Chapter Text
ONE
Gaeta took a steadying breath before he turned the hatch door wheel. Coming in here now felt so very different than before New Caprica. Now he was someone the others didn’t naturally greet. Now everything seemed slightly awkward, on everyone’s parts. The president’s blanket amnesty had eased things a little, and the knowledge he’d been the source leaking vital information to the resistance was maybe making its way through the ship, but it was going to take time and space for wounds to heal- and unfortunately a Battlestar on the run from Cylons, now housing the crew of two ships instead of one, had neither of these luxuries.
But Gaeta was military, and gods if military discipline- which involved pushing all your hurt feelings way down inside and doing your job- wasn’t going to get him through this, one awkward twist of a hatch wheel at a time.
He heaved the door open and walked in to the sight of Helo flushing someone’s head down a toilet. A moment later he yanked Starbuck’s sopping form up, her long wet hair clinging to her face, drops of spray scattering as she shook herself like a dog.
“Frak me, Helo- I feel worse, not better!”
“I think the shaking is a bad idea. Just sloshes all the alcohol round a bit more.”
“Noted. No shaking, just dunking. Send me in again.”
Helo sighed. “Starbuck, really?”
“Gods damn it man, I need to sober up! And unless you’ve got a better idea then this is all I got. The Doc won’t give out meds for hangovers.”
It was testament to just how resigned Helo was to this plan that Gaeta could hear his sigh from across the room as headed quietly past them towards the far end of the quarters. Since he’d come back his original bunk next to Dee’s had gone to someone else- understandable since he’d mustered out and hadn’t expected to ever be back here. And Dee was with Lee now anyway. Something else that had changed. Now he was in a different room, way down at the end around a corner that was near an emergency exit nobody ever used because it was jammed. It was quiet away from the communal space and the racks of the big personalities, and he had a choice of bed since the racks down here were vacant. Probably because it was cold at this end. Cold and quiet. That was the weird thing about soldiers- even in the most cramped quarters you wanted your family around you. Gaeta supposed it was about life and death, or, well, death, being around the corner. If death’s around the corner, have as much life as you can right next to you. As he unbuttoned his jacket and hung it in his locker he wryly accepted that his new incarnation as an outsider had turned him into something of a philosopher.
“Watch out I’m gonna puke again!” he heard Starbuck yell. And then puke.
“Alright Felix?” Helo asked as Gaeta headed back towards the door moments later. The Chief had said he’d meet him for something to eat- an offer Gaeta was so grateful for he’d had to swallow down a lump in his throat before quietly accepting.
“Yeah not bad thanks.” He glanced at the now slumped on the toilet cubicle floor Starbuck. “Rough night?”
Helo pulled up a chair and sat down. “Not for me. I’m a married man and love keeps you upright. But some of the pilots decided to try out the deck crew’s new brew.” He swivelled to face Starbuck and yelled unnecessarily loudly “Was it nice Starbuck?!”
“Frak you” came the painful broken reply. “Help or shut up.”
Helo laughed. “What you need, Kara Thrace, is a nice cup of magically strong coffee.” He wafted some imaginary vapours under his nose. “Freshly roasted and ground Aerilon beans, hints of dark chocolate and hazelnut, and oh, that tylium-powered caffeine hit coursing through your whole body…”
Starbuck groaned again. “Don’t you think I know that?”
Gaeta figured this was as good a time as any to try mending some broken fences. Starbuck had begun ‘talking’ to him- but not talking to him, and he desperately wanted things back to how they used to be. It was a Galactica patch on his arm and that surely meant something. “I’m going to the mess. I’ll could…”
“That stuff’s no frakking good Gaeta. Doesn’t even touch the sides,” she moaned, hauling herself up and flopping into a chair next to Helo, looking awful, even for Starbuck. Were her eyeballs green right now? Gaeta wondered if maybe not having any friends to get wasted with was a health blessing in disguise.
You do have friends. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You just need to remember how to be friends with them.
“Ah, okay, well…” he drifted off, glancing at the door.
“What she meant to say” Helo explained, “was thank you very much Mr Gaeta for the offer, but that’s not the coffee I had in mind.” He wiped her sopping hair back from her face affectionately “and sadly in this instance I can’t have what I want because it’s impossible. Even for the great Starbuck.”
Suddenly she brushed his hand away and her eyes locked onto Gaeta’s. Too late he tried to pull away from the piercing gaze, to no avail. “Unless….” She began.
“Unless what?” Helo asked.
She hauled herself up and dragged herself over to Gaeta. An intimidating arm clamped around his shoulder, a wet hand took hold of his jaw and swivelled his head, so she was eyeballing him. Too close, and she smelled of puke and booze. Gaeta felt that residual primal part of a person’s fight or flee instinct kick in- voting very much to flee. Or at least hold his nose for a bit.
“Well, the aforementioned elixir we’re talking about is in the possession of one person and one person only. And that person seems immune to all manner of methods of persuasion I and others have attempted- both with proverbial carrot and stick.”
Helo grimaced “Yeah I heard about your little flirting disaster at Joe’s last week. Followed by threat of violence. Come on Kara? For coffee?!”
“But” she continued, enthused now with her own idea “But here is a fellow CIC geek who works with our little hoarder every day. I know you’ve seen that flask Felix, that taunting silver flask he carries with him every morning. I know you can do this for me. For us. For the sake of our renewed friendship.”
Ooft. That’s why she was a crack shot. She squeezed him hard around the jaw and let him go, staggered towards her rack and rolled into it, yanking the privacy curtain closed. Gaeta looked bewildered. “What are you talking about Starbuck? I haven’t seen any kind of flask. On anyone.”
Her face appeared again. “I’m talking about quiet, impervious to any sort of persuasion, threat, flirtation or bribery Lieutenant Hoshi and that godsdamn coffee of his. Next time I want me some. Have a boring conversation about boring buttons and switches. Make a friend to keep a friend, Gaeta!” And with that the curtain once again closed.
Gaeta looked at Helo for assistance. “The Pegasus guy? I don’t even know him,” but Helo just shrugged and grinned.
Gaeta turned the hatch wheel, feeling like he was somehow all of a sudden on the edge of something. Perhaps having the last word would ground him. “Also, Starbuck, those buttons and switches are integral to the safety of the fleet.”
He left to the sound of her muffled swearing and Helo’s warm laughter.
TWO
Viper pilots had a turn of phrase that Gaeta loved as a turn of phrase and hated as an actual thing being yelled down the comms at him during those times the ship was at Condition One and all hell was breaking loose around them. “Coming. In. Hot.” As in, ‘I am coming in hot:’ too fast, wildly and perilously, and likely to rip the undercarriage right off this bird- and leave (if the universe is feeling generous) some serious scorch marks or (ungenerous) biological matter all over the deck.
Gaeta did not come in hot when he tried to make boring conversation with Lieutenant Hoshi for the first time. He really didn’t. In fact, if Gaeta were to embrace the metaphor he’d say he came in slow. Or didn’t come in at all but missed the hanger altogether. Or actually perhaps he didn’t even get in the ship. Maybe he got as far as putting his flight suit on backwards, took a step and face-planted in the locker room. Where nobody found him. And he died alone.
He’d forgotten how to talk to people. That’s all it was.
Play to your strengths Felix. Start on familiar territory.
It was quiet in the CIC and he was Officer of The Deck whilst Tigh was off doing something on the McConnell, so he decided to talk to everyone, one at a time, and that way he’d end up talking to comms, and then he could give Starbuck her little prize and then he could talk to Starbuck. Like in the olden days. Easy.
“Okay. 0:700 watch: good morning everyone. Let’s go around the room, shall we? Life support and water systems?”
“All essential systems check, sir.”
Gaeta realised these conversations were going to be brief. Perhaps too brief.
“What’s the update on the repairs to the ventilation shaft on deck 4?”
“Just a moment, sir.”
Gaeta glanced over at the comms desk whilst he waited for the report to come in- his old desk actually- and yep, there was the person who’d got the better of Starbuck. He didn’t look like anything. He looked, well, ordinary. He looked…background.
“ESS. Ventilation repairs estimated completion time 11:00 hours sir.”
“11:00? Great. And er…that’s changed since yesterday hasn’t it?
“Yes sir, from 9:00.”
“Ah. Cause of the delay?”
The woman on the desk glanced at him across the floor for a moment.
What? He was being thorough. Thorough is a good quality in an acting X.O. Thorough saves lives, Ms Ship Systems.
“Maintenance brought the wrong paint with them.”
Gaeta nodded. “Ah. Okay. Good. Well, good now that they’ve sorted that out.” He pressed on. “Tactical?”
“DRADIS free of contacts sir.”
Well that was a relief. Being under attack would make persuading someone to give you a flask of coffee more difficult.
“Comms?”
“Nothing to report sir.”
Gaeta studied the table surface, their current route projected out in front of him. A line of dots from one side to the other. Little jumps forward. Okay then.
“Flight schedules for the next hour?”
“Raptor 214 currently sitting on the deck awaiting departure for the Enkidu. Colonial One due to dock for repairs immediately after hanger is clear. CAP due to return for rotation in 42 minutes.”
“Thank you comms.”
“Sir.”
Well, there you had it. Talking done. Number of flasks acquired: none.
The door to the CIC opened and Helo entered in his blue uniform. Gaeta had learned that during the occupation Helo had become something of a jack-of-all-trades aboard Galactica: piloting raptors, but also taking on various positions in the CIC, including at one-point XO. Gaeta felt weird that Helo had relinquished that position so easily once he’d returned, but the Admiral had made the decision to bring Gaeta back in, and bar a bit of a rough start with Tigh, nobody including Helo seemed to mind. If they’d still had Pegasus perhaps Helo would’ve XO’d for Commander Adama, but now they were one ship again.
“Lieutenant.”
“Lieutenant. Message from the Admiral.”
“Go ahead Mr Agathon.”
Helo handed him a document. “New co-ordinates for the next jump. Instructions are to send a scout raptor out for reconnaissance and report back.”
“Understood. Comms, please relay the information to the flight crew.”
“Yes sir.”
Helo took the orders over to the station and returned to the central desk a moment later. “Did you hear about the paint mix-up?”
“Never a dull moment on the Galactica.”
He nodded over his shoulder. “So, ‘black’ ops not going great I see?”
Gaeta laughed quietly. “Funny. Why doesn’t she just buy some herself?”
“Do you know how much that stuff costs?”
“It can’t be that much. It’s just…beans.”
“Aerilon beans. Last in the galaxy. Even before the attack those things were pricey.”
Gaeta shrugged and lowered his voice. “Then how does a low-down lieutenant afford them?”
Helo grinned. “You don’t know?” He leaned over and briefly patted Gaeta on the back. “Just go with the ‘be-a-CIC-buddy-give-me-some-coffee’ plan. Stay away any other rabbit holes Felix.” And with that he turned on his heel and was out of there.
Gaeta had no idea what that last bit was about, but he decided to take the advice. Go over there, enquire about the coffee, offer some sort of exchange (maybe he would be up for the ex-comms guy covering his shift? Gaeta could do that.
You have nothing better to do
And then everything could go back to normal. He wondered briefly what this person did with his down-time. He didn’t remember seeing him around much. But then, background, right?
He strolled around the CIC, as Adama sometimes did and as Tigh never did, eventually ending up at the comms station.
“Mr Hoshi.”
“Sir.”
And there was the coveted flask. There it was. Didn’t look like it could hold much coffee, maybe even just one largeish cup. But then, that made sense. It was for one person. This person here, wearing a headset that tufted his slightly too long hair out from his ears, looking at the screen in front of him. Gaeta remembered that’s why he’d kept his hair short when this was him. And now here he was, in front of a stranger from another ship who was waiting patiently for the Officer of the Deck and his curls to explain why he’d specifically come over.
Okay.
Gaeta reached out and tapped the flask. “Nice flask.”
“Yes sir.”
“Got a lid. To avoid spilling.”
The lieutenant didn’t reply to that, which Gaeta thought was fair since he hadn’t technically asked a question, and he had technically said something really stupid.
Move on from the lid. Leave that lid nonsense in the past.
“Because there’s a lot of electrical equipment at this station. Liquids can be…detrimental to…that.”
“Yes sir.”
“You’re a Pegasus man so I’m assuming you’re highly diligent though.”
The lieutenant remained silent.
“Plus, it’s the cup right? The lid?”
“Yes sir.”
Gaeta walked away.
And spaced himself.
Gaeta walked away. And found himself at navigation. He realised he’d completely forgotten to check in with navigation when he went around the room. In fact, as he scanned the area he realised he’d not got very far round operations at all. He’d just stopped after comms. Oh gods this was not thorough at all.
“Nav? Check in please,” he announced to the room.
See how I am back on track. Back going around the room.
“Good morning sir. Navigation fully operational. Our current position is sector 5.7 in the Gaspar system. Estimated departure 2. 6 hours.”
Gaeta smiled at the officer who’d freely offered up whole sentences to him and actually looked him in the eye when talking to him. Jenkins, that was her name. A Pikon. Good at karaoke, bad at boxing. He was pretty sure Kat had knocked out one her teeth earlier in the year. It appeared she’d had no trouble purchasing a replacement. Gaeta decided not to think about the fact that teeth were apparently easier to get hold of than coffee beans.
“Thank you, Jenkins. And, not that Galactica does have many windows, but if she did, what would we see outside in the Gaspar system as we pootled our way through?”
‘Pootled? Pootled!’
(Gaeta would get unfairly fixed on that particularly bad part of the not-coming-in-hot experience later in his rack.)
Why was he still speaking at this volume, so everyone could hear him say pootled?
Jenkins took a moment to look at her screen. “Nothing of note sir.”
“Nothing of note? Maybe you’re selling the Gaspar system short, Jenkins?”
“Um, I don’t think so sir.”
Gaeta attempted an easy but still commanding smile and leaned casually against the station. “Really?”
“Well there’s nothing in the system sir. So…”
“Nothing?”
“No. There’s nothing here. No planets. No asteroid fields. It’s empty.”
Gaeta straightened up. “Thank you nav.” From over Jenkin’s shoulder he saw Helo return, but Helo indicated it wasn’t important so Gaeta kept walking.
Back to comms apparently.
“Sir?”
Well at least this time it seemed like the lieutenant was initiating a conversation.
Whatever you need to tell yourself.
“The raptor? Raptor 214. Has it departed yet?”
“No. Still on the deck awaiting clearance.”
“Is there a problem?”
“The fuel crews rotate at the same time as we do, so there’s often a slight delay.”
Gaeta looked at the flask once again.
Ask him about the flask. But not in a weird way like last time. Ask in an informative way. Ask for information. You’re the Officer of the Deck and that’s what OODs are entitled to from their crew. Information.
Yeah- about the ship.
“And what’s in it today?” he asked, knowing there was coffee in the flask but deciding that small jumps along the route was the way to go.
“I... don’t have that information. Apologies. If you’ll just hold on for one moment.”
And then the man was speaking into his headphones before Gaeta could stop him.
“Hanger deck 6 this is Galactica comms. Request inventory of Raptor 214 currently awaiting departure. Please hold all outgoing flights until clearance. Thank you.”
A voice came back through the line. “Galactica comms, this is Hanger deck 6. Acknowledged. Please wait.”
Gaeta winced. “Lieutenant, I…”
“Galactica comms, this is Hanger 6. It’ll take us a few minutes to find that information out…” That was the Chief’s voice. He must’ve been in the launch room when the call came through. “I’m sending Cally down now to ground the bird and requisition the manifest.”
“Copy that Hanger 6. You’ll need a marine to formally accompany her in order to enforce handover.”
“Understood comms. Should we expect trouble then?”
The lieutenant stayed silent and Gaeta realised with horror that he was waiting for his superior to answer this. Gaeta leaned into the comms operator’s space and clicked the audio feed.
“Chief, this is Lieutenant Gaeta in CIC. No trouble, just a routine check, thank you.”
“Galactica comms, I’ve got Colonial One due to dock when the raptor had departed so…”
“Understood Hanger 6,” came Hoshi’s smooth unflustered reply. “I shall put a call through to Colonial One now requesting a delay of landing, awaiting an answer to the OOD’s request.”
“Roger that.”
“Thank you Mr Tyrol. Comms out.”
And then the conversation was over. Gaeta had at some excruciating point during it put back down the flask he was holding, which, well, had coffee in, as everyone already knew, so why he’d asked what was in it in the first place was, well…
He’d put it back down.
“Thank you, Mr Hoshi. Please let me know when the information comes in.”
“Yes sir.”
Gaeta returned to the desk and looked at the all the dots on the map.
Just don’t do any talking. That’s what Adama does and that seems to work out just fine.
Five minutes, or a lifetime later, he heard the lieutenant’s voice.
“Comms report.”
“Go ahead comms.”
“Hanger 6 confirms manifest of Raptor 214.”
“Excellent. Thank you.”
Gaeta realised he probably needed to ask what it was, after causing such a fuss.
Please be smuggled guns or knives or, well, even smuggled vegetables at this point would be acceptable.
“It’s the paint sir.”
“Paint?”
He glanced over at the desk and the lieutenant had swivelled his chair and was looking right at him. “The wrong paint sir” he clarified, then added, in what Gaeta begrudgingly thought later was superfluous information he had not requested “a sort of dusky pink shade, I believe.”
Beside him Gaeta heard Helo struggle to stifle a laugh.
“Thank you for finding that out Mr Hoshi.”
A brief pause, then the lieutenant added, in a tone laden with something that he could not pinpoint (amusement? dissent?) “Anytime, Mr Gaeta.”
This was going to be a long shift.
THREE
Now that Mr Gaeta was a philosopher he approached material wealth with a new sense of stoicism. Not that he’d ever been wealthy, but like most pre-philosopher people he’d had his trinkets. The watch in his hand was one of them. It was a nice watch. His mother had bought him it as a 21st birthday present. It was slightly old fashioned, with a leather strap and three slivers of hands that circled round a brass centre. He’d stopped wearing it some time after the attack on the colonies- a too painful memory dredger-upper now, so it sat on the top shelf of his locker, and later was wrapped in a piece of cloth and put into his crate which went into storage when he mustered out. He was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one on board thanking the gods the storage facilities hadn’t moved over to Pegasus, else this watch would have returned to the star dust it was originally made from millions of years ago.
And now he was about to sell it to this old man with a jeweller’s eyepiece wedged in his eye socket.
“Nice watch this,” the man said. “Had one like it myself once upon a time. Give you 60 cubits for it.”
Well that was a better price than Gaeta expected. He could buy Starbuck some coffee beans (though frak if he knew how she was going to grind them. And brew them?) and maybe pick up some smokes for himself. He’d aimed to give up down on New Caprica, with the idealistic naivety of a person who was suddenly outdoors ‘in nature’ -but both New Caprica’s inclement climate and Baltar’s inclement presidential style meant he’d not managed it. And that was even before the occupation.
“60 cubits is great, I accept” he replied, shaking the old man’s hand.
“Mhm. Definitely find a new home for this beauty.”
“I hope so. My mother gave it to me.”
The store keeper smiled. “Well I hope you’ll buy something just as valuable with this” he said, handing over the money.
“I doubt it. But tell me, who do I go see about coffee beans?”
The man shook his head. “Beans? Woman over there in the yellow head scarf’ll sort you out with some powder. Pretty good too. Chicory I think.”
“No, I need the beans. Aerilon beans.”
The jeweller made a show of taking the eyepiece back out of the pocket of his waistcoat and screwing it into his eye, then dramatically leaning forward to examine Gaeta.
“Ah yes, I see what we have here, a wise guy. Very nice.” He let the eyepiece drop into his hand and laughed. “You’ll be lucky to get a whiff of Aerilon coffee for 60 cubits, let alone a bean.”
Gaeta looked at him disbelievingly. “60 cubits is a lot of money. Especially now.”
“yes. And Aerilon coffee is not a lot of coffee.”
Gaeta narrowed his eyes at the man, trying to decide if he was being messed with, but the old man held up his hands in a gesture of supplication. “Hey, maybe you’ll get lucky. Bo Cooper’s the one to see. Reasonable enough guy.”
“I guess if you start every morning with a fresh cup of coffee..”
The jeweller shook his head “a dealer doesn’t sample his own wares. Bad economic sense. Thanks for the watch, rookie!”
Gaeta liked a lot of things about Bo Cooper. He liked his silvery hair and his swooping moustache. He liked the way he’d been asked to thank Adama personally for coming back for them on New Caprica. He liked the black and white collie that was sat under Bo’s desk and which came and leaned herself on Gaeta’s legs, hoping to be stroked (which of course worked: he was a sap for adoring gazes.)
“My daughter’s ad-hoc seeing-eye dog” Cooper had explained. “She’s a teacher. The kids love both of them.”
Gaeta recognised the dog from New Caprica.
I love her too-this dog kind of saved my life.
But he didn’t like the fact that when Bo Cooper laughed at someone he laughed at them for a long, drawn-out time. It wasn’t a mean laugh, or an intimidating one. It was the kind of laugh grandfather’s use on their grandchildren. It made Gaeta feel foolish.
“How much?!”
“300.”
“I don’t want a sack!”
“A bag.”
“300 cubits for one measly bag of coffee beans?! That’s extortionate.” Gaeta was thankful stroking a fluffy dog was so soothing otherwise he was pretty sure he’d have completely lost his temper by now. Perhaps that was the purpose of the dog.
“That’s the market price. For everyone. Even Admiral Adama.”
“What’s the admiral got to do with this?”
“Well, the coffee’s for him, surely?”
“No. It’s for me.”
More laughing.
“Oh, I’m sorry Mr Gaeta. It’s just, normally the only people who ask for this are, well, VIPS. It’s basically gold. In fact, honestly I could probably sell you a bag of gold beans for cheaper than this. Although maybe not for 60 cubits…”
Gaeta gave the collie one final stroke and reluctantly stood up. She padded back under Cooper’s feet and promptly fell asleep, her role done.
As he caught a raptor back to Galactica he tried to figure out whether a comms officer holding the rank of lieutenant could also be a VIP. Surely a ‘background VIP’ was a contradiction in terms? He also idly wondered whether there might be some sort of black market bounty on the head of a VIP, because he was beginning to not really like this Mr Hoshi very much.
Later that evening in the rec room Dee kept picking stray hairs from his trousers and eventually she’d amassed enough that he had to explain, if only to put to rest rumours of a mysterious salt and pepper lover hidden away somewhere. She rolled her eyes and laughed, and when Gaeta confessed to being absolutely stumped at how anyone could afford to pay Bo Cooper all that money she finally put him out of his misery- and told him about The Baby Deer.
FOUR
“Gaeta listen to me. I am telling you partly as a former friend of yours” Gaeta scowled as a grinning Starbuck continued her pep talk in the rec room a week later, “but mainly as a concerned passer-bye. DO NOT GO HUNTING FOR DEER.”
Gaeta reached over for the ambrosia and an abandoned empty glass left over from whoever had been her drinking buddy before he’d got here.
“Starbuck. I’m a pretty good Triad player. I’ve beaten you once or twice.”
She gulped down her beer and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “Yeah, when I’d had a bit too much juice. But I’m telling you, Hoshi always wins. And he doesn’t really drink. Walk away Gaeta. Concerned passer-bye remember?”
Gaeta filled up his glass and took a measured sip. “I just think I can do it.”
“I’ve. Never. Beaten. Him!”
He shrugged, “Doesn’t mean I can’t.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Remember that time I came off the booze, for like a month?”
“No?”
“Well, I did. You know why?”
Gaeta shook his head.
“Because I wanted to win. And I knew I needed a clear head. Nothing but fruit juice and water for an entire month. Frakking skin went nuts. Ask me what happened.”
“What happened?”
She gestured that he slide the ambrosia over, which he dutifully did. She poured a slug straight into her tankard of beer, stirred it with a finger, took a swig. “He won.”
Gaeta rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms above his head. Starbuck slid the ambrosia back to him. “Maybe you’re no longer the best player Galactica has. Maybe it’s me.”
She put her drink down and tilted her head, puzzling him out. “Felix, forget about the coffee. I appreciate the effort you’ve put in to trying to acquisition some for me- and yes, at one point I was going to throw you out of an air lock for treason, but that was before all the wading through pink paint and fluffy dogs. Which in my handbook is a true sign of friendship.”
He winced. News travelled fast.
“So, if you want to play cards- play with me. Maybe you’ll win, maybe (probably) I’ll win. But at the end of the day what matters is it’ll be a painless defeat (for you) and you’ll come out of it relatively unscathed. Can’t say that with the Baby Deer.”
Gaeta groaned. “For gods’ sake, that’s such a stupid name and since when does anyone bar pilot jocks get nicknames? And more than that it’s a frakked up metaphor. Deer are prey, so I really don’t get it. If this Hoshi’s so dangerous shouldn’t he be, I don’t know ‘The Wolf. The…”
An image of the curl of brown hair popped into his head
“…the mousy wolf?” He smirked but Starbuck just shook her head.
“Pilots and monsters Felix.”
“Oh, come on! Why’d you call him that anyway?”
Starbuck shuddered and drained her tankard. “Oh man, just, trust me, you of all people don’t want to ever figure that out.”
FIVE
Gaeta had figured it out.
Two utterly enchanting brown eyes looked over a hand of cards straight into his soul and actually through his soul and out the other side. Scratch that: Gaeta was reasonably certain if he glanced down at his chest right now he’d just see a hole where his soul used to be before it went frolicking in the woods with this monster opposite him, never to return.
Even if Gaeta did win this hand, and therefore the game, and the pile of cubits on the table between them, he knew he’d lost. Lost his mind. Possibly also his heart.
Frak because this guy was pretty.
How in the gods had he not noticed that before?
Call yourself a tactical officer. Ugh.
Background? This guy was never going back into the background now. Damn it.
Gaeta swallowed and yanked his gaze back to his cards.
Deep breath, military training, squish, squish, squish.
Helo’s big hand squeezed his shoulder, steadying him. “You got this Felix” he whispered. And yeah, he did have the winning cards. And that’s what it ultimately came down to in Triad. Best cards win. Play the hand, watch the other person deflate, scoop up the winnings, revel in the glory. Plus, there was going to be so much glory. He was going to beat the Top Gun of cards. And a Pegasus guy. It was going to feel sweet. And all the Galactica crew who were gathered around, watching this showdown, might just start talking to him again for that. Word had spread that the Baby Deer may be getting some payback finally and the room was packed with viper jocks and deckhands and all sorts.
He poked around the pile of cubits in the centre, uncovering some nonstandard stakes as well (Racetrack’s smokes, Hotdog’s toothpaste,) and took a while to think about his next move. It was finally time to get what he came for.
“Your flask” he said firmly.
Hoshi blinked. “Sorry?”
“Your flask. With coffee in it. The fancy coffee. Hot. That’s what it takes to stay in this game. Otherwise fold.” He hoped he sounded commanding, in a way he hadn’t done in the CIC the week before.
Hoshi looked down at his own cards then back up at Gaeta. Gaeta wisely avoided this trap but instead enjoyed the roar of approval that had erupted from the crowd around them.
“How did you know that I drink coffee?”
Gaeta risked a smirk. “Oh, I know a lot of things about you, Mr Hoshi of the Pegasus.”
Not true. You know jack. Except his eyes are brown. And lovely. No don’t look into them. Look at Hotdog. Hotdog has regulation eyes. That’s better.
Hoshi was definitely staring at him now.
Good. Maybe that’ll throw you off your game a bit. Although it does make me seem creepy, so…
Just stop thinking about it.
Hoshi scanned his cards for a moment, then at the pile. Eventually he nodded. “Does anyone have any paper I could have?”
Hotdog ripped an edge off a stray flight-pad that had been used to run some betting as the room cheered and handed him a scrap. Hoshi thanked him politely and slid out of his fatigues shirt pocket a non-regulation issue pen. He clicked the nib down and wrote something in neat small letters.
“Where did you get that weird pen from?” Hotdog asked.
“The giftshop.”
“The giftshop?”
“Well, the former giftshop. Yeah. It’s now a hanger storage, but there was a box of souvenirs and I always wanted something of Galactica’s when I was a kid back on Sagittaron, so.”
Oh gods, wasn’t that just the most…
As he watched the note flutter onto the pile of cubits Gaeta squished anything else that might be fluttering inside way way down. He retrieved the paper and read it. Twice.
To Mr F. Gaeta,
On the occasion of winning a triad game, on this, the 17th of the 9th:
One flask of freshly brewed Aerilon coffee
Delivered in person,
Yours,
L.H
So say we all.
He most definitely did not for a moment consider offering to play just for the note, because how could all the cubits in the galaxy compare to his name gently and precisely written out in the hand of a guy who keeps a souvenir pen in his shirt pocket at all times because he loves the Galactica that much?
Wait, the lieutenant was saying something.
“You guys do know we’ve got a burnt out Cylon raider in there too?”
Helo laughed. “Oh yeah man. We got boarded a while back.”
Hoshi’s face was sympathetic. “Pegasus too. Pretty terrifying.”
“You can say that again.”
“Well then, shall we finish this?” Gaeta blurted, with more confidence than he felt.
He was pretty sure he was going to win. He had somehow managed to end up with Four Up and not only that, but they were all Princes. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had a hand this good and he’d taken extreme care in not giving away what he was sitting on. Plus, he’d been watching the pack diligently and had seen Racetrack fold an Eyecard in the hand she was knocked out on, so the lieutenant couldn’t make a higher Four.
Helo, who could see his cards, was grinning madly at his opponent- obviously trying to psych him out. Gaeta wondered briefly just how many people in this room the lieutenant had cleared out of cubits, and just how loudly they were going to celebrate his smiting in a few moments time. Did he feel sorry for the Baby Deer? No, he did not.
“Hold on a second there, boys” Starbuck suddenly said, pushing her way to the front of the table. Gaeta hadn’t realised she was in here too. She picked up the scrap of paper and read it.
“Nice penmanship Mr Hoshi.”
Hoshi seemed a bit taken back about how to respond. “Thank you, Captain Thrace.”
“I am sorry about threatening to pull your ears off in Joe’s bar a while back.”
“Um, that’s ok.”
“I also think, in the interest of making it up to you for that, that since Aerilon coffee goes for 300 cubits a bag here in the fleet…”
The room filled with low whistles of disbelief.
“But that’s not what I pay for…”
She cut him off. “That’s right folks, 300 cubits, I do believe that Gaeta should only be able to call the bet with something of equal value.”
More cheering now, and lots of called-out suggestions for what the lieutenant should ask for. Gaeta threw Starbuck a dirty look, but she just mouthed back ‘fair’s fair Gaeta.’ And she was right. He’d been pushing his luck with the request. He waited to see what his opponent deemed valuable. He had maybe 30 more cubits in front of him but that was it. He did have a pair of civilian leather shoes back from his time on New Caprica which were probably worth something. Or…
“Shut the frak up everyone, give the man a chance to be heard!” Starbuck commanded, and instantly there was silence in the room.
“Mr Hoshi?”
“Yes. Right.”
“Well? What d’you want, soldier?”
Gaeta leaned forward to hear better, even though they were sat a few feet away from each other. At this point he couldn’t help but meet those brown eyes. Yep, whoever’d coined that nickname was spot on. The doe-eyed, innocent….
“I’d like to sleep in Mr Gaeta’s rack, if that’s alright.”
The entire room erupted with whoops and jeers. Starbuck snorted. Gaeta prayed that his mouth had not fallen open, but he had a horrible feeling that it had. Hoshi just sat there and waited. His face had exactly the same calm expression on it as it did in the CIC, day-in, day-out. Nukes could be reigning all around, Cylons knocking on the door, and it seemed like this guy was patience personified.
He wouldn’t have been surprised in the least if the beaming Starbuck hadn’t straddled the lieutenant there and then and kissed him senseless, because this was some Thrace level of psychological messing with your opponent and say what you like about her, she gave credit where credit was due.
Gaeta definitely hated him. He wondered who he could bribe to put Hoshi’s dog tags in the pot next time the admiral arranged a Dance, so he could punch him in that peaceful, pretty face. He was both proud and surprised that he managed to get out a quiet “Huh?”
Hoshi glanced across at Starbuck anxiously. “Sorry, I suspect that came out wrong,” he explained, “What I meant was, his rack is right down the end of the officer’s rooms where it’s quiet. So…I’d like to switch. If I win. Does that seem equivalent to the coffee, Captain Thrace?”
She again silenced the room, shoved a guy who had managed to bag a seat off his chair. “Move it nugget! I want front row seats to this epic love story.”
“This game of triad” Gaeta heard himself clarify. Lamely.
File with pootle.
Starbuck put her hand on her heart and threw him an I-told-you-so look. She mouthed ‘Concerned. Passer. By’ and sat down. Gaeta figured it was way too late to take heed now.
Hoshi’s quiet voice dragged him back into the moment. “Lieutenant? Is that acceptable to you? The coffee for the bunk? Because if it’s too much…”
Gaeta nodded, managed a quick ‘it’s fine.”
Then he had a think about it, remembered it was just about who had the best cards- which was almost certainly him- and nodded again, more firmly this time.
“Yes. That’s fine. And I accept.” Cubits, smokes, toothpaste, a flask of Aerilon coffee he was seriously considering no longer giving to Starbuck but drinking himself because really, betrayal much? A minute more and he could gather it all up and go home.
“Yeeharrr!” Starbuck crowed. “Show us what you got!!”
Gaeta shrugged at Hoshi across the table a sort of half-hearted better luck next time, and revealed his Fours Ups. There was no need to be rude when smiting.
“Princes Fours frakking brings it home!” Starbuck yelled, standing up again. “Oh my gods you actually beat The Baby Deer!”
Hoshi looked confused. “The who?”
She jabbed two fingers in front of his eyes. “That’s. You.”
Helo couldn’t contain his excitement anymore. “Come on Hosh! Unless you’ve got Full Colours then game’s over.”
Hoshi turned over Full Colours.
Everything exploded. Starbuck howled to the heavens, planted a big wet one on Hoshi’s cheek and upturned the entire table, scattering cubits everywhere. A bottle of ambrosia sailed across the room. The comms officer got dragged into a roaring mob of bodies and disappeared, hopefully trampled to death in some sort of pyrrhic victory.
Gaeta: heartbroken, elated, turned-on and poverty stricken, honestly thought he was going to cry.