“You’d better be getting naked out there,” Sharon says into the phone, leaning her head against the thick glass of her cell wall. She keeps her eyes obediently closed, content to wait for Helo’s big surprise. He’s been trying to dig up a copy of Ischuron’s Dark Deeds at Delphi, which has been out of print for years and is the only book in the series that he hasn’t managed to find yet. Not being able to start the series has put a crimp in starting the next book in their self-proclaimed human-Cylon book club, which means that they’re back to not talking about how Helo’s the only pilot on Galactica not on flight rotation, even though he’s finally been cleared for duty.
“Something like that,” Helo tells her, sounding a little distracted. “Keep your eyes closed. Hey, that’s a little personal,” he adds, presumably not to her. Sharon only just keeps herself from opening her eyes to see why; there’s a mumbled response of, “Sorry, sir.”
She twists the phone cord between her fingers, waiting. When she hears the cell door opening she almost drops it, but there’s only one set of familiar footsteps before the door swings closed again. “Helo?”
“You can open your eyes now,” he says, and he’s right there, right in front of her; for the first time in months she’s not hearing him through the phone in her hand or seeing him through glass and chain-link.
She drops the phone and starts to move towards him, before stopping and looking around for the ubiquitous marines in case they’re feeling trigger happy.
“They’re outside,” Helo says, spreading his arms for her, and Sharon leaps at him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he catches her and kisses her. “Hello, beautiful,” he tells her, smiling against her mouth, and kisses her again.
“How did you –” Because the one person the Old Man’s never let in the cell is Helo, since he’s probably the only person in the Fleet who might break her out. “I can’t believe it’s really you!”
He tips his forehead against hers, sighing. “It’s me,” he says. “Gods, I missed you.”
“You see me every day,” Sharon reminds him, but doesn’t let go, just closes her eyes and breathes him in, the way she had on Caprica and Kobol. She might be a traitor to her own race and maybe Helo is too, but at least they’ve got each other.
Helo sits down on the bed, stroking her hair. The baby is an almost imperceptible bump between them, and he brushes one hand over her stomach, a little shy. “Girl?”
“Girl. Our little girl.” She kisses his neck. “They’re watching, aren’t they?”
“Probably in order to spread scurrilous rumor about my sexual predilections throughout Galactica.” He doesn’t sound much bothered. “They already performed a scandalously inappropriate pat-down before letting me in here, which is the most action I’ve gotten in months.”
She pats his cheek. “Poor Helo.”
He grins at her, spreading his big hands across her waist. “I’ve got another surprise for you too.”
“I can tell that,” Sharon says, wriggling a little. “If we didn’t have an audience –”
“I think they’d assume you were trying to perpetrate a daring escape,” Helo tells her regretfully. He slips one hand into his right pocket, where Sharon had felt a suspicious lump earlier, and produces a pear with a leaf still clinging to the stem.
Sharon takes it with both hands, staring at it in delight. She hasn’t seen fresh fruit since Caprica, and even then they’d decided that it probably wasn’t safe to eat because of the radiation. “Who did you have to frak to get one of these?”
“Chief gave me some booze in return for helping him out with some electronics, and I traded a jar of it with the petty officer on Pegasus who takes care of the greenhouse,” he tells her, grinning.
“What’d you do with the rest?” Sharon asks absently, trying to decide the best angle to tackle the pear from.
“Traded them for this,” he says, reaching into another pocket, and pulls out a battered copy of Dark Deeds at Delphi.
“Helo!” Sharon says, and kisses him again, hard. “I love you.”
He tosses the book onto the bed and pulls her close, grinning. “I think your standards are too low.”
“Maybe Cylon girls are easy,” she teases. “A rare book, some fresh fruit, a nice strapping Colonial officer…”
“I’ll just go get Starbuck in here, shall I?”
“Not on your life, Agathon.” She pulls back, still balanced on his lap, and bites into the pear. She holds it out to him. “Your turn.”
Helo takes a bite, smiling around it. “The Old Man gave us an hour,” he says after he’s swallowed. “What do you want to do with it?”