Title: Cuddly Type

Author: Mulderzkid (Ali Cherry)

There are some spoilish type things for S3, but it's more my take on Lee's position in the fleet. Nothing too bad.

(BSG)

Lee wonders why the frak the squadron seems to think he is the cuddly type.

He is frakking nothing like the cuddly type, if they want proof well, they'd just have to find any of his ex-girlfriends. Or better yet ask Kara, or his father. Hell, even his brother who had loved him unconditionally had on more than one occasion called him hard-assed bastard. An emotional frak-wit.

Lee is no one's idea of stability, so it is with great confusion that he contemplates what they're thinking when they ask to talk to him privately.

Privately, which could be his office, or the nearest supply closet, or right there in the frakking corridor, and they're moving into his space, and then they are put their head on his shoulder and crying…crying? He wants to scream, "There's no crying in the Fleet. There is no crying in the Fleet."

And then they reach their hands around and pull him close, like Zak used to do with that teddy bear he loved. He's not a frakking teddy bear. He's a viper pilot. A frakked up emotionally crippled viper pilot and that's the way he likes it. He's never wanted to deal with snotty noses and the need for hugs. Never wanted to be a dad. Never wanted to be the person that the crying one comes to.

But apparently he's it.

When faced with either Apollo or Starbuck, 99 of the pilots choose the hard-assed CAG over the bitchy lead pilot.

Lee thinks it wouldn't be that bad if it were just the women pilots, 'cause…well he's still a guy. But it's not. It's not just the women. It's the men that tower over him and can bench press his weight. It's the little nugget that an hour ago was bragging over how good he or she is that cry for home. One and all, they come to him and put their heads on his shoulder and then things start… leaking. Like their eyes, all swollen, red, and puffy, their faces scrunched up; mouths mewing with tears, saliva stretched from their dry cracked upper lips to their tongues which are hanging out between their teeth. And the boogers that slip from their nostrils. Green and runny, with clear gooey trails that snake along his clean uniform jacket, or become enmeshed in his sweaty double tanks.

He's learning that if you just put your arms around them and kind of…thump on their back they think you care.

He really doesn't care.

He doesn't. But he listens to them because he can't take another Kat, trapped in her own dark hole and not wanting to confide in him. He can't take the screeching sound of a Viper skidding, the inhuman screams as they tacked her to the gurney.

But he knows they really need to find someone way more fitted for the job, like…the Chief. He's a dad. He's used to dealing with snot-nosed leaky things. It's not like they could get his overalls any dirtier. It's all good.

But they don't choose to go the Chief. They come to him. And unfortunately, it's spreading like contagion. Jammer cornered him on the flight deck the other day. Lee had…thumped… him on the back and told him, "Sometimes you have to roll the hard six."

It had worked. Kinda. Jammer had chuckled and spread saliva all over his flight suit, and smeared his nose all over Lee's sleeve. And then Jammer went back to being a deck hand, slightly happy with his lot.

And so Lee spends his downtime hiding in his rack, curtain firmly shut. Only a handful of the pilots will interrupt him in here and he feels safe. Light on, book firmly in hand, glass of Chief's brew on the shelf, relaxing, hiding, being undependable.

Then Helo looks in the curtain and slides in next to Lee, wall at his back, knees bent, feet flat on the mattress, hands clasped loosely around his knees, and Lee's heart plummets.

Not 'cause he doesn't like Helo, but because he's pretty sure that any problem Helo has is not going to be fixed with a thump on the back. But Lee's willing to listen. Lee has a soft spot for Helo for staying on Galactica, for staying with his father when…others didn't.

So he reaches out to pull Helo to his shoulder, praising himself for getting used to the awkward feeling of hugging another man. Helo's face screws up in incredulity and he skitters away from Lee slightly on the mattress.

"Apollo, man, it's not that I don't like you, it's just that I'm not that kind of pilot." Helo's hands are up in surrender.

Lee's features feel blank and his arms have frozen in mid-reach, when Helo's words register. The first laugh bubbles up like vomit, exploding out of his mouth, and then Lee can't breath he's laughing so hard. Stomach aching, he hears Helo matching him laugh for laugh, and Lee can't remember laughing so hard. Not since before the Pegasus died, Not since before that long ago Colonial Day, Not since Flattop's 1000th landing, not since before the end of the worlds, probably not even since Zak died, and suddenly that ache in Lee's gut isn't funny anymore and he's pulling the pillow to his face, burrowing his tears and weeping into the flattened surface. His chest heaving with sobs, he realizes that he's leaking, and he feels the tension that invades the bunk because Helo has just realized something isn't funny anymore.

As Lee feels the movement of Helo starting to leave, he blindly reaches over and grabs his forgotten book, his ration of chocolate, his glass of ambrosia, his last cigar, his viper wings, and flings them into a pile between their two hips, and then he turns his face back into the pillow and whispers, "Stay. Please."

He doesn't need Helo to thump him on the back, or say anything. He just needs someone here for him, and he hopes that all his luxuries will convince the man to stay. He tenses waiting for movement, then relaxes slightly letting his silent tears be absorbed by the pillow as Helo settles in and pops a lollipop that clicks against his teeth. The bunk smells sweet and innocent and Lee starts to sob again, but it isn't with the desperation, the pain of moments ago.

He takes a deep breath and shudders it out, letting it take the force of the emotion with it. And another. And another.

Lee leaves his head buried in the plain white cotton pillowcase, cheeks flaming with warmth. Another deep breath and he's throwing his head up, settling against the wall and staring at the upper bunk, letting his eyelids settle down to cover his heated and scratchy eyes. Quick scrub of his face to remove the offending tears and wipe what's left of sinful snot, and Lee looks up again as he takes more breaths, these don't shudder. Turns his head at an awkward angle to look at Helo when he says a quiet, "Thank you."

Helo meets his gaze for a second before looking back at the curtain. Lee joins him in just staring ahead, occasionally scrubbing at his face.

Lee feels the stare more than sees it, and he stays looking ahead; letting Helo judge his weakness, judge him. He looks over when Helo clacks the lollipop against his teeth again.

Red and shiny lips pulled back in a grin, Helo's eyes dance. "So what's up with this?" He says waving a hand at the pile of goods between them.

"Payment," Lee croaks, "for staying." He watches as the grin slides off of Helo's face.

"Seriously?" The voice is high, questioning.

"Look you didn't have to ….just, thank you." Lee's ineptness leaves a gurgling bellyful of shame. So he doesn't say anything else, just continues to breath, in and out. Heavy eyelids slide shut as Lee relaxes, and he feels the clack of Helo's fingers against his own. Not a hand clasp, not an intertwining of fingers, just the click and clack of Helo's fingers lightly on his skin. He figures it must be something here on the Galactica. Remembers, Cally's fingers doing the same thing when he checked on her after the incident on the Astral Queen. Kara's fingers as well, sees it more and more in the hallways after New Caprica, the quick beat of a rhythm of fingertips and move on, but Helo's fingers don't move away, just tangle and tap against his until Lee can't think, can't dream, can only slide into tired exhaustion, sliding against Helo in sleep.

Helo grabs Lee catches him from falling anymore. Removes the book and treasures lying on the bed, puts them on the floor and maneuvers Lee under the covers. And then places each of the items back on the shelf. Thinks that it's not much to own, but when your shit is destroyed on two separate Battlestars, Helo figures a person doesn't collect much. Doesn't collect much of anything except tears.

Resting his hand where Lee's tanks meet his shoulder, Helo looks down at the man who would pay for a semblance of friendship, for human contact and sympathy. Feels bad that Apollo doesn't realize half the ship loves him, wants him happy and friendly, and would do anything for him.

He wishes that Apollo could hear him as he leans down to whisper, "Because you're a man who thinks he's weak, you'll never see you're stronger than the rest of us, stupid frakker." A quick kiss on the forehead and Helo moves back and shuts the curtains and decides to let Racetrack find him and collect on his debt.

(The End)

You can take the relationship at the end anyway you like. I personally like the interactions between the two and don't think of it as more then I wrote it, but feel free and read into it whatever you'd like.