Title: Warning
Author: upsidedownbutterfly
Summary: Just prior to the mutiny, Tyrol receives a warning.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: "The Oath"
Disclaimer: They're not mine, people.
Author's Note: This is just a random little scene that's been sitting on my hard drive for a while now. Figured I'd post it and get it out of my metaphorical hair.
Figurski's footsteps echoed loudly as he made his way down the empty corridor. He hadn't been in this part of Galactica for months – pretty much no one had – but a bit of faulty wiring in this area had been wreaking havoc three decks up, and Figurski had overheard Laird assigning Tyrol to fix it. And that was who he was there to find.
Rounding a corner, Figurski nearly tripped over the object of his search. Galen Tyrol lay on his back in the corridor, head and upper body shoved back inside the bulkhead, allowing him a better angle at which to tinker with the wires. There was a clatter and a muffled curse from inside the bulkhead, but other than that, Tyrol made no sound. If he'd heard Figurski approach, he didn't acknowledge it.
Clearing his throat with sudden awkwardness, Figurski spoke. "Hey Galen," he said, wincing inwardly at the unintended strain lacing the simple words.
"Hey, Figurski," Tyrol replied, voice muffled by the bulkhead. "What can I do for you?"
Figurski shifted uncomfortably, suddenly apprehensive, and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jumpsuit. "I just wanted to let you know… there's some people going to be looking for you down on the hangar deck and, uh," he hesitated. "It'd probably be best if they didn't find you."
There was a rustle of fabric as Tyrol slid himself fully out into the corridor so he could peer up at Figurski with a puzzled expression. "What the frak are you talking about?"
Figurski gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Just… there's been some rumblings lately, among the crew. People unhappy with the alliance, with the amnesty." He eyed Tyrol warily. "People thinking that we should be killing cylons not playing nice with them."
Tyrol barked out a laugh. "Yeah, tell me something I don't already know," he said. Wiping his hands on his pants, he sat up and turning his back to Figurski, began tossing his tools back in their toolbox.
"Yeah. Yeah, I get that," Figurski replied, somewhat hurriedly. "But it's not just talk, not anymore, okay? The word is that they might be ready to actually do something about it."
Tyrol snorted. "Do something? The Old Man has been pretty firm about backing this alliance. A bunch of pissy greasemonkeys and viper jocks aren't gonna convince him otherwise."
Almost reflexively Figurski glanced around, but the corridor remained as deserted as ever. "They're not looking to convince him," he said, voice low. "They're looking to…" There was an uneasy pause. "Replace him."
"Replace?" Tyrol echoed, slowly turning back around to face Figurski, his tools for the moment forgotten. "You mean mutiny."
Both men were quiet for a long moment.
"Holy frak, you're serious," Tyrol hissed, breaking the silence.
Figurski held up his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture. "It's just what I've heard, Galen. No one's told me anything solid. But I do know they're gunning for toasters, and I, uh, just thought I'd give you a heads up to make yourself scarce or something."
There was another silence as Tyrol studied him carefully. "Why?" he finally said.
"Why what?" Figurski replied, bewildered.
"Why warn me?"
"Because…" began Figurski, uncertainly, shoving his hands back into his pockets, "because, well, you've never given me a reason not to. I mean, I know you're a cylon and all, but you'd always been a good boss and I guess you could say a good friend." He shook his head. "Whatever they've got in mind to do to you, you don't deserve it."
A small, half-smile had formed on Tyrol's mouth. "Thanks, Anthony," he said.
Figurski shrugged. "Yeah, don't mention it."