day was done. After all, he and Old Tantalus could talk about cooking if nothing else.

Setting down the pointer, he looked at the next segment of Starbuck’s lesson plan and herded her nuggets out onto the Flight Deck. A quick word with Tyrol, a nod to Cally and a raising his eyes to the ceiling with a ‘thank the Gods’ expression on his face, he was back to being Professor Adama as he ordered the class into their fighters. Heart lifted at the thought of being in the sky – and away from Hot Dog and the ‘mysterious rash’ the nugget kept trying to ask his opinion about – and in his own Viper, he bounded up the ladder, swung his leg over, straddled his seat, already mentally running through the pre-flight checklist, and let gravity do the rest.

Yelping, he bolted upright and pushed himself up and backed away as far from his seat as possible. That was when he looked down and saw ‘it’.

‘It’ was taped, flange side down and was pointing straight up – tall and proud as the day it was made.

A discreet cough had him turning his narrowed blue eyes at Cally, as she stood just off his starboard side. The laugh on her face was highlighted by the sparkle in her brown eyes.

“You okay, Captain?” She couldn’t keep a straight face. Her mirth leaked from her eyes and filled in the smirk that twisted the corners of her mouth.

“Yeah – fine – thanks, Cally.” How else was he supposed to answer? It wasn’t like he had a lot of options, now did he? Like he could come out and say that he had been inches away from standing in the Quartermaster’s office, requisitioning a new flight suit? Yeah – he could hear how that conversation would go: yes, sir –that’s right; I need a new flight suit because I landed ass-first on a…

Coming up behind Cally, Tyrol nodded up to Lee, breaking off his train of thought. “Is everything alright, sir? Something about my bird I need to know about?”

The urge to tell the Chief that he was a terrible liar and wipe that ‘just doing my job’ look off his face was enough for Lee to add one more thing to his ‘To Do’ list: lock Tyrol in a storage locker with Sergeant Hadrian. Swallowing the twenty caustic comments that sprang, he opted for a steely look and a tone of voice that would have sent anyone else scampering to the farthest side of the ship. “I just thought I saw something in my Viper. That’s all.”

“You, too?” Coming up from his port side, Racetrack casually leaned her shoulders against the nose of his Mark VII and crossed one ankle over the other. “Captain - I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

A ray of hope that Racetrack was on his side had him opening his mouth before he could check himself. “You do?”

“Yeah, the same thing happened to me just the other day.” Everyone was listening to the petite brunette. “I opened the hatch on my Raptor with my pre-flight list in my hand, and I saw a mouse scurry out my Raptor. I let out this girly-ass screech – just like you just did – and then tore everything apart, looking to see if there were any more critters in my Raptor.”

Piping up from his other side, Cally cooed excitedly. Too excitedly – she was deliberately excited. He was convinced of it.

“Really – you saw a mouse? When?”

“There are no mice on my hanger deck, you two!”

Lee cringed. Tyrol’s voice could drown out a fractured gimble if he wanted it to, and with the word ‘mice’ bouncing off the shield doors and ricocheting to the ears of every specialist in the hanger bay, he was now the centre of attention. Groaning out loud would only make the situation worse. At this point, even Tantalus would be asked to be tied up to a different tree to get away from Lee Adama. Hell, Lee wanted to get away from himself as more people grouped around his fighter.

“Oh, yeah? Well, how do you explain what Racetrack saw?”

Lee groaned. It was Kat. In all her gum-snapping, loud mouth glory, and she chose this particular moment to antagonize the Chief. The one man who made sure she had a Mark II to frak up as she learned to fly Vipers.

“Listen nugget…” Tyrol’s words were a rumble in his chest before he even spoke them.

“That’s ‘lieutenant’ to you, Chief. I outrank you!” Kat crossed her arms and turned out her hip. Hot Dog was right behind her. He might not know what she was saying, or why she was saying it, but he wasn’t going to leave his wingman hanging. That much was evident.

“Captain Adama – what colour mouse was it?” Cally turned her eyes to him, making like she had a genuine fondness for the four-legged vermin. Layered over Cally, he could hear Racetrack arguing with Tyrol, Katraine interjecting her tarnished two cubits whenever Tyrol and Racetrack took a breath, only to have Hot Dog say something that had to do with something that was said two sentences ago, as he heard Tyrol lob a question at Cally asking her to vindicate him about how cleanly he ran his deck. It so figured – every time Starbuck went away, something like this happened to him. Why couldn’t everyone just shut the frak up, go do something else and let him take care of his ‘problem’ with a little dignity?

One after another, Privacy, Dignity and Discreetness waved ‘bye, bye’ as they left him standing alone inside the cockpit of his Viper ready to tear his hair out.

“I never saw a mouse! Okay? I hopped in my Viper and sat on this!” Reaching forward, the sound of something being ripped free guaranteed him instant mortification as he waved his right hand a round in the air, his fingers brandishing the ridiculously sized dildo that Kara tricked him into ‘winning’ two weeks ago. “This is what I sat on, okay?”

Turning to Cally, he shook his hand in her direction as an incredible blush spread from her neck and connected every freckle on her face. “There were never any mice.”

Singling out Racetrack with help from his ‘visual aid’, he added, “There are no mice on Galactica – period.”

Skewering Katraine with eyes that traced the length of his right arm, his wrist cocked in her direction as the thing in his hand bobbed to the rhythm of his words, “And you will give the Chief your utmost respect at all times, am I understood?” Using the phallus to point in the opposite direction, he issued the two nuggets orders, “Now, get to your birds and do your pre-flight checks.”

On a roll and unconsciously transferring the dildo to his other hand, he swung his left arm at Tyrol only to see the Chief crook his elbows in mock-surrender.

“Hey – easy there, Captain. Watch where you point that thing; you’re gonna blind someone with that if you aren’t careful.” Stepping backwards, with his hands still raised, Tyrol gave a playful tug on Cally’s coveralls and jerked his head towards where Lee was still standing inside his fighter. Lee saw her nod to the Chief. She gave the Chief a look that was like she was grateful he had reminded her of something she forgot to do.

“Sir – would you like to me to hold onto your, errmmm, ‘phallic representation’ while you’re off-ship?” Her voice was deceptively sweet and just a shade too coached for Lee to buy her ‘Little Miss Innocent Act’. But that didn’t stop her from adding, “I’ll make sure nothing happens to your toy. I promise.”

A nasty suspicion was starting to fester as the prime instigators of this morning’s prank were identified. Cally, Racetrack – the only one missing was Kara. The same three who were behind building, marketing and distributing the… hottest commodities…on Galactica.

Turning the frakking toy around in his palm, Lee felt the blush that was steaming his eyes dry spread all the way to his toes when he realized he had offered Cally the flared end of the dildo with all the pomp of someone surrendering a firearm. Watching her slip it into one of the pockets of her coveralls, Lee scrubbed a hand over his hot face. Several inches – more enough to identify what it was – of the blasted thing was poking out Cally’s pocket as she made her way back to her station. The thought that she might take pity on him and airlock that ‘thing’ was an exercise in wishful thinking. He had a front row seat when Wingnut stopped Cally in mid-stride and asked her what was in her pocket. A fresh wave of mortifying heat melted his flight suit onto his body as Wingnut guffawed and Cally slapping the other man on the arm and telling him that it wasn’t funny only made the whole event all that much worse. One thing was certain, though. It was going to be a long time before he lived this one down.

The sound of chewing gum snapping had him focusing on where Hot Dog and Kat were making their way to their birds. It was Hot Dog who confirmed just who had to thank for this morning’s fun.

“Damn – Starbuck was right. The CAG DOES blush like a girl!”

Which was why, now, three hours later, after making each of those nuggets do so many gruelling manoeuvres that each of them emptied the contents of their stomachs as soon as they pried off their helmets, he gave Tyrol an insincere shrug of apology as Chuckles didn’t quite make it out of his Viper before he spewed all over the control and DRAEDIS consoles.

Stepping out into the corridor and making for his office, Lee directed all of his skills learned at War College towards attaining one morally imperative objective: retribution. His reputation was on the line – after all, Kara had bested him twice in two weeks.

It was time to even the score.

Slumping down in his chair and bringing two fingers just under his bottom lip, the longer he sat there the more he was convinced that there might be a few other individuals who might be interested in one-upping The Big Dog.

Bsg xxx Bsg

Spending three frakking days in a Raptor sucks.

Long patrols suck.

Long patrols that last for three frakking days REALLY suck.

But, it had been worth it. Or so she’d been told.

Leaving her debriefing and mapping out on the star chart exactly where she and Seelix found the much-needed tylium deposits, all she wanted was to get out of her flight suit, visually entertain the idea of burning the ass-nasty thing as she scrubbed three days of grime off her body, crawl into her rack and sleep for the next millennium or eighteen hours – whichever came first. At this point, she wasn’t about to be picky.

Clawing her hand though her hair and grimacing at the crud that she scraped away with her fingernails, she headed straight for her locker. Ignoring the fact that Coda snapped his locker shut as soon as he recognized who had walked into the bunkroom, she headed straight for her locker, spun the dial and held the door open with her foot as she grabbed her shower kit and enough clean clothes to get her back to quarters without infringing on anyone’s sensibilities. Tucking the bag under her arm, she turned and barely gave Coda or his nervous expression a second glance as she headed back out and towards the showers. Striding down the hall, she prayed that there wasn’t a line of people waiting for hot water because if there was, they were going to have to wait that much longer – until she was done – to get their turn.

Making her way to the head, she couldn’t help but notice all the restrained smiles she was getting. Or, how, if some was wearing a cap, they’d touch it and offer her a reverent, ‘ma’am’, or if a crewmember was in uniform, she’d get an abbreviated salute.

At first, it was funny. People – saluting her? Yeah, she was fairly fabulous. And yeah, she was an officer. And yeah, even if someone didn’t like her personally, they at least respected her – she had earned that much from the crew. But there was something – different – about this level of attention she was getting.

Shrugging it off and deciding she’d figure it out another day when she wasn’t so butt-ass tired, she spun open the hatch to the Officer’s Head.

Someone must have circulated the memo that she was back and in dire need of hygiene because she didn’t have to beat anyone down for a shower stall – there was nobody there!

Stripping down where she stood, she left her flight suit and ‘g’-shorts in a grimy puddle on the floor. As for everything else, she flung her tanks, briefs, sports bra – everything – into the hamper and buried them deep. No need for anyone else to see what she had been living with for the past three days. Padding barefoot on the tiles, her fingers closed in on the hot water spigot and she cranked the dial all the way to the right, making the water as hot as she could stand it. Stepping underneath the stream and reaching for her soap, her hands didn’t stop scrubbing her body until her arms ached and she couldn’t feel a difference in temperature between what flowed out of showerhead and the ceramic tiles underneath her feet.

Feeling like she was worthy of re-joining human race now that she had clean clothes on a clean body, she slung her towel over her wet head and made for the Senior Officer’s Quarters. The thought of being stopped on her way to some peace and quiet for the sake of some mundane small talk was ugly enough to make her take the ‘back road’ to the bunkroom. The effort it would take NOT to put someone in Sickbay for three days, so that the hapless crewmate would know how her flight was when they asked, was her incentive to avoid as many people as she could.

At least, that was the plan. Until she spied a furtive looking Gaeta emerge from a distant supply closet. Letting her instincts take over, a length of towel concealed most of her face and she reflexively tipped her chin down. Peering up through a gap in the folds, she saw the Tactical Officer look both ways as he tucked a decent sized box underneath his arm and headed down the corridor, away from where she slowed her pace to a stroll.

Trailing Felix was easy. As long as she kept up the charade of being just another shipmate coming back from the showers, she never gave him a reason to be suspicious – she blended into the ebb and flow of staff persons coming and going about their duties.

The whine of engines and the clanking of metal being repaired told her exactly where he was going before she even stepped onto the catwalk that extended over the hanger deck. Stopping in a discreet corner of the suspended walkway, she visually tracked the dark-haired man down the narrow set of stairs and watched as he made very subtle eye contact with the Chief.

What was interesting was that Tyrol didn’t call on Gaeta being on deck, in his blues, looking like he was somewhere he wasn’t suppose to be. Instead, the Chief made it look like he was scratching his chin with his shoulder – which just happened to be in the same direction where Jammer was accepting a pre-flight checklist list from Helo.

A pile of assorted supplies – some in boxes, others in different containers – stood off to one side. She had to give the grown nerd credit; he did a good job of not implicating anyone when Gaeta set his box down on a pre-dedicated spot and cleared out as fast as his legs could carry him.

Crossing the deck, giving the clipboard he had just taken from Helo and pressing it into the Chief’s hands, Kara could just make out Tyrol’s lips barely moving. Jammer’s nod was less subtle. Seeing the Specialist scoop up several different boxes – including Gaeta’s – and watching as he made it a point to drop off other packages before making a ‘special delivery’ to Helo’s Raptor was commendable. Not the way she would do it – leave it to men to make a simple smuggling job complicated – but it got the job done.

Narrowing her eyes, fighting her tiredness, pieces started to fall into place as she ticked off the name of the players. Gaeta to Tyrol, Tyrol to Helo, Gaeta to Tyrol – the only one who was missing out of this pretty group of amateurs was Lee. Another piece falling into place made her close her eyes and puff out a heavy breath through her nose. Lee. Lee would make the schedule for the Raptor flights that Tyrol would prep, which Jammer would help load with whatever it was that Gaeta delivered in the first place as Helo took – whatever it was – off ship.

Tapping her thumbs against the railing, she turned on her heel and made for the Pilot’s Ready Room.

Standing in front of the white-board, she crossed referenced Helo’s name with the mission assigned. It was a little hard to make out, but there it was: Raptor Seventeen to The Rising Star to deliver parts and technical data; Raptor Seventeen to The Aerilon Maiden with technical data; Raptor Seventeen to The Geminon Traveller with technical data.

“Technical data, my ass,” she murmured to no one. ‘Whatever it was’, she would bet her Viper it wasn’t training manuals and instructional discs being taken to the outer edges of the Fleet.

Slipping out of the Ready Room without being seen was easier than following Gaeta to the hanger bay.

Sliding into her rack and pulling her privacy curtain shut, two thoughts stood out from all the others in her head as blessed sleep took hold of her.

‘Whatever it was’ had a name and just what were those boneheads getting off ship that they didn’t want anyone to know about?

Xxx Bsg Xxx

If ‘Smug’ were a name, it would be Lee Adama.

That frakker was SO up to something. She knew it. Even as he ran beside her through the ship, playing dumb to the looks she was still getting from more and more people, he wasn’t giving anything away.

Taking the stairs two at a time, forcing air in and out of her lungs and slowing for the up-coming straight-away, she put her breaths and footfalls on ‘auto-pilot’ and let her mind wander.

The idea of finding someone who was more afraid of her than Lee and getting that person tell her what the Good Captain was up to was jettisoned out of the nearest Logic Airlock. This time, finding someone who was more afraid of her was going to work against her rather than work for her. Anyone who was afraid of her before she cornered them would only be more resolved not to tell her anything on the principle of keeping all their appendages attached if they did tell her anything. So, that wasn’t going to work. Not to mention that coercion didn’t feel like the right way to go about discovering what Lee and his cronies were up to. Granted he didn’t have the finesse that she had perfected when it came to pulling off a scheme, but he was trying so hard to be slick – the least she could do was play at his level.

Chancing a look at Kara as he tightened his elbows closer to his body and picked up his pace, he was conflicted. On one hand, things were going smoothly. Everything was going out on time, he and Kara had only exchanged a few good-natured barbs about her little prank on him, and they both let the incident lie at that. On the other hand, she was definitely up to something.

He could tell because she was unusually quiet this morning. Had been since yesterday when she woke up after some extended, well-deserved rack time. Normally when they ran together, they bantered back and forth if they were taking it easy. Or, on other occasions, if he or Kara needed to run in order to pound out anger-management issues, it was an unspoken arrangement that the other person just kept up and kept quiet. But not today – today the pace was moderate but not so fast that he needed his full attention to successfully plant each foot in front of the other. She was definitely up to something.

Taking the next turn, still running in tandem, her posture wasn’t rigid. She was distracted and he had to admit that it looked good on her. Her face wasn’t scrunched up in a scowl, there was no trace of that famous Starbuck smirk and the way her eyes were bright with intelligence as she put her more than capable brain to work made his breath quicken. She really was a beautiful creature. Long lines, elegant power and an inherent gracefulness that was lethal as much as it was ethereal. Inwardly shaking his head, he snorted at the people who labelled him the brains and her the brawn of Starbuck and Apollo. If they only knew! Her street-wise smarts were a perfect match for his War College education, and only a fool thought that strength was measured by how much someone could bench-press. Just thinking about when he had her trapped between his arms in the brig and the way her heartbeat fluttered at the base of her throat and the tempting aroma that came from her heated skin was enough to make him grateful he had slipped an over-sized t-shirt over his head before they started out this morning.

That didn’t mean he felt ANY guilt over what he was doing. Frak that! No, if anything, everything was going according to plan. In fact, if things kept going the way they were, it wouldn’t be long before –

“Hey – I’ll catch up with ya later. Okay?”

Kara swinging out the back of her hand and tapping his upper arm completely shattered his train of thought, not to mention her barely waiting for him to nod that he had heard her before she took a hard left and was out of sight before he could say anything.

Bsg Xxx Bsg

Oh. My. Gods. Why didn’t he know better?

Standing outside the door of the Firing Range, Gunny thumped his head against the sound proof glass. This was one guard-duty he was only too glad to do because it was the last stipulation on Starbuck’s list.

Why didn’t he say ‘no’ when that firecracker of a blonde sauntered up to him, clunked a bottle of the Chief’s Brew – the good stuff, no less – onto the table and poured each of them a couple inches of the ‘Beverage of the Condemned’ before she even sat down?

A couple of hours and the whole bottle later had him staggering off to his rack. Why, oh why, had he forgotten how underhanded the Lieutenant could be? He had been bamboozled, and if anybody asked, that was what he was going to say that happened to him. He couldn’t help it! He had – and still did, despite what she had done to him, a schoolyard crush on the hot-shot Viper pilot ever since she sashayed up to him, told him she was a better shot then he’d ever be, and then proved it on the firing range in front of the Commander and everyone else. And, not to mention that there was something downright sexy about a woman who could be all woman even when she had some poor bastard braced up against the wall and her fingers curled around the lapels of the snit’s shirt.

It was the nauseating smell of burned powdered eggs swimming in ancient grease that woke him up to the worst hang-over he had ever experienced. And the person waving the pan underneath his nose was Starbuck. It was all he could do not to throw up in his rack when she passed the pan underneath his nose, let alone sit up and keep his stomach down. All bets were off when she shoved a spoonful of that greasy, nasty mess into his mouth. His boots were the only things he could reach in time that came close to being a receptacle. Then, she started in on her questions about Apollo.

That was her plan all along. Not to get him drunk but to make sure he was so hung over that he would be at her mercy and that foul-smelling, stomach churning mess that wiggled in that frakking pan that she wasn’t afraid to wield if she thought he wasn’t paying close enough attention to what she was asking.

Still hung over but finally away from those burned eggs, he – the Master Marine – was now reduced to look-out as he opened the door to firing range. He nodded respectfully at Cally and Meg and pulled it shut behind them. Peering in through the thick glass, he saw Starbuck pass a disc to each woman and then place her hands on her hips. Pacing the floor, he knew what she was saying even though he couldn’t hear her words. Watching Cally and Racetrack drop their jaws and start adding their own hand movements to the dialogue was too much for his visually sensitive stomach.

Turning around and leaning against the cool metal siding of the corridor, he rolled his eyes and went back to chastising himself.

He SO should have known better than to let Starbuck get a hold of him. She was definitely the most dangerous woman in the Fleet.

Despite his misery, a faint stirring in his hips reminded him why he wouldn’t want her to be any other way. A quick glance through the window got him a fabulous profile shot of the blonde – she definitely had all the right equipment in all the right places.

Xxx Bsg Xxx

Opening up his locker, fishing for a clean set of tanks, a note with his name on it rested on a pair of briefs. Picking it up and unfolding it, a smile spread across his face and changed his view on just what kind day he was going to have.

Lee,

There is a seat for you on the shuttle to The Rising Star leaving at 2100 hours; meet me at The Wharf. No uniforms allowed.

Kara

Bsg Xxx Bsg

Lying side by side on a creeper, Jammer had his fingers pinching close a leaking coolant line but Tyrol could see that his grip wasn’t going to last long.

Springing up, he made it to his tool box and started rifling though the drawers. Opening the third drawer, a wayward spanner nearly buried a piece of paper.

Pulling it free and scanning the words, he shoved it in his pocket. Spying the pliers he needed and making his way back to Jammer, he murmured, “I’ll be on that shuttle, Cally.”

Xxx Bsg Xxx

Sitting down at a table in Central Mess, Gaeta set down his tray and opened his napkin. An unexpected hand coming down on his shoulder nearly had him upsetting his cup of coffee.

“Hey Gaeta – I think you dropped this back there.” Seelix said.

“No – I don’t think I did,” came out of Gaeta’s mouth too late, because even as he said the words, she placed a piece of paper next to his fork and was already making her way out of the cafeteria.

Watching her take a left and head out of sight, it was an unconscious act that had him picking up Seelix had left behind for him.

Lunch never tasted so good and a quick glance at the clock told him that he only had eight hours to wait before his Raptor to The Rising Star was due to depart.

Bsg Xxx Bsg

Twirling his pen through his fingers, the idea of spraining his thumb to avoid latest round of paperwork was growing more appealing by the moment.

The sound of running feet and an enthusiastic, “Helo!” was a welcomed break from the monotony.

Looking up at the slim brunette, he had to smile. Racetrack – Meg – was being very bouncy and it was infectious. “Hey – what’s up?”

“I have a HUGE favour to ask.” A demure smile and a wicked glint came to her eye as she flashed a clipboard of her own at him.

“Oh, yeah? Whatcha’ thinking?” It was the kind of glint that made him think he was going to get the better end of whatever deal she was going to propose.

“Well-ell…,” she drawled. “You see – I have this run that I’m supposed to make to The Rising Star tonight. You know the kind; take people there, drop them off, wait for them to have a good time while not being required to report back to the Raptor until zero-seven-thirty the next morning for the return trip back to Galactica.”

“But…” He left the rest of his words hanging in the air.

“But I’m feeling this cough coming on and I think it’s in my best interest to – you know – stay out of the cockpit tonight. Maybe do some paperwork?” She set down her clip board with her mission profile on it and reached for the stack of reports piled in front of him. Fanning her face with the papers, she was all about looking out for her fellow pilots – namely one Karl Agathon and one Margaret Edmundson. “I’d feel terrible if I infected anyone.”

“You know Meg,” Helo wasn’t born yesterday. He had a sneaking suspicion that Meg’s latest conquest also had tonight off. But he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Still sitting, he stretched out an arm and curled his fingers around the edge of her clipboard and gave her a broad, conspiratorial smile. “We need more people like you in the Fleet.”

“From your mouth to the Gods’ ears, Helo,” Racetrack concurred, brushing her forefinger against the outside tip of her nose.

Exchanging knowing winks, she was already through the hatch when he saw her stop and turn around. “Don’t forget – lift off is at nineteen-hundred hours.”

Xxx Bsg Xxx

The Wharf had everything a good ‘sailor’ needed. Good music, good light shows, good booze, a good dance floor and plenty of good things to look at when a thirsty patron wasn’t knocking back their favourite drink, dancing to their favourite song, or watching one shows, movies or Pyramid games – taped before the end of the worlds – on any on the large screen hanging on the back wall of the club.

Making his way through the crowd, Lee knew he looked good. A tight black t-shirt bummed from one of Gunny’s men fit like a glove without riding up or being binding. A little bit of product borrowed from Hot Dog touched up the tips of his hair, a pair of decently fitting slacks with a black belt snaking around his waist set off his narrow hips and washboard stomach perfectly without over dressing what was underneath. The only thing he was wearing that could even be remotely considered as part of his ‘uniform’ was the chronometer around his wrist.

Just because the note was signed by Kara, didn’t mean that she was going to show tonight. He could be dealing with Starbuck all evening. That thought was enough to get him up to the bar and ordering a drink; his shuttle mate, the person he had walked in with, had already been approached by a very attractive woman and taken to the dance floor

Tipping back his glass and swallowing a mouthful, a genuine smile spread across his face as he saw Helo come towards him from the other side of the bar.

Without his uniform, Lee wanted to be Lee. And, seeing Helo dressed in a pair of well-tapered slacks and a dark green, loosely fitting shirt open at the neck, it looked like the taller man had the same idea.

Clasping hands, Lee spoke first. “Karl – when did you get here? I didn’t see you on the shuttle?”

Switching his drink to his other hand, Helo was glad that call signs and ranks weren’t going to be part of the evening’s equation.

“That’s because I wasn’t on the shuttle, Lee. I came in on the Raptor. You aren’t going to believe who else was a passenger.”

“Me, too – guess who I rode in with…” Lee matched Helo’s surprise timbre for timbre.

“Hey – Felix!” Karl craned his neck and bellowed over his shoulder. A rousing cheer went up from somewhere in the back corner and out of the crowd stumbled Gaeta – already two parsecs past Geminon.

Using the backings of the barstools as support, Felix was all smiles as he made his way towards the guys. He was having a great night. His stylish, banded collared shirt was open at the throat and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He might be jovially leaning his elbow on Karl’s shoulder, but another familiar face emerging from the dance floor caught his alcohol hazed eyes.

It was the Chief and the man definitely knew how to put on something other than fluorescent orange coveralls. The white shirt skimming his hips and the matching white pants were of a soft, drapey material that highlighted his muscle tone and broad shoulders without making him loom like a giant. A pair of casual shoes and his natural dark eyes and hair was the only accessories he needed. Offering his hand to same lovely young woman who picked him up when he and Lee first entered the bar, wearing ridiculously high-heeled shoes, as she minced her way down the few steps the separated the bar floor from the raised dais that was the dance area, he settled her in a chair at a nearby table and took his leave. Hearing Felix over the din and making eye contact, he tacked in their direction. He only stopped once and that was to ask a waitress to bring a drink and an apology to the woman he left sitting by herself.

Helo stuck out his hand and let the stunned look on his face speak for itself. “I can’t believe you just did that! She’s a babe!”

“Nah – she wasn’t my type – too high maintenance.” Shaking the ECO’s hand and hearing the collective groan at his inadvertent pun, Galen shrugged his shoulders and tipped his chin in her direction. “Anyway, don’t be feeling too bad for her gentlemen. Women like her don’t sit alone for very long.”

Surreptitiously, leaning back on the heels of his feet, Lee looked at the woman Galen was so blasé about. And sure enough, not two minutes had passed since the waitress dropped off her drink and Galen’s apology when another man approached her table and after a brief exchange, led her back up to the dance floor.

Taking another draw on his drink, Lee let a little mischievousness pepper his tone. “So – what’s your type?”

A whisper of tension hung in the air between Karl and Galen. Felix didn’t move his arm from Karl’s shoulder, but he certainly felt the taller man’s posture become a little more rigid underneath his elbow.

“Oh – you know; about yea high,” Galen lifted his hand until it hovered about sixty-four inches off the ground. “Brown eyes, and brown hair,” looking at Karl with an easy, open look, the tension dissipated as he continued his description, “and prefers to keep her feet on the ground rather than her hands on the steering stick of a Raptor.” Accepting Karl’s silent apology with a very subtle twitch of the shoulder for even considering that Galen had any lingering feelings for Sharon, Galen turned the tables onto Felix. “What about you – what’s your type?”

“Me?” Caught in mid-swallow, Felix started talking with his hands before a single word came out of his mouth, “Anyone who can debate – intelligently – on the applications of algorithms in a negative infinity equation.”

Lee shook his head. Gaeta – Felix – wasn’t making sense. “But algorithms are finite – right?”

“My one true love has been in front of me the whole time!” Felix gushed. Disengaging from his perch on Karl’s shoulder, he was two steps away from embracing Lee when the wary expression on the other man’s face had him explaining himself. “See – that’s my test. That is my number one criteria – you gotta be smart to even show up on my radar.” Polishing off his drink, he nudged Karl, “Your turn, big guy.”

Wrapping his long arms around his considerable chest, Karl looked at someone who wasn’t in the bar with them. “Smart is definitely up there. And, she has to be a woman – not a girl – but a woman. There are some women that are fifty years old and are still girls, and I’ve seen girls as young as fifteen become women. For me, though, the connection is the biggest thing.” Nodding his head, he clarified what he meant. “You can be with a woman as much as humanly possible, but if that connection isn’t there, then all you have is a friendship not a relationship. You can be from two different worlds or right next door to you, and as long as that connection is there, then that person is the person for you.” Caught up in his thought, he had to pitch his voice above the music changing up. “It’s like that person is carrying a piece of your soul that you didn’t even know you were missing until she looks at you and – BAM! – you just know that she’s the one because that little piece of you that doesn’t quite fit you – that has been niggling you ever since you found it – fits her and no one else but her. And it’s not like you can’t exist without it – but there is a huge gap between existing and living my friends.”

Lee had barely looked at Galen when the deck chief put the same question to him; he was saved by the house lights dimming and adding his own clapping to the round of applause the spread across the bar.

From the music booth, a male voice projected over the din and nearly drowned out the first few bars of next song being played. “Ladies and gentlemen – feast your eyes on the centre screens!”

On the dance floor, the crowd parted and moved to the side so that those on the floor could see more clearly as a video started to play and the accompanying music level rose.

It was their video – the project they masterminded to counter the vibrators Kara, Cally and Meg created last month. No one was going to buy what was being played for free. Their little enterprise was sunk. And it was such a brilliant idea!

It was set to a primal, thumping, drum beat baseline superimposed over one of the dance hits that had been all the rage before the worlds ended. It featured shots of sweaty, sexy Starbuck, Cally and Racetrack in the gym working out – pumping iron, gloved fists taking shots at the punching bag, doing callisthenics. Sweaty, wet hair and high ponytails swinging from side-to-side, arm muscles straining and gleaming with sweat as push-ups were performed, strong legs attached to well-sculpted butts pumping out miles on the stair-climber machine. Feminine curves and body parts dangled over feminine strength as the women helped each other count out sit-ups and crunches and straddled each other’s bodies as they spotted each other on the weight-lifting equipment. Specific shots of each of the women with a single bead of sweat rolling down a specific body parts highlighted the segment. For Cally, it was a heavy bead of sweat sliding down her neck, over her pulse point and disappearing between her cleavage. Racetrack, towel in hand, back arched, trying to reach a glistening drop of sweat that was slipping down the length of the groove of her spine. Starbuck’s was a close up of a smirking side-long glance she was giving someone off-frame, as a single, thick, bead of sweat slid from her temple and slipped over her carotid artery. Interspersed among the working-out shots were images of a sexy-feisty Cally ruling the flight deck and not taking any crap from anyone, a sequence featuring Racetrack herding a Cylon Heavy Raider into Galactica’s suppression barrage, which was then quick-cut to Starbuck firing at a pack of Raiders and taking out three in rapid succession, each one after another.

A collective ‘whoop’ went spread out through the crowd as the nameplates on Starbuck’s and Racetrack’s birds waxed in and out of focus when the Viper and Raptor burned a path through the debris of destroyed Cylon ships.

Then it stopped. The screens went black and the music stopped. Hands on their hips, walking side-by-side, three figures were striding forward and taking a position on the centre of the dance floor

If it was possible for the four of them to get out of the bar with any kind of dignity, the three on stage made sure that window had passed.

Leave it to Felix to beat them all to the punch and say out loud what each of them was thinking.

“We are so frakked.”

Xxx Bsg Xxx

It was Cally, Racetrack and Starbuck – in that order – standing in the middle of the dance floor.

What they were wearing might have been, at some point in time, Colonial issued, regulation-specific, uniforms – but not anymore.

Their outfits blew the regulations out the nearest airlock along with most of the air from every male’s lungs in the place, and the clubbers who were still standing on the dance floor relocated to the bar area.

Cally had on her orange coveralls, but the zipper had been pulled all the way down and the only thing keeping the two halves of the jumpsuit together was her low-slung ‘tool belt’ that carried nothing that would fix a Viper. Pale skin highlighted by a black sports bra with a saucy, high ponytail swinging back and forth didn’t over-expose the young specialist. Rather, it gave the appearance of a ‘good girl’ who knew how to be ‘bad’.

Next to her stood Racetrack; an unsteady breath dragged over teeth made Lee spare one eye to look at Felix. The younger man had his mouth hanging open and his eyes were blinking like he didn’t believe what he was seeing.

“I never knew…” His voice trailed off as he found it within himself to at least close his mouth and lick his suddenly dry mouth.

“That Racetrack had such a great pair of legs?” Galen finished his mate’s sentence. A quirked eyebrow competed for face-space as the protective scowl he was glowering at those salivating over Cally deepened. “You climb up and down – off the skid boards of a Raptor – a couple of hundred times a week and then let’s see what your legs look like, Felix.” Winging an elbow at a stunned Karl, Galen added, “And whose uniform do you think she’s wearing?”

That got Karl snapping his head at Galen and then looking at Lee. Who had to agree with the Chief, “He’s right.”

Not exactly the shortest woman in the Fleet, there were only a few persons from whom she could’ve swiped a uniform jacket from that would be long enough to wear as a ‘dress’. From her wrists, to the Lieutenant pins at her neck, and to the first couple of inches of her thighs, Racetrack was covered – by the jacket of Karl’s uniform. The blue colour set off her dark hair and creamy complexion. It was long enough to provide a provocative shadow that hid the inside of her thighs no matter how much she lengthened her stride, but just barely. Normally threaded through the belt loops of the matching trousers, the belt cinched around her waist accentuated her figure and provided that smidgen of needed modesty to make the fabric swish with her movements. The arms, bust and waist had been nipped and tucked cleverly; not a single curve was hidden. From the hem of the jacket to bottoms of her feet, the only other thing she was wearing was smooth, flawless skin and a pair of moderately heeled dress shoes. It was the image of a strong, sexy woman who knew exactly who she was.

Taking in the taller man’s expression, Lee nodded teasingly to Karl. “So, you think you could wear that for me some time?”

The look Lee got back was the epitome of ‘that’s fair’ when Karl smoothly jutted his head to the last person standing on the stage, “Only when you look that good in a flight suit.”

It was Starbuck, wearing a flight suit, boots and all. But it wasn’t hers and it was at least one size too small, if not two. Buckles all locked into place, straining to stay connected and zipped up, the tight suit showcased every sweet inch of her toned, definitely female body from her nipped waist, high, firm butt, generous bust and sexy, strong shoulders. Looking down at an empty glass, Lee couldn’t remember when he knocked the rest of it back. But, if the burning sensation in the back of his throat was any indication, it was within seconds and all at once.

Stepping forward, pressing the headset that was cleverly concealed by her hair more firmly against her ear, Racetrack’s voice carried over the din of appreciative cat-calls and wolf-whistles.

“You all paid for that?” Tossing her thumb at the video screens behind her, Cally and Starbuck, the blatant scoff in her tone didn’t deter anyone in the bar from clapping wildly and whistling. “Did you like what you saw?” Another thunderous peal of approval sounded, proving just how many people bought the video that Lee, Karl, Felix and Galen created, marketed and distributed throughout the Fleet.

“People, people, people,” Cally’s playful disapproval was infectious. Not a single person took offence to her tut-tutting of the audience as she spoke into her own headset. “Why pay for something when it is SO much better to get it for free?”

A sick feeling of dread nagged at Lee’s mind, but between his chest and hips, a tingle of electric anticipation was starting to run underneath his skin. Around him, the resounding cacophony brought a wicked, truly wicked, smile to three very specific faces: Cally, Racetrack and Starbuck.

Somewhere, in the back of the bar, a chant had started. Like a wave, it crested and washed over everyone who wasn’t standing on the dance floor.

“Strip! Strip! Strip!”

Starbuck, stepping forward, put her fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle.

The chanting stopped and the bated breath that was held silenced the room. So far, she had yet to say anything and no one wanted to miss out on what she was going to do.

“I don’t think so, boys and girls.” Her scathing look was tempered by her tone. Stepping forward and changing places with Racetrack so that she was now standing in the middle, she didn’t need a microphone to make herself heard. “Do you know who I am?”

The crowd who was only seconds ago calling for the ladies to take off their clothes was now galvanized into saying one, two-syllable word, “Star-buck! Star-buck! Star-buck!”

Raising her hands, she took complete control of the crowd. Giving them a classic Starbuck smirk, she waited a few heartbeats before calling for quiet. Waving her hands at Cally and Racetrack, each of whom posed in their ‘uniforms’, she asked the crowd, “Do you like what you see, people?”

Again, a crescendo of whoops, hollers and hand-clapping rose in the bar.

“Well – I have a better idea than some ‘video’ that you have to beg, borrow or bribe to watch on someone else’s vidder!” Winding up the crowd, she swung her arm out to the crowd. “Wanna know what it is?”

“YES!”

“I said: DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT IT IS?”

“YES!”

Striding back into the line up so that she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Racetrack and Cally, in direct opposition to the roar that vibrated the inside of Lee’s, Karl’s, Galen’s and Felix’s ears, she cheekily swept the room with an extended arm and a full-on, tylium fuelled, Starbuck challenge.

“Who wants to be a Colonial Warrior!?”

If the bar was wild for Starbuck, Cally and Racetrack before, they were now beyond insane.

“Ladies – find me some Nuggets!” Starbuck broadcasted across The Wharf.

Watching Cally and Racetrack work their way past groups of club-goers and barflies, playfully dismissing one person after another in rapid succession, or picking out a couple of ‘possibilities’ for Starbuck ‘to scrutinize’ and ‘wash-out’, there was no mistaking which direction the ladies were heading.

Kara’s note and the stipulation there in flashed against the inside of Lee’s eyes. Not wearing uniforms meant that no one at The Wharf knew that Lee, Karl, Galen and Felix were Fleet. No one knowing that they were Fleet protected their collective anonymity – for all intends and purposes, they were just a group of guys out and about, having some fun. Anonymity guaranteed Cally, Racetrack and Starbuck free-rein and eliminated any protection rank would have given them. They were not only frakked – they were well and truly frakked.

Stopping in front of the men, Cally gave the crowd a once over that was more of an invitation to get involved in the selection process then anything else and then pointed at two ‘likely’ individuals.

“Hey, Racetrack! What about these two?” Cally called out.

Poised between Lee and Galen, expression haughty, Racetrack snapped her head in Cally’s direction and followed the Specialist’s fingers to where she was pointing to Felix and Karl. Looking like she was examining produce at a farm stand, she craned her neck and turned toward the dance floor.

“Hey, Starbuck!” Racetrack’s face split into a knowing grin. “Looks like we found ourselves some Nuggets, L.T.!”

Herded towards the dance floor as much by the crowd as by Cally and Racetrack acting like the drill sergeants from Hades, Lee had one foot on the bottom stair when he looked up and saw Starbuck pass some cubits to the departing cocktail waitress. Giving her a look and mouthing the words, ‘don’t do this’, he got his answer when she gave him a playful sneer that told him that not only was she going ‘to do this’, but she was going to ‘do it well’.

“Stay on your feet, Nugget!” A playful shove from Racetrack had Karl tripping over his own feet and the crowd roaring. Getting into the groove, Karl flashed a smile and nodded at the ‘reminder’ he had been given.

“Form up, people! Hands behind your backs, shoulders straight! This is the Colonial Fleet, kiddies – not some frat-house for pretty boys to hide out in!” Cally spoke as much to the clubbers as she did to the four men who shuffled into place.

Rolling her eyes in mock-exasperation, Racetrack faced Starbuck. “L.T. – let me present the ‘Nuggets of the Night’.”

Giving the crowd a sidelong glance, she brought them along with her as she marched up and down ‘the line’. Stopping in front of Lee, she gave him a saucy wink and blew him a ‘kiss’ before sending a withering look back to the bar and Racetrack. “Is this the best you could come up with?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Racetrack concurred.

“Well… in that case…” Starbuck drew out her words and built up anticipation in the crowd. “I say we put them through their paces, don’t you think ladies? See if they are – worthy – of serving?”

It wasn’t Racetrack’s alto voice that answered, because Starbuck hadn’t asked the ladies on stage what should be done with the finest looking men in the bar. She was answered by all the women in the bar.

“HELL, YES!”

Pacing in front of ‘the Nuggets’, Starbuck laid down the ground rules.

“You’re to do everything we tell you to do – with no questions asked. Questions will earn you demerits.” The crowd crowed at that and Starbuck rewarded them with a wicked, knowing smile. Turning back to the four men standing at sloppy attention, she picked up where she left off. “Thinking for yourselves will earn you demits. Earn enough demerits either myself or the other Training Staff will wash you out. And believe me, you do not want to wash out. Obedience is to be absolute. Am I understood, Nuggets?”

A quick look between them, and Lee and Galen kept their mouths shut.

Felix and Karl didn’t. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am!”

A deceptively sweet look crossed Cally’s face. “Who told you that you could speak, Nugget?”

A winged elbow from Karl stopped Felix from getting them into ‘more trouble’. But he was mistaken if he thought he could do it and not get caught by Racetrack.

“What do you think you’re doing, Nugget?” She asked, getting ‘in his face’, but making sure that the clubbers and ‘participants’ were in on the fun. Still standing in front of Karl, Racetrack bellowed, “L.T.!”

“DEMERIT,” Starbuck decreed. Watching her stride over to a side table and come back with a shot glass, everyone in the bar whooped. Pulling on Felix’s sleeve, she ‘marched’ him to a chair and ‘tossed’ him into it. “Since you don’t know how to keep your trap shut, we might as well as put it to good use – right, Nugget?” Brandishing the shot glass, she looked down at Gaeta and gave him a fleeting, reassuring look before she snapped at him. “Tilt your head back and open up. Say, ‘ahhhh’.”

Tilting his head and slouching in the chair until his jaw was parallel with the floor, the smooth coolness of the very base of a shot glass slid between his lips. Flicking his eyes to Starbuck, he barely nodded when she ordered him to hold it.

Speaking as much to the club goers as ‘The Nuggets’, Starbuck hooked a finger and beckoned Karl forward. “And, since you can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself, let’s just see if we can do something about that while we’re at it.” Positioning the taller man just off to the right of Felix, facing the bar crowd, Starbuck pointed to the seated man. “Nugget – I am ordering you to drink that drink!”

Giving an easy smile and an ‘oh, the horrors’ look to the bar, Karl started to reach for the shot glass.

That is, until Racetrack smacked his hand. A wickedly playful light danced in her eyes as she clarified Starbuck’s command. “Who said you could use your hands, Nugget?”

When Gaeta’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline and the normally unflappable Agathon shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he had just heard, that was when Lee and Galen lost their fight with the laughter they had been trying to contain for the past several minutes.

Looking to Starbuck, trying to play on the years of friendship that spread between them, Karl gave her a pleading look that only added to the fun.

Not giving him any quarter, she put her hands on her hips and turned out her foot – tapping it impatiently.

Drawing a deep breath, Karl locked his hands behind his back and started to bend at waist.

From the same place that called for the ladies to strip and that chanted out Kara’s call sign, the crowd turned on Karl and Felix.

“Spit or swallow! Spit or swallow! Spit or swallow!”

Seeing Felix’s dark eyes swim out of focus as he drew nearer, mere inches from the rim of the glass, the sounds coming from the tactician and the way he kept moving his mouth around, trying to get away from Karl’s descending lips, was enough to break his concentration and jerk himself up right, laughing all the way. He couldn’t help it! It was too much!

Sputtering, holding up his hands in mock-surrender, Karl nearly had tears in his eyes from laughing. “I can’t! It’s too much!” Catching three scathing looks and ‘boos’ from the crowd, he shrugged. “Hey – what can I say? He won’t hold still!”

Racetrack, apparently, wasn’t buying that excuse, “Specialist?”

“Yes, L.T.?” Cally answered.

“I think these – boys – need a demonstration on the proper application of ‘inline-immobilization’, don’t you?”

“I completely agree.” Cally concurred, all but purring.

Modifying her walk to a sexy saunter, Cally stood behind Felix’s head and bending over the man, threaded her hands through his hair, keeping his head in place, “Ready, L.T.”

One long, tapered finger pointed to Karl, then to Felix and then back to Karl. Sweeping the bar with her eyes, Starbuck said, “Let’s give the man a little help; shall we, people?”

Once again, the chant of, ‘spit or swallow’ filled the air.

Taking position alongside Felix, Karl felt his mirth ebbing away to something that could serious impede is good health – the Chief’s wrath. The further he bent at the waist, the closer he came to Gaeta’s mouth, the more of Cally he saw. Pale skin that was a lot more toned than he thought it would be, bust at least a full cup size larger than any locker room speculation, and when he got within inches of the rim of the shot glass, she shifted provocatively so that, not only did her breasts sway enticingly, but just as his lips brushed the glass, the outer panel of some truly risqué panties – the likes of which he truly appreciated, and Starbuck knew this – just came into view.

His mouth suddenly dry and his tongue two sizes too big, he prayed that his ‘semi’ would subside before Galen saw it. Clamping down on the shot glass, he jerked upright but the alcohol didn’t go down his throat as he spit out the glass and blew most of his drink out through his nose!

“He doesn’t spit! He doesn’t swallow! He SNARFS!” Racetrack crowed, as Cally passed a gasping Karl a napkin to wipe his nose and cover mouth as he regained his breath. Clapping Helo on the back and pulling Felix up from the chair, Racetrack went for their jugulars. “Looks like we ‘found out’ what your call-signs are, Nuggets!” Ignoring the payback that was playing out in the two men’s eyes, she added, winding up everyone in the club. “Now say hello to the nice people, Nuggets!”

Eyes’ streaming as the burning sensation inside his nose was still raging and skewering the sexy brunette with blunted daggers launched from his bruised ego, Karl squared his shoulders and raised his hand to his eyebrow. Snapping off a sharp to salute the crowd, he yelled out, “Lieutenant Snarfer, reporting for duty!”

Head rigid and not trusting himself to look at anyone, Felix clapped his heels together and primed his best salute. “Bar Top, reporting for duty as ordered!”

A rousing round of applause didn’t do much for Karl’s nearly annihilated dignity, but it did buy him and Felix a reprieve as they were waved off the dance floor.

Met by the same cocktail waitress Kara had paid off just as this whole thing began, Lee watched as Karl and Felix were escorted to a table and seated. Fresh drinks and a cool, wet cloth were set on the table. Fishing in their pockets for cubits to pay the waitress, she waved them off with a wink and a smile. Apparently, in her view, they had already paid for enough for one night. But knowing Kara, she probably dropped enough cubits into the server’s coffers to cover the seven of them far into the next morning.

“Hey L.T.!” Cally called out. “You okay?”

“Yeah – I’m okay.” Winking lasciviously to the bar crowd, Starbuck was all cheek and double entendre. “You know how I get – breaking in Nuggets makes me all hot and sweaty.”

Catching Starbuck’s meaning, the crowd roaring in approval, Racetrack grabbed a fist full of Lee’s shirt and playfully threw him at Starbuck. “Go help the L.T. cool off, Nugget!”

Standing in front of Kara, she really did look uncomfortable. Flight suits were engineered to keep air inside the suit, and wearing one without the cold vacuum of space to keep the pilot from overheating made the wearer feel like they were suffocating. Sweat was staining the collar of the suit and being tight to begin with, it had practically suctioned itself to her skin. But if she wanted him to give her some relief, she was going to have to ask for it.

“Do you need a manual, Nugget?” Starbuck smirked, connoting that he had never taken off anyone’s ‘flight suit'.

“Permission to speak, Ma’am?” Chancing earning himself a demerit, Lee gave Starbuck a look that feigned innocence as much as it was cheeky. Watching her roll her eyes, more for the audience’s sake than anything else, she nodded. Catching Racetrack and Cally doing something to Galen, he pressed his luck. “This nugget would like permission to use his hands, ma’am.”

For one glorious micro-second, he had her. For one triumphant micro-second, the balance between him and her shifted to being in his favour. But, for one all-too-brief micro-second, that was all. Her eyes narrowed and the look on her face told him she was taking back the upper hand and keeping it with her for the duration.

“Sure thing, Nugget,” she agreed. “Just so long as,” looking over his head, locking eyes with the clubbers behind him, she put her hands on his shoulders, “you are ON YOUR KNEES while you do it.”

Every female in the place applauded at her allusion, and every guy in the place blushed.

Lee didn’t need to look at what he was doing to open up Starbuck’s flight suit, so he put his eyes to better use. He kept them trained on the fiery green orbs strategically placed under a pair of arched eyebrows that were watching his every move. Squeezing the release on the buckle that spanned her chest, he let his fingers trail across the fullness underneath as the clasp gave way. Catching the zipper at her throat with his sure fingers, he started – slowly – to pull the tab. The lower he dragged it, the closer he came to kneeling position. The rich green eyes he was focusing on became darker and the haughty lift to the framing eyebrows became slightly hooded as the scented heat that was released was incorporated into his intense gaze. Fantasy and reality merged into one hot moment. Reaching the end of the zipper, he ran his hands up her sides and made for the inside track of the zipper, to spread the two halves of her flight suit.

“I don’t think so, Fly Boy.” Starbuck’s husky voice had him stopping what he was doing and looking at what he was about to do and flushing a deep red – she wasn’t wearing anything underneath but a pair of panties. The snug fit of the flight suit separated to reveal the valley between her breasts and the barest hint of the inside slopes, but was constricting enough to conceal everything else.

A hand on his head and a gentle push from her had him knocked back on his heels. “DEMERIT!” Answering the questioning crowd, she convicted him of a crime only Starbuck could get away with, “For making me hotter than I already was!”

Grabbing his upper arm, she ‘hoisted’ him to his feet and ‘dragged’ him to where Racetrack and Cally were standing. Next to them, lying down on top of a table was the Chief. The lapels of his shirt were spread wide revealing a moderately hairy, decently muscled chest and a Geminese fruit rested between his lips.

Reaching for and passing Cally a shot glass, she said, “I think ‘the deck’ could use some cleaning, don’t you Specialist?”

The wicked twinkle in Cally’s eyes as she took the shot, knocked it back – but didn’t swallow – couldn’t compete with the muttered prayers coming from Galen. Bending over the Chief, she opened her mouth and, somehow, snaked out her tongue just enough so that she left a wet trail of booze from his navel to the base of his neck. As soon as Cally was finished and swallowed what little bit remained, Racetrack popped a piece of fruit into Cally’s mouth and the look of relief that came over the younger woman’s face was evident to everyone. Picon Swill was only palatable when chased with a piece of Geminese fruit. Any fool who tried to drink it without the matching chaser earned them a one-way trip on the Porcelain Express.

Starbuck’s hot fingers on the base of his neck told him exactly what was expected of him, even before Racetrack barked out, “Scrub the deck, Nugget!”

Decked out in white to begin with, Galen looked like some pagan sacrifice splayed out on the Altar of Retribution. Glancing to his left, he caught Felix and Karl raising their glasses and toasting his ass good-bye.

There was nothing for it.

Blowing out a deep breath, closing his mind, his eyes and the collective cheers from the crowd, Lee put his lips to Galen’s stomach and matched it up to the trail Cally left for him. Inhaling as he slurped up whatever remained on the Chief’s stomach, chest and neck, by the time he licked out the fruit from between Galen’s lips and swallowed it all, everything he shut out crashed back around him. Cally and Racetrack were helping Galen up off the table and Starbuck had tugged up the zipper on her flight suit and looped her arm through his, urging the crowd to congratulate the two men even more.

Taking a page from Karl and Felix, he and Galen saluted Racetrack, Cally and Starbuck and then turned to face everyone else.

“Lieutenant Deck Boy, reporting for duty!” Galen shouted.

“Lieutenant Kneepad, reporting for duty!” Lee crisply called out.

Standing together, the three women raised their own hands to their temples and answered in unison.

“DISMISSED!”

The bar went wild. It was going to be a night that was going to be repeated for a long time to come.

Walking off the dance floor as a group, Racetrack, Cally, Starbuck, Lee and Galen joined Felix and Karl at their table. The waitress brought over two trays of drinks, one stacked on top of the other.

Everyone grabbing a glass, Lee lifted his and looked at Starbuck. Catching his eye, she extended her glass.

“Peace?” Lee asked, not ready to go another round with her just yet.

“Truce,” Starbuck agreed – she was ‘done’ for the night.

Stretching out his arm, Lee clinked his glass with six others and knocked his drink back in one gulp along with everyone else, but only had eyes for one person in particular as the ladies stepped away, saying that they had to change, but that they would be back soon.

Hearing a quip from Felix to Galen had him turning his head and breaking eye contact with Kara’s retreating back. But not before he caught a conspiratorial exchange fly between Cally and Racetrack.

Bsg Xxx Bsg

What took Cally and Meg only a few minutes was going turning into a Kara Thrace nightmare.

Each of them brought clothes to change into, and hers were still sitting there, in her bag, on the counter, and not on her body.

It was the stupid flight suit that she had ‘borrowed’. Yeah, it looked amazing on her because it was so damn tight, but it had practically sealed itself to her skin and the blasted zipped was all frakked up. Fighting with it only made her sweat more, and the more she sweated, the more she overheated, and the more overheated she became the more she fought with it. Her hair was sticking to her face and the back of her neck was starting to feel raw. Sheer frustration was bringing tears to her eyes.

Pounding her fists against the countertop in the head, she heard the door open. “If you value your life, you will turn around – RIGHT NOW – and LEAVE!”

Silence. If anything, she heard someone – who obviously had not idea who they were antagonizing – coming closer. Readying herself to deck whoever it was who didn’t know a fair warning when they heard one, she was two seconds from setting her fists in motion when Lee appeared in the mirror.

“Is that anyway to talk to someone who is here to help you?” He smirked.

“Who says I need help?” She snarled, but only half-heartedly. Relief in seeing him unfurled her fists and had her turning around and leaning back against the counter.

Stepping into her personal space with all the care of approaching a bristled cat, Lee kept his focus on her even as his fingers moved to the unyielding zipper. “Nobody, actually – but I thought that you might like enjoy the rest of the night without melting.” Jerking and tweaking the fabric pinched in the tracts of the zipper, he looked at her again. “Nothing for it – you’re going to have to hold still – okay?”

Hands delving into his pants, he pulled out his pocket-knife. Freeing the serrated-edged blade, he dug into the placket and sawed away at the suit. Reaching her sternum, the suit was too tight for her to slip out of, let alone shimmy over her hips. “How did you get into this thing?”

Thinking back to the layer of lotion she spread all over herself in order to get it on in the first place, Kara grimaced. “Let’s just say that I had to be creative, Lee.”

Angle becoming awkward, Lee slipped to his knees and began cutting her out of it again. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, it was like an instant replay in his mind of what happened earlier. Complete with the ‘semi’ he prayed she didn’t notice for a second time. Concentrating on freeing the knife from where it got snagged at the indentation of her waist, a couple more passes of the blade had enough of the suit cut so that she could at least get out of it and his nose just inches from her belly-button. He saw his breath tease the very fine hairs that rested against the smooth skin. Nor did he miss the way Kara seemed to stop breathing or that her hands had shifted from a bracing grip to something more evocative. A delicate scent wafted his way and he breathed it in only to let it out slowly so that it flowed along the concave of her stomach.

Standing, he folded the blade into the handle and looked at her. Her breathing was a little ragged and her eyes were locked on a spot on the floor. Sweat glistened every square inch of her, and where her heated skin dried the wet patches, goose bumps rose.

“I’m getting cold,” Kara admitted.

“I can see that.” Lee nodded.

One hand tilted her chin from being directed at the floor to being directed at him. The other hand reached into her bag and felt for her towel. Shifting her slightly to the side, he turned on the tap and let the water warm up.

The urge to give him her back and let him ‘help’ her out of the ruined flight suit had her toying with her bottom lip as she watched turn on the tap. But if she did, then she wouldn’t be her, and then ‘they’ wouldn’t be ‘them’.

“Thanks, Kneepad,” she said, teasingly, breaking the spell that always seemed to wrap around them whenever they stopped being ‘them’.

Blinking several times, like he was coming out of the same spell, Lee smiled. A touch of gratefulness ran along his jaw. Too much had happened tonight for either of them go ‘there’. Need and Desire always had other companions when it came to them, and he knew it too. “That’s Lieutenant Kneepad, to you.”

“See you inside in just a couple of minutes, okay?” Kara said, a lilt of hopefulness weaving through her words.

“I’ll be there – okay?” A twinge of something un-nameable but crystal clear lit his eyes and made her want to not be Starbuck for the rest of the night.

“Hey – Lee?” Kara called out.

Stopping just short of the threshold, Lee turned on his heel and caught her eyes, “Yeah, Kara?”

“That video was actually pretty good, you know.”

“Well, you know how it is, Kara – a guy’s gotta make a living somehow.” Shrugging his shoulders, he teased, “And morale has never been higher.”

Scrunching up her face good-naturedly, she countered, “Yeah, well, next time if you run short of cash – let me know. I can always leave a few cubits on the shelf of your rack for ‘services rendered’.”

A smiling Lee meandered out the door, and a smiling blonde woman quirked a look at her in the mirror as she began cleaning herself up.

Maybe, just maybe, they could be more than just ‘them’…