Lee was going to kill Dion.

He was going to take his gun, point it at the base of his skull and blow out the front of the man's face if he didn't stop whistling.

It wasn't exactly whistling, more a slight muttering of a song, a tune that was slowly driving it's way into Lee's brain. He had been in an excellent mood. He had slept more than three hours, his stomach was satisfied, though his taste buds weren't, and he had taken a gods blessed shower. It was colder than frak, but it was clean water running over him, washing away the week old stink. Though they didn't have time to start up the wash cycle, so his fatigues were still smelly as hell.

The topper was that Lee had dreamed of her. Course it left him the predicament of waking up hard enough to chip marble, but a few moments of remembering her hips took care of that.

When he and Dion suited up and started the trek, Lee was calm, cool and could smile if he chose to let himself. But the mission itself bothered him, going without a medic, or the rest of his team. Add on top of that eighteen hours of walking towards Delphi, rough terrain, and Dion's off key muttering. Murder was beginning to sound really good.

Gripping his gun a little tighter, Lee tried to distract himself with the surroundings, it was midday, you could hear a bird or two twitter, nature deciding to return to some kind of normal. The calm around him allowed lee to recall the dream he had earlier and its origins.

They met in a shitty bar five years ago playing triad. Lee had taken a liking to the game, and was using his ability to read people to his advantage. He managed to get a good pile of chips when he heard the noisy blond walk in with a few of her friends. It surprised Lee since it wasn't really the place for flyboys.

He could tell from the cut of their uniform and invincible attitudes that they were pilots. If they hadn't been preoccupied with making a racket, they would have noticed that this was a marine bar, and not one of the nicer ones. They tended to be a little insulted when you walked into their bar and weren't a part of the core.

When Lee had walked in, all the regulars wanted to do was take his money, simply because he was in special ops. But with those flyboys, there might have been an all out fight. He didn't mind it at the time, a decent brawl was one of things Lee had begun to appreciate as a good stress reliever.

The three marines in front of him were convict recruits, people given the choice between prison or service. Tattoos up to their necks, mean caveman brows, and each with a nose that had been broken at least three times. Each had an axe to grind, taking it out on Lee by taking all his money. That hadn't been much of a problem since the man to the left quirked his eyebrow whenever he had a good hand, the middle man shuffled his cards whenever he was in a bluff, and the man on the right was three sheets to the wind.

The distraction had cost him the hand though. Lee hadn't cared, considering who he was looking at. She was obviously the one who had achieved whatever victory they were out celebrating. Her hair was short, to her ears, her flight dress blues opened in the front revealing the usual undershirt/t-shirt combo that most pilots wore.

Lee instantly liked her face. Something that he never cared to share with any of his fellow soldiers, who were usually all about tits, ass, or abs; Lee was all about the face. If you couldn't wake up next to the person without screaming, then what was the point of having a good body. Not that she had to make up for anything.

Well rounded in all areas to say the least.

But her face was what struck him first, and made the lasting impression, round cheeks, slightly blunt nose, full lips, strong jaw and eyes that knew too much.

Lee learned most about a person from their face, and in hers, he saw a beautiful tragedy. It wasn't her laugh, or the jokes she made with her friends. It was the look she got when her friends turned to their own conversations, leaving her to her own thoughts. The look in her eyes as she stared into her brew. A person who was cocky as hell, strong, but vulnerable to anyone who caught the small moments in between.

After losing a third hand Lee got back into the game, deciding that any attempts to pick up the woman at the bar would end with him going home alone. After two more hands, one where Lee made back most of what he lost, he heard her speak for the first time.

"If you don't mind me askin sir, I can't figure why, out of all the people to bring along, you chose me."

Dion's voice pulled him from the memory. In irritation Lee threw him a glare.

He considered stonewalling, but it didn't quite feel right, it taking more effort to parry Dion's questions than just giving in. After the conversation with Callisto, it didn't seem worth all the energy just to keep appearances. But it didn't mean he'd sugarcoat the truth.

"The civvies need Callisto for meds, Nestor to maintain the place, and Achilla's the only other one in the team I would trust to lead them if I got fragged. We're expendable. "

In his peripheral Lee could see Dion's slightly stunned expression, never having received a straight forward answer without more haggle.

"Wow, make me feel all sorts of important. Why not just grab a civvie and let me sleep for a few more days?"

Looking back at Dion, Lee felt it was time to try some honesty of a different kind.

"I don't trust any of those civvies not to crumble under the pressure."

Dion stumbled, if only slightly, and it got a smile on Lee's face.

"Also if we find more civvies I don't want to be the one stuck dealing with them."

That got a laugh out Dion. One of the few moments where they both wore a smile at the same time.

"So what, I'm just the pretty face of this team? I mean I always knew, but hearing it from my commanding officer, it'll set my life forward in ways I've never imagined."

If he listened carefully, he could detect a little bit of wonder in Dion's voice. Lee thought about bringing the smile back for round two, but instead kept his face straight and calm. There were limits to how much he was willing to loosen up.

"You done?"

"Nope. Where'd you get the tattoo?"

That good humor from loosening up was shriveling back into that large field of irritation he had been tromping through moments ago.

"Why all the questions Sergeant?"

Shrugging without looking at Lee, Dion had no problem being dramatic while simultaneously scanning the area for possible enemy contact. At this point Lee knew it was an unconscious habit.

"Oh I don't know. Maybe it's the yellow tinted sky, the radiation in the air, or the impending death, just thought I actually might pounce on the chatty mood you're in. Doesn't happen too often. Also I've always wondered where that tattoo comes from, you and Achilla have it. You two don't seem like the kind of guys to get inked, sir."

Lee had known what kind of soldier Dion was, deadly, efficient, type A personality. All of which did well in this line of work. Furthermore he got along with others in the team, using jokes as a way to lighten the mood, someone everyone could get a long with. A lot of the time it was hit and miss on whether you'll actually get along with the others in your squad. Dion cared about people, especially his team. Something that Lee had to limit himself on. So that when the time came, he would be able to order one of his squad to their deaths for the success of the mission. Now the mission was survival, making the wall between Lee and the rest of the team an obstacle instead of a tool.

"Before Colonial Security, Achilla and I were a part of a special ops squad called the Myrmidons, specializing in anti terrorism, I was a captain and she was a sergeant. Was under the command of Major Josiah Ironsides, good man. Everyone in the squad got this tattoo."

Lee hadn't talked about Joe or the Myrmidons in almost a year. Only time he ever mentioned them was on the anniversary he and Achilla celebrated with a drink. The clipped nature of Lee's voice must have signaled Dion that it wasn't the end of the story.

"What happened to them?"

It was a casual question, but the answer was going to be hard for Lee, wasn't a good memory to go over, and he made no effort to cover that in his voice.

"Most, including Ironsides, got fragged during a op gone wrong in the Saggitarian demilitarized zone. The others transferred, or just went nuts. "

Lee wasn't looking at him, but he could see that Dion was eyeing him. Probably wondering if Lee was crazy himself, or just really good at hiding it. Psychiatrists had been assigned to the survivors after the battle, but they had all been frustrated by Lee. He and psychiatrists didn't get along, since pills seemed to be their main mode of dealing with soldiers issues. Hell even before signing up, Lee had managed to get the high school counselor to call him a frak up.

"Going after the Saggitaron Nationalist Separatists. Must have been hard."

Dion's voice had dropped any humor, but didn't have the audacity to be sympathetic. Understanding that unless he had watched his own squad slaughtered in front of him, he couldn't know what it was like for Lee. The Major respected Dion a little more just for that.

"Wasn't easy."

It hadn't been easy in the least, but Lee had been lucky enough to have Achilla, those few good memories to fall back on. It was then that Lee understood what his instructor had meant, holding onto that one thing. And after he watched his commanding officer get sliced up by crossfire, Lee held on for dear life.

Dion got the idea that there wasn't going to be any further conversation, and Lee was allowed to drift back into his memories.

'Deal me in'

That was the first thing he'd ever heard her say. Without asking she sat herself down in the empty chair, as if these four men who outweighed her by a hundred pounds had nothing on her at all.

The shuffler said something rude about the only way she would play was if she was bouncing on his lap. Her brilliant response had been:

'Yeah well that's if you could get it out of your mother's mouth for more than a few seconds.'

At that point three sheets burst out laughing, dropping his cards onto the table, the shuffler's face turned beet red, and I could tell he was two seconds from starting a fight, for which she seemed more than ready. Eyebrow decided to laugh and calm his friend down, saying they should let her play, speaking in a tone that Lee didn't quite like. A tone that said they would meet her in the alley later on. Lee decided that wasn't going to happen.

When her eyes met his, Lee couldn't help the small smile that snuck onto his face.

Hands were dealt, money was lost and gained, and no one spoke a word. Except for a few expletives when a hand was lost.. Soon enough it was clear that she had a luck that was damn occult. Eyebrow and Shuffler, with their money dwindling, started drinking more and more, their plans changing from meeting her in the alley, to passing out and meeting the floor. Three sheets had left awhile back when he discovered that he couldn't play if he didn't have any money. The two left hadn't really noticed much.

The blond quickly found out that even though she was luck incarnate, Lee could read people better and he pulled out all the stops. The money was soon just shifting back and forth, at a constant stalemate. The stakes rose higher and higher, and the bets more outrageous.

The heat was palpable. The downside of having to read her was the fact that her body was probably the most distracting thing he'd ever seen. And gods damn she knew it. Lee nearly lost everything in one hand when she slipped off her jacket to reveal the curve of her shoulders.

Not an unnecessary word was passed between them, which seemed odd to Lee since her invincible attitude didn't lend to silence. She seemed, with her slight smirk, quirked eyebrow and set of her shoulders, to be a taunter, a gloater. Trying to distract and unbalance her opponents. But with the conversation that was going on with their eyes, Lee was content that she hadn't spoken.

Her eyes barely left his, constantly challenging him, trying to see how far Lee was willing to go. The blond met each challenge, folding when he had a good hand, raising when he was bluffing. He met her step for step, raise, fold, and call, like a dance. With the way she was looking at him, it was more like sex. It was one of the best times he'd ever had, and gods he had fought hard to keep the night going.

The defining moment came when one of her friends came up from behind to tell her that they were leaving. The blond hadn't hesitated telling her friend she'd catch a cab. After her comrades left the bar, the mood changed from competition to pursuit. They sat for a moment, the noise of the bar a distant hum, her eyes shifting into something predatorial. If he had looked in the mirror, Lee would have seen his own eyes had the same look. Her final bet was everything she had, and while pushing her chips forward, she spoke for the first time in an hour.

'Never did get your name.'

That smile that had snuck up on him before returned.

'Lee'

Pushing all his chips in to match her bet, he replied in kind.

'Yours?'

The smile that had spread across her face told Lee that he had done something right.

"So why no nicknames?"

Lee was going to kill Dion.

AN: Sorry that I've been out of the loop for awhile, after a bought of sickness, and the ever dissappointing series finale of Battlestar, I had a little trouble motivating myself to continue. But no worries I'm still writing and working on chapter nine as we speak. Thank you to my beta's for reading my fic, and giving me great input.