Helo bolted upright and gasped for air as the last of the nightmare skulked
back to the shadows. Sharon wasn’t preg—
She was.
She was below deck in the brig with the other one.
Helo kicked back the sheet and stood on shaking legs as he bent over the sink.
Despite the sweat-soaked evidence of his dream, he was chilled to the bone and
pushed his cold hands under scalding hot water. But it was never enough. The
doctor had cleared him when he returned to the ship, but he still couldn’t get
warm.
Afraid this was the nightmare and that was real.
Helo pressed the taps off and hurried to the showers. He just needed to stand
under the spray for a few minutes. Wash the dream away. Then he could sleep.
He quickly stripped and stepped under the steaming water, plenty of it when most
of the ship was asleep, rubbing his cold hands over still bruised arms to warm
himself. He was finally feeling human again when a cold blast of air swirled
around his feet as the hatch opened.
He had just turned around when the first punch landed on his kidney. He doubled
over, pain splitting his side. The water stung his eyes as he looked up at his
attacker, but he could still make out the orange jumpsuit.
When the Chief’s second punch connected with his jaw, he staggered back against
the wall. More blows hit his stomach and face and he collapsed on his knees and
then fell face first on the wet floor. But somehow he managed to hang onto
Tyrol’s leg as he raised his foot, pulling himself up, clinging to the other
man’s legs.
Tyrol cursed at him, wet hands trying to pry Helo off his soaked clothes, but
Helo wouldn’t let go. He pressed his bruised face into the rough cloth and
gratefully inhaled the familiar oily fumes lifted by the steam.
Galactica was real.
***
Cally saw Helo wandering around the flight deck, skirting the night crew and
heading toward the storage hatch. They all knew where the Chief resurrected the
mini-version of the still behind the loose grate. After Boomer shot the
Commander, the Chief all but lived there.
He only came back around when Helo and the pregnant Cylon were found.
Cally had her hands full with the fried wiring so she dragged her foot over and
nudged Joey underneath her. “He’s back.”
Joey rolled out from under the wing and scowled. “I don’t know why the Chief
doesn’t just put his lights out for fracking his girl--”
“Already done that,” she snapped. The pilot’s eyes were still ringed with black
circles, though the bruises had healed weeks ago. The dark color around the
sunken orbs was just lack of sleep now.
“Although it wasn’t really the same girl since they’re all Cylon copies. How
weird is that?” Joey yawned.
“Shut up,” she hissed when she saw the Chief was looking. He scanned the crew,
assessing their work and then wiped his hands as he wandered back after Helo.
“You think it doesn’t tear him up that he should’ve known she was a Cylon?” she
asked, watching him go. “And who else is gonna understand how he feels? You?”
“At least he didn’t get her pregnant,” Joey added.
She kicked him again in the ribs just for being stupid and he yelped, rubbing
his side.
The hatch shut behind the two men and Cally glanced at her watch to note the
time. The Chief never stayed off the deck more than twenty minutes, though Helo
would probably spend the rest of the night next to the still getting fracked up
to forget what happened on Caprica.
Though nobody blamed him, they all spent their fair share behind the grate
trying to forget, Cally had hoped getting returned to flight duty would’ve
brought the old Helo back around again.
***
Helo coughed as the first big gulp burned his throat. Tyrol took the cup from
him and finished the second gulp, gasping a little less noticeably and then
kissed the other man forcefully on the mouth. Didn’t matter much, couldn’t taste
anything anymore and it saved more of the alcohol for later when Sharon invaded
their heads.
Tyrol pushed him back and tugged at Helo’s clothes. His hands were rough and
dirty and he used to be so careful when he was with Sha—
Helo wanted them on his skin and in his mouth and Tyrol didn’t think about why
or what he was doing, it was just easier that way.
He spun Helo around and their pants fell quickly to the floor. Helo shoved his
shorts down too and pushed back, his finger-bruised ass pressed hard against
Tyrol’s crotch. Tyrol opened his pants and greased his hard shaft, not thinking
about how much he needed this too or he couldn’t do it. His hands slipped under
Helo’s sweat-soaked t-shirt and grazed the hard flat stomach. Tyrol pulled his
hands back as if he’d been burned and held onto the other man’s hips instead,
biting the back of Helo’s neck and tasting sweat and grit--nothing sweet ever
lingered on his tongue anymore--as he pushed in roughly.
Helo yelled every time, a sharp cry trying to escape, but it was choked back and
only seeped out as a distressed whine. Still Tyrol watched the hatch, wondering
if anyone would hear and come to peel him off this time.
Take him to the brig.
He wondered if Sharon would understand then.
Helo’s head was against the pipe running down from the bulkhead and he rubbed
his cheek against the sweating metal, gritting his teeth. Tyrol closed his eyes
as the hatch stayed closed, pulling out of the other man. The slow drag made
Helo pant harder, his hips tugged along by sticky friction, and Tyrol held him
there to separate them and then slam together again. Tyrol felt Helo squirm,
widening his stance against the bunched fabric at their ankles and the
unexpected extra slide deeper into clenching heat made him suddenly come hard,
crushing Helo to his chest as he pumped his hips against the jagged waves of
pleasure.
The blood pounding in his ears eventually receded and Tyrol could focus again,
feeling the slick slide of muscles relaxing around his softening dick.
“Frack, frack…Galen…” Helo rasped, his head rolling on Tyrol’s shoulder as he
pressed awkward kisses to the corner of his mouth.
“Okay, it’s okay,” he promised uneasily, “I got you.”
His gut churned, but he started moving again, losing himself in the familiar
feel of wet heat.
***
The storage room also had a cot the Chief stuck back behind some crates for him.
After Tyrol left, Helo had a couple more shots and once the swill started to
relax his aching muscles, he lay down and closed his eyes.
The smell of oil and musk filled his nostrils and the vibration of the engines
beneath him lulled Helo to sleep.
He could only sleep here. Only Galactica kept Sharon out of his head.
The Chief made him see that.
***
Sharon had once said he had the only answer he was going to get, and that wasn’t
acceptable.
The Cylons weren’t allowed visitors, but a steady parade of curious onlookers
happened into the observation ward where monitors watched them day and night.
Tyrol only went at dawn as the guards changed shifts. He handed them a flask to
share and they let him have a few minutes alone.
Sharon always knew he was there, but the other one ignored him.
“I told you I wouldn’t let anything else happen to this crew because of you,” he
said to the screen, repeating the same message every night. “My crew. My ship,”
he snarled. “Do you get it yet?”
He tapped the other screen in frustration. Even though there was no way she
could see or hear him, she looked up in annoyance at the camera, startling him.
She rubbed her growing belly and called out for Karl.
He glared back at her. “You will meet your God before you ever see him again.”
Instead of the usual defiant stares, both women looked confused for a moment.
When the tears welled in their eyes, fat drops rolling simultaneously down
smooth cheeks, he hit his fist on the console and thanked the Gods.
