Fic: "How to live and love as and amputee, by Brendan Costanza" (2/3)
Title: How to live and love as an amputee, by Brendan Costanza
Pairing: Gaeta/Hot Dog
Wordcount: ~ 13000 words
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: Teen. Lots of talking about sex but it's all theory. People die and / or hook up but it's all background noise.
Spoilers: up to 4.10, AU afterwards, no use of the webisodes or spoilers
Beta: Thanks very much to ebuchala and millari who made this a much better story than I could ever have written on my own and who cheerfully put up with my typos and errors. You rock.
Summary: "Costanza insisted on thinking of Felix as a normal guy with a normal life, who should go through recovery step by step. Felix however couldn’t make out a life he could get back to at all, and if there was one anyhow, he wasn’t sure he wanted it back."
Galactica was jumping again. Even Felix as navigator didn’t exactly know where they were heading since they didn’t have a destination. It was like it had been in the beginning when everybody thought they were jumping towards Earth while Adama really had him plot search patterns for fuel and water. They couldn’t stay on Earth. The water there was radiated.
Felix had started hording painkillers even before that, estimating he’d need quite a lot of them to die. It hadn’t been easy to acquire the pills because Cottle only ever gave him a handful at a time. Also, he was still suffering from phantom pain that got in the way of things if he didn’t take meds. However, Felix had managed to skip on one or two every free shift whenever Costanza didn’t come for visits. He supposed he’d need less of them if he took them with some alcohol but didn’t count on it.
It only took a week until Costanza found the stash in a drawer in his head. It hadn’t been hidden very well.
When the pilot gave him an unusually long look upon leaving the head that evening, he didn’t think much of it.
“How’s it going with readjustment?” Costanza asked casually while picking up the Triad deck to return it to whomever he’d borrowed it from.
“Fine,” Felix said, surprised by the question. “It’s going just fine.”
“I see,” Costanza said and grew silent for a while. Then he struck up a conversation about how Helo said Figurski said that Tattoo was frakking a deckhand, all in a very casual voice.
It was only later that Felix found the relevant drawer to be empty. He looked down at it for a minute, no reaction coming to mind whatsoever. Without having to look he knew he’d find his service pistol gone, too.
None of them ever mentioned it. Felix did however restart taking the pills as prescribed.
Felix didn’t know why he burst into tears in the officers’ head on his break.
He’d knocked over a piece of soap, which wasn’t a tragedy except maybe it was. Maybe all of it was or he was - it was hard to think. He just found himself sitting on the floor, crutches cluttering down. Burying his face in his hand, he cried so hard he thought he might burst. He just couldn’t do it anymore. It was too hard.
Felix couldn’t remember Dee having walked in on him but she must have, because suddenly she burst into the room, rapidly talking to Costanza, following behind, about how she’d found him like that.
One thing he would remember clearly was a helmet clanking to the ground, body heat emanating from the pilot when he knelt down at his side, no matter he was wearing full flight gear. He allowed the other man to wrap his arms around him, crying even harder.
“Should I call Dr. Cottle?” he heard Dee ask.
“Nah, I’m taking care of it.”
They said more but none of it registered. Dee left. Later, Felix would think that she must have lied to Tigh because theoretically he was on duty, and if the freshly reinstituted Cylon Colonel knew the whole story, he would have let it show for sure. Costanza had to be on duty as well but it seemed he didn’t care. Waiting for Felix to calm down enough, he half-carried him back to his quarters, helmet in his free hand.
“That’s better,” Costanza said quietly when he sat them down on the rack, drawing Felix to his chest again, hand on the back of his neck. “Just let it out. Keep your head down and try to breathe calmly when you feel better.” It took a while until he felt better though.
“I’m sorry,” Felix said numbly.
“Nothing wrong with crying,” Costanza said, holding him tighter.
Starbuck must have dressed him down for not showing up for patrol but Brendan never told how much he’d gotten into trouble.
The President died three days after what would have been Colonial Day.
Felix listened to the service on the wireless while on watch in the CIC, all of them pausing with their work when a priest delivered the parting prayer before pushing the button and releasing the body into space.
They were surprised to see Adama enter the CIC just minutes later. They were not so surprised when they realized that he went straight for the phone, telling Dee to open a channel to all fleet ships.
It had been decided they’d fly home and finish the Cylons off once and for all, he said. They could do it, he said. The enemy did not resurrect anymore now when you shot them, and the enemy fleet was already divided. Their dying leader had brought them to Earth not to give them a new place to live but to show them a way to win back what was rightfully theirs. They would go home.
As speeches went, it was a good one.
Adama then told Felix to plot a lengthy route right into Cylon space. Although he kept working after hours, making it the best route possible, it took him three shifts to get it done. It was a very long way to go.
Costanza had insisted Felix should own a table early on. He had then arranged for one to be commissioned from storage, enlisting Sharon’s help to carry it over. Nowadays, he complained that Felix never used it for anything, hinting unsubtly that Felix was lacking in visitors. Felix didn’t want visitors. However, as a show of good faith, he sat at the table a lot. This time, he was working through a fuel report when Costanza sat down across from him. “Hey Gaeta, I’ve been wondering about something.”
“I’m sure that’s an exciting new experience,” Felix said, recalculating a number.
“Funny.” Unabashedly, Costanza leaned forward. “How did you find out that you’re gay?”
Felix glanced up. “What?”
“How did you find out...”
“I got that,” Felix interrupted him, puzzled. “What does it matter?” This wasn’t a usual thing to be asked by straight people. It had been a classic conversational topic in the gay community of course, a favorite subject on first dates. Straight people only asked questions like that if they were planning on healing you. Felix was reasonably sure that none of these applied to Costanza.
Also, it wasn’t exactly a topic that commanded attention. Costanza had never made an impression that he cared about these things before, oblivious like straight people tended to be.
“I’m just curious,” the pilot said. “I mean, how did it work? Did you date girls first but didn’t like it, or what? How did you know?”
“I’ve always known. I’ve never dated girls. My sisters talked about boys all day, and I was twelve or something before I noticed that it wasn’t that usual for a boy to join in. My father had a hard time with it at first, I think; he was from Gemenon originally. But my mother made him change his mind. I never really cared about how I knew, I just did.” Crossing out the wrong figure and scribbling down the new one, Felix added rhetorically, “How do you know you’re straight?”
Since Felix was still very much in that place where things escaped his attention, he did not notice the sharp look Costanza gave him now.
He also tended to forget that despite all outward appearances, Costanza was one hell of a bluffer.
“I’m just wondering,” the pilot said after a moment.
“Huh,” Felix couldn’t help but tease, “Things going badly with Racetrack?”
Costanza snorted, getting up. “I’ll fetch us some food.”
A fleeting thought occurred that it was absurd to talk about this. It wasn’t that anybody on Galactica would have sex with a cripple even if he wanted someone to, so Felix didn’t see how it mattered.
“I’m still waiting for an explanation, Mr. Gaeta,” Adama said. He said it in a quiet, serious tone of voice, no accusation there at all. But Felix was still glad he hadn’t taken the seat the admiral had offered when he came into the office. It was strange how after all this time, he still wanted to respect this man so much.
“I mean it. I don’t want it, sir,” he said, surprised that his voice didn’t waver at all. “I’d be honored if you wanted to promote me for doing a good job as watch officer. I don’t want to become senior lieutenant because I was shot and the crew needs to see that nobody gets overlooked on this ship. Sir.” Not even Mr. Gaeta, that poor bastard from the CIC who was said to have had some kind of breakdown when he couldn’t cope with being a cripple.
A sympathetic look crossed Adama’s face. Felix found he didn’t particularly like seeing it. All kinds of people looked at him like that these days. He would have liked a look like that on anybody’s face a year ago when he’d almost been executed by his ‘peers’. Or maybe Adama could have bothered with the sentiment when he woke up in sickbay pumped up with tranquilizers, learning he’d tried to stab Gaius Baltar with a pen in an interrogation. It had been weeks until that memory came back.
Adama looked thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t want to promote you because you were shot, Mr. Gaeta,” he said eventually.
But he did want to promote him because of morale.
Felix hardened his face.
“I don’t want it, sir,” he said. “Because I don’t think we’re that desperate.”
It could have been funny but to his own surprise, Felix found that he meant it. He knew a lot more about how much life could suck than Admiral Adama, and he didn’t think that everything was lost for Galactica at all.
War was raging again. This time however it was different from before, a new kind of war with new kinds of dangers. It was them attacking now while the damaged basestar of their allies stayed behind as protection for the fleet. Soon they were joined by another group of renegade Sixes and renegade Twos bringing a little army of Centurions along. They gained a small military fleet on their own that used the Cylon network to track the other Cylons’ moves, adopting a strategy of raiding and retreating. People were promoted. Others died.
“I have a problem,” Brendan said without preamble, bursting into Felix’ quarters with wide eyes. It was a few days after their third large-scale attack, having cost them five of their pilots including Showboat and Hex.
Glad as always to see the man in one piece after a CAP, Felix signaled for him to take a seat, putting away his clipboard. “What is it?”
“There’s been a rumor around,” Brendan said, clutching the edge of the table. “There’ll be promotions now that we lost second and third CAG. Helo says whoever has made most time in grade and most hits is going to make captain. That means third CAG. I checked with the others. That’s going to be me.”
“Well then, congratulations,” Felix said slowly, not seeing the problem.
Brendan gave him an exasperated look. “I can’t make CAG, Felix!” he hissed. “I don’t know how! I’ve never gotten the training, they only taught us how to fly when we were nuggets! And I told you how I didn’t manage flight school! I’m just not that clever!”
Felix blinked. “Nonsense,” he said resolutely.
The notion that Brendan could be too stupid to learn something Starbuck was doing everyday was entirely ridiculous in his book.
This, he could deal with. Thinking for a moment with the practiced ease of a person whose everyday job was solving problems, Felix turned around to look at his tiny bookshelf.
“See that black folder over there? Bring it over. Also the large book with the fleet emblem on it.
“Now,” he continued when Brendan complied, opening the command manual and shoving it over so the pilot could see. “Most CAG duties are deck duties. The first thing you need to know as CAG is launch and landing protocol because the LSO and Chief rely on you to keep your pilots in order or they can’t do their jobs.”
He spent the next several free shifts hunched over books with Brendan, diligently walking him through tech and command manuals and protocol, explaining the importance of each until the man had it down. Not taking no for an answer whenever Brendan said it couldn’t be done, he explained to him how to do things, when to do things, and why the regulations existed in the first place. Six years of CIC pride getting to him, Felix felt inspired to equip the air wing with at least one competent officer. He couldn’t believe they had people on Galactica walking around in officers’ uniforms, carrying guns for the Gods’ sake without any proper training at all… like, say, Sam Anders.
Brendan would make a great captain though.
Upon receiving his promotion a couple days later, Brendan gave him a hug. It was a great hug, uncomplicated and overwhelming, lifting him off the ground. Laughing, Felix forgot all about promotions and war for a minute, concentrating on the feeling of warm skin and wiry muscle under his palms.
“Oh, I’ve even gotten Margaret to come to my promotion party,” Brendan said when he let him back to the ground. “Tonight after deck duty, we’ll…”
Felix detangled himself, smiling but firm, renewing the grip on the crutch he hadn’t lost. “Great,” he said. “That’s great.”
“Yeah, she and Sharon both had to switch a shift to make it work,” Brendan agreed, his hand lingering on Felix’ waist. “Anyway, you think you can make it down on your own? There are tricky stairways between the CIC and my place but not many and it isn’t that far. I checked.”
Of course he had. “I’m sorry I can’t. I’m working doubles all week.”
“Again?” Brendan protested.
“The third watch officer is in sickbay a lot,” Felix answered smoothly, taking a step back. It wasn’t a lie, technically. Myers was married to a nurse. “He needs some time off.”
“I see,” Brendan said curtly, changing the subject.
Felix made himself smile. He didn’t want to meet with other people.
That was all.
Brendan still kept him posted about the parts of the rumor mill not accessible through the CIC crew. He’d bring dinner over for the two of them on days Felix didn’t show up in the mess on his break, insisting that Felix should eat. He recounted how Laird appeared to be frakking somebody in the supply closet but nobody knew who it was, and there was a promising new porn writer on the Prometheus. He’d started slipping Felix samples when he won them at Triad, not asking anything in return.
“Oh, and there’s Margaret,” Brendan remarked one day between two spoonful of today’s algae special. “She claims it’s nothing, but Skulls says she sneaks off every time they make a supply run to the Gemenon Cruiser. Comes back with dopy grins, too. Now, she never tells me anything anymore but I bet she’ll tell Sharon. Sharon always spills.”
Felix frowned. “That’s a shame. You must be crushed.” Maybe he’d misunderstood something about Brendan and Racetrack, he thought. Maybe it had evolved into more of a physical connection. Admittedly, he hadn’t let himself listen closely lately when Brendan talked about her.
“What?” Brendan glanced up at him, a confused look on his face. It was replaced by an expression of understanding a moment later. “Oh, that. I thought you knew. That never took, we’ve been back to being friends. I mean, Margaret’s smoking hot but turns out, that’s all there was between us. I think she still doesn’t take me seriously, what with her always giving me funny looks when I say something clever.
“Anyway,” he said after a moment, pausing to wolf down another spoonful of mash. “I’ve been thinking. I want to try out some new things, reorient myself a bit. Women are nice without question but maybe other things aren’t bad either.”
That was intriguing. Felix, as a long-term consumer of porn, was always interested in new kinks. After all, Brendan couldn’t possibly be saying what he thought he was saying, so he ignored that part. “Like what?”
Brendan gestured with his spoon. “Well, you know. There were some pretty interesting things on that frak list I wrote you.” He returned his attention to the food. “And I bet blowjobs are more fun with guys, too. I mean, I’m not saying that the butt sex isn’t a bit scary, because it is, but I figure I don’t have to try it all at once.”
It was funny how he had a hard time coming up with a reaction, any reaction at all. Carefully Felix put his own spoon down, observing the lights reflect on it.
“Whatever brought this on?” he asked. Belatedly he noticed that he had placed his hand in his lap like he’d used to do on New Caprica when he didn’t want people to see it start shaking, although that had never worked with Caprica Six.
Felix wasn’t really sure why but he thought, it was probably a phase. He’d heard stories about straight guys who felt inspired to try it out when they became friends with gay men. It had been fashionable in some circles, being bisexual. Brendan didn’t seem the type but you never knew.
In the corner of his eye, Brendan shrugged. “Been thinking about it for a while. I wanted to be sure it would keep steady before I made any announcements, you know? Not that I’ve tried anything yet but I’ve been thinking about it. I’m really sure. I figured it wouldn’t make sense to go through the trouble if I don’t really mean it.”
“Oh.” Words failed Felix. “And… well, how did you find out?”
“I don’t know.” Brendan glanced up at him then. “Just happened.”
An unusually reluctant smile appeared on his face, all his attention on Felix as if the world solely consisted of them, as if it was a great world as well.
Felix’ stomach constricted painfully and hard.
It took Felix two days of glaring at his locker until he got a grip.
Muttering curses under his breath, he eventually gave in. He hopped over, searching until he found the damn piece of paper buried under his socks. He remembered he’d placed it in there before first putting his clothes away, not having touched it since. He’d planned on never touching it ever, telling himself he’d kept it only because it had been a present.
Sitting down on his rack, he unfolded the paper and started reading after taking a deep breath.
Brendan’s handwriting was narrow and edgy to save space, not the writing of a person who did it a lot. A gracious amount of commas were scattered all over the text like an afterthought, but all was ordered methodically, expression surprisingly precise - work done by a guy who’d been a clerk. Had Felix read it earlier, he would never have believed that Brendan had made it all up on the fly, because it was full of warnings about balance, scar tissue, swelling. Felix had been wondering when all of the swelling would go away. Another couple of months, then.
Apart from that, the list told a story of how Brendan had a kinky fondness for chairs of all things, and planned for sex to take longer than five minutes. On Galactica, frakking was usually a matter of quick romps in the duty lockers but Brendan wouldn’t have any of it, either anticipating Felix getting his own quarters or preference winning over practicability. Brendan liked oral sex. He really liked kissing. Both were pointed out as a special bonus in multiple suggestions.
There was a parenthesis pointing out that scar tissue was often erogenous, and if Felix squinted, he could make out all the times the word ‘stump’ was used at once, drawing an invisible pattern with it all over the sheet.
Not a chance in hell, he thought, feeling faintly sick when he put it away.
The next time Felix saw Brendan, he thanked him firmly when the pilot opened a hatch for him, making very sure not to touch him on the way into the room. He was suddenly painfully aware of how much they used to touch, how he’d grown used to feeling Brendan hovering nearby, close enough to smell the mix of soap and machine oil he’d come to associate with Brendan. It even clung to his pillow some nights from Brendan sitting on his rack.
He felt Brendan’s eyes lingering on him but the pilot didn’t comment. After a pause, he followed in after Felix, closing the hatch with a quiet but firm thud.
Felix had trouble looking him in the eyes.
on to part 3
Pairing: Gaeta/Hot Dog
Wordcount: ~ 13000 words
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: Teen. Lots of talking about sex but it's all theory. People die and / or hook up but it's all background noise.
Spoilers: up to 4.10, AU afterwards, no use of the webisodes or spoilers
Beta: Thanks very much to ebuchala and millari who made this a much better story than I could ever have written on my own and who cheerfully put up with my typos and errors. You rock.
Summary: "Costanza insisted on thinking of Felix as a normal guy with a normal life, who should go through recovery step by step. Felix however couldn’t make out a life he could get back to at all, and if there was one anyhow, he wasn’t sure he wanted it back."
Galactica was jumping again. Even Felix as navigator didn’t exactly know where they were heading since they didn’t have a destination. It was like it had been in the beginning when everybody thought they were jumping towards Earth while Adama really had him plot search patterns for fuel and water. They couldn’t stay on Earth. The water there was radiated.
Felix had started hording painkillers even before that, estimating he’d need quite a lot of them to die. It hadn’t been easy to acquire the pills because Cottle only ever gave him a handful at a time. Also, he was still suffering from phantom pain that got in the way of things if he didn’t take meds. However, Felix had managed to skip on one or two every free shift whenever Costanza didn’t come for visits. He supposed he’d need less of them if he took them with some alcohol but didn’t count on it.
It only took a week until Costanza found the stash in a drawer in his head. It hadn’t been hidden very well.
When the pilot gave him an unusually long look upon leaving the head that evening, he didn’t think much of it.
“How’s it going with readjustment?” Costanza asked casually while picking up the Triad deck to return it to whomever he’d borrowed it from.
“Fine,” Felix said, surprised by the question. “It’s going just fine.”
“I see,” Costanza said and grew silent for a while. Then he struck up a conversation about how Helo said Figurski said that Tattoo was frakking a deckhand, all in a very casual voice.
It was only later that Felix found the relevant drawer to be empty. He looked down at it for a minute, no reaction coming to mind whatsoever. Without having to look he knew he’d find his service pistol gone, too.
None of them ever mentioned it. Felix did however restart taking the pills as prescribed.
Felix didn’t know why he burst into tears in the officers’ head on his break.
He’d knocked over a piece of soap, which wasn’t a tragedy except maybe it was. Maybe all of it was or he was - it was hard to think. He just found himself sitting on the floor, crutches cluttering down. Burying his face in his hand, he cried so hard he thought he might burst. He just couldn’t do it anymore. It was too hard.
Felix couldn’t remember Dee having walked in on him but she must have, because suddenly she burst into the room, rapidly talking to Costanza, following behind, about how she’d found him like that.
One thing he would remember clearly was a helmet clanking to the ground, body heat emanating from the pilot when he knelt down at his side, no matter he was wearing full flight gear. He allowed the other man to wrap his arms around him, crying even harder.
“Should I call Dr. Cottle?” he heard Dee ask.
“Nah, I’m taking care of it.”
They said more but none of it registered. Dee left. Later, Felix would think that she must have lied to Tigh because theoretically he was on duty, and if the freshly reinstituted Cylon Colonel knew the whole story, he would have let it show for sure. Costanza had to be on duty as well but it seemed he didn’t care. Waiting for Felix to calm down enough, he half-carried him back to his quarters, helmet in his free hand.
“That’s better,” Costanza said quietly when he sat them down on the rack, drawing Felix to his chest again, hand on the back of his neck. “Just let it out. Keep your head down and try to breathe calmly when you feel better.” It took a while until he felt better though.
“I’m sorry,” Felix said numbly.
“Nothing wrong with crying,” Costanza said, holding him tighter.
Starbuck must have dressed him down for not showing up for patrol but Brendan never told how much he’d gotten into trouble.
The President died three days after what would have been Colonial Day.
Felix listened to the service on the wireless while on watch in the CIC, all of them pausing with their work when a priest delivered the parting prayer before pushing the button and releasing the body into space.
They were surprised to see Adama enter the CIC just minutes later. They were not so surprised when they realized that he went straight for the phone, telling Dee to open a channel to all fleet ships.
It had been decided they’d fly home and finish the Cylons off once and for all, he said. They could do it, he said. The enemy did not resurrect anymore now when you shot them, and the enemy fleet was already divided. Their dying leader had brought them to Earth not to give them a new place to live but to show them a way to win back what was rightfully theirs. They would go home.
As speeches went, it was a good one.
Adama then told Felix to plot a lengthy route right into Cylon space. Although he kept working after hours, making it the best route possible, it took him three shifts to get it done. It was a very long way to go.
Costanza had insisted Felix should own a table early on. He had then arranged for one to be commissioned from storage, enlisting Sharon’s help to carry it over. Nowadays, he complained that Felix never used it for anything, hinting unsubtly that Felix was lacking in visitors. Felix didn’t want visitors. However, as a show of good faith, he sat at the table a lot. This time, he was working through a fuel report when Costanza sat down across from him. “Hey Gaeta, I’ve been wondering about something.”
“I’m sure that’s an exciting new experience,” Felix said, recalculating a number.
“Funny.” Unabashedly, Costanza leaned forward. “How did you find out that you’re gay?”
Felix glanced up. “What?”
“How did you find out...”
“I got that,” Felix interrupted him, puzzled. “What does it matter?” This wasn’t a usual thing to be asked by straight people. It had been a classic conversational topic in the gay community of course, a favorite subject on first dates. Straight people only asked questions like that if they were planning on healing you. Felix was reasonably sure that none of these applied to Costanza.
Also, it wasn’t exactly a topic that commanded attention. Costanza had never made an impression that he cared about these things before, oblivious like straight people tended to be.
“I’m just curious,” the pilot said. “I mean, how did it work? Did you date girls first but didn’t like it, or what? How did you know?”
“I’ve always known. I’ve never dated girls. My sisters talked about boys all day, and I was twelve or something before I noticed that it wasn’t that usual for a boy to join in. My father had a hard time with it at first, I think; he was from Gemenon originally. But my mother made him change his mind. I never really cared about how I knew, I just did.” Crossing out the wrong figure and scribbling down the new one, Felix added rhetorically, “How do you know you’re straight?”
Since Felix was still very much in that place where things escaped his attention, he did not notice the sharp look Costanza gave him now.
He also tended to forget that despite all outward appearances, Costanza was one hell of a bluffer.
“I’m just wondering,” the pilot said after a moment.
“Huh,” Felix couldn’t help but tease, “Things going badly with Racetrack?”
Costanza snorted, getting up. “I’ll fetch us some food.”
A fleeting thought occurred that it was absurd to talk about this. It wasn’t that anybody on Galactica would have sex with a cripple even if he wanted someone to, so Felix didn’t see how it mattered.
“I’m still waiting for an explanation, Mr. Gaeta,” Adama said. He said it in a quiet, serious tone of voice, no accusation there at all. But Felix was still glad he hadn’t taken the seat the admiral had offered when he came into the office. It was strange how after all this time, he still wanted to respect this man so much.
“I mean it. I don’t want it, sir,” he said, surprised that his voice didn’t waver at all. “I’d be honored if you wanted to promote me for doing a good job as watch officer. I don’t want to become senior lieutenant because I was shot and the crew needs to see that nobody gets overlooked on this ship. Sir.” Not even Mr. Gaeta, that poor bastard from the CIC who was said to have had some kind of breakdown when he couldn’t cope with being a cripple.
A sympathetic look crossed Adama’s face. Felix found he didn’t particularly like seeing it. All kinds of people looked at him like that these days. He would have liked a look like that on anybody’s face a year ago when he’d almost been executed by his ‘peers’. Or maybe Adama could have bothered with the sentiment when he woke up in sickbay pumped up with tranquilizers, learning he’d tried to stab Gaius Baltar with a pen in an interrogation. It had been weeks until that memory came back.
Adama looked thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t want to promote you because you were shot, Mr. Gaeta,” he said eventually.
But he did want to promote him because of morale.
Felix hardened his face.
“I don’t want it, sir,” he said. “Because I don’t think we’re that desperate.”
It could have been funny but to his own surprise, Felix found that he meant it. He knew a lot more about how much life could suck than Admiral Adama, and he didn’t think that everything was lost for Galactica at all.
War was raging again. This time however it was different from before, a new kind of war with new kinds of dangers. It was them attacking now while the damaged basestar of their allies stayed behind as protection for the fleet. Soon they were joined by another group of renegade Sixes and renegade Twos bringing a little army of Centurions along. They gained a small military fleet on their own that used the Cylon network to track the other Cylons’ moves, adopting a strategy of raiding and retreating. People were promoted. Others died.
“I have a problem,” Brendan said without preamble, bursting into Felix’ quarters with wide eyes. It was a few days after their third large-scale attack, having cost them five of their pilots including Showboat and Hex.
Glad as always to see the man in one piece after a CAP, Felix signaled for him to take a seat, putting away his clipboard. “What is it?”
“There’s been a rumor around,” Brendan said, clutching the edge of the table. “There’ll be promotions now that we lost second and third CAG. Helo says whoever has made most time in grade and most hits is going to make captain. That means third CAG. I checked with the others. That’s going to be me.”
“Well then, congratulations,” Felix said slowly, not seeing the problem.
Brendan gave him an exasperated look. “I can’t make CAG, Felix!” he hissed. “I don’t know how! I’ve never gotten the training, they only taught us how to fly when we were nuggets! And I told you how I didn’t manage flight school! I’m just not that clever!”
Felix blinked. “Nonsense,” he said resolutely.
The notion that Brendan could be too stupid to learn something Starbuck was doing everyday was entirely ridiculous in his book.
This, he could deal with. Thinking for a moment with the practiced ease of a person whose everyday job was solving problems, Felix turned around to look at his tiny bookshelf.
“See that black folder over there? Bring it over. Also the large book with the fleet emblem on it.
“Now,” he continued when Brendan complied, opening the command manual and shoving it over so the pilot could see. “Most CAG duties are deck duties. The first thing you need to know as CAG is launch and landing protocol because the LSO and Chief rely on you to keep your pilots in order or they can’t do their jobs.”
He spent the next several free shifts hunched over books with Brendan, diligently walking him through tech and command manuals and protocol, explaining the importance of each until the man had it down. Not taking no for an answer whenever Brendan said it couldn’t be done, he explained to him how to do things, when to do things, and why the regulations existed in the first place. Six years of CIC pride getting to him, Felix felt inspired to equip the air wing with at least one competent officer. He couldn’t believe they had people on Galactica walking around in officers’ uniforms, carrying guns for the Gods’ sake without any proper training at all… like, say, Sam Anders.
Brendan would make a great captain though.
Upon receiving his promotion a couple days later, Brendan gave him a hug. It was a great hug, uncomplicated and overwhelming, lifting him off the ground. Laughing, Felix forgot all about promotions and war for a minute, concentrating on the feeling of warm skin and wiry muscle under his palms.
“Oh, I’ve even gotten Margaret to come to my promotion party,” Brendan said when he let him back to the ground. “Tonight after deck duty, we’ll…”
Felix detangled himself, smiling but firm, renewing the grip on the crutch he hadn’t lost. “Great,” he said. “That’s great.”
“Yeah, she and Sharon both had to switch a shift to make it work,” Brendan agreed, his hand lingering on Felix’ waist. “Anyway, you think you can make it down on your own? There are tricky stairways between the CIC and my place but not many and it isn’t that far. I checked.”
Of course he had. “I’m sorry I can’t. I’m working doubles all week.”
“Again?” Brendan protested.
“The third watch officer is in sickbay a lot,” Felix answered smoothly, taking a step back. It wasn’t a lie, technically. Myers was married to a nurse. “He needs some time off.”
“I see,” Brendan said curtly, changing the subject.
Felix made himself smile. He didn’t want to meet with other people.
That was all.
Brendan still kept him posted about the parts of the rumor mill not accessible through the CIC crew. He’d bring dinner over for the two of them on days Felix didn’t show up in the mess on his break, insisting that Felix should eat. He recounted how Laird appeared to be frakking somebody in the supply closet but nobody knew who it was, and there was a promising new porn writer on the Prometheus. He’d started slipping Felix samples when he won them at Triad, not asking anything in return.
“Oh, and there’s Margaret,” Brendan remarked one day between two spoonful of today’s algae special. “She claims it’s nothing, but Skulls says she sneaks off every time they make a supply run to the Gemenon Cruiser. Comes back with dopy grins, too. Now, she never tells me anything anymore but I bet she’ll tell Sharon. Sharon always spills.”
Felix frowned. “That’s a shame. You must be crushed.” Maybe he’d misunderstood something about Brendan and Racetrack, he thought. Maybe it had evolved into more of a physical connection. Admittedly, he hadn’t let himself listen closely lately when Brendan talked about her.
“What?” Brendan glanced up at him, a confused look on his face. It was replaced by an expression of understanding a moment later. “Oh, that. I thought you knew. That never took, we’ve been back to being friends. I mean, Margaret’s smoking hot but turns out, that’s all there was between us. I think she still doesn’t take me seriously, what with her always giving me funny looks when I say something clever.
“Anyway,” he said after a moment, pausing to wolf down another spoonful of mash. “I’ve been thinking. I want to try out some new things, reorient myself a bit. Women are nice without question but maybe other things aren’t bad either.”
That was intriguing. Felix, as a long-term consumer of porn, was always interested in new kinks. After all, Brendan couldn’t possibly be saying what he thought he was saying, so he ignored that part. “Like what?”
Brendan gestured with his spoon. “Well, you know. There were some pretty interesting things on that frak list I wrote you.” He returned his attention to the food. “And I bet blowjobs are more fun with guys, too. I mean, I’m not saying that the butt sex isn’t a bit scary, because it is, but I figure I don’t have to try it all at once.”
It was funny how he had a hard time coming up with a reaction, any reaction at all. Carefully Felix put his own spoon down, observing the lights reflect on it.
“Whatever brought this on?” he asked. Belatedly he noticed that he had placed his hand in his lap like he’d used to do on New Caprica when he didn’t want people to see it start shaking, although that had never worked with Caprica Six.
Felix wasn’t really sure why but he thought, it was probably a phase. He’d heard stories about straight guys who felt inspired to try it out when they became friends with gay men. It had been fashionable in some circles, being bisexual. Brendan didn’t seem the type but you never knew.
In the corner of his eye, Brendan shrugged. “Been thinking about it for a while. I wanted to be sure it would keep steady before I made any announcements, you know? Not that I’ve tried anything yet but I’ve been thinking about it. I’m really sure. I figured it wouldn’t make sense to go through the trouble if I don’t really mean it.”
“Oh.” Words failed Felix. “And… well, how did you find out?”
“I don’t know.” Brendan glanced up at him then. “Just happened.”
An unusually reluctant smile appeared on his face, all his attention on Felix as if the world solely consisted of them, as if it was a great world as well.
Felix’ stomach constricted painfully and hard.
It took Felix two days of glaring at his locker until he got a grip.
Muttering curses under his breath, he eventually gave in. He hopped over, searching until he found the damn piece of paper buried under his socks. He remembered he’d placed it in there before first putting his clothes away, not having touched it since. He’d planned on never touching it ever, telling himself he’d kept it only because it had been a present.
Sitting down on his rack, he unfolded the paper and started reading after taking a deep breath.
Brendan’s handwriting was narrow and edgy to save space, not the writing of a person who did it a lot. A gracious amount of commas were scattered all over the text like an afterthought, but all was ordered methodically, expression surprisingly precise - work done by a guy who’d been a clerk. Had Felix read it earlier, he would never have believed that Brendan had made it all up on the fly, because it was full of warnings about balance, scar tissue, swelling. Felix had been wondering when all of the swelling would go away. Another couple of months, then.
Apart from that, the list told a story of how Brendan had a kinky fondness for chairs of all things, and planned for sex to take longer than five minutes. On Galactica, frakking was usually a matter of quick romps in the duty lockers but Brendan wouldn’t have any of it, either anticipating Felix getting his own quarters or preference winning over practicability. Brendan liked oral sex. He really liked kissing. Both were pointed out as a special bonus in multiple suggestions.
There was a parenthesis pointing out that scar tissue was often erogenous, and if Felix squinted, he could make out all the times the word ‘stump’ was used at once, drawing an invisible pattern with it all over the sheet.
Not a chance in hell, he thought, feeling faintly sick when he put it away.
The next time Felix saw Brendan, he thanked him firmly when the pilot opened a hatch for him, making very sure not to touch him on the way into the room. He was suddenly painfully aware of how much they used to touch, how he’d grown used to feeling Brendan hovering nearby, close enough to smell the mix of soap and machine oil he’d come to associate with Brendan. It even clung to his pillow some nights from Brendan sitting on his rack.
He felt Brendan’s eyes lingering on him but the pilot didn’t comment. After a pause, he followed in after Felix, closing the hatch with a quiet but firm thud.
Felix had trouble looking him in the eyes.
on to part 3