#capricanflyboy

Athena: Do you have any special talents?

"M' pretty good at makin' Prettyboy cry."

"I can also help a mama cow give birth, roll a joint, an' I can drag-race farm equipment."

Zeus: If you ruled the world, what would you change?

Ares: If you had to fight someone in a duel, what would be your weapon of choice?

Proudest moments? I'm going to assume this also means my reinstatement and thereafter qualifies. 

Stopping the attack on Elysium

Saving the colony and colonist of Feros

Helping a dear friend cure the genophage 

I suppose stopping Saren and the Collectors goes without saying, despite the Collectors being a mission while I was with Cerberus... 

"Th’ first day I walked on as an official part a’ th’ crew. When I got m’ Lieutenant pin. When Admiral Cain asked for m’ opinion in the briefin’ room…hell, I don’t even remember what it was about. I was too frakkin’ excited t’ be part a’ somethin’ that really mattered." He lets out a brief chuckle, shaking his head once. 

Something that really mattered. That’s what it’d been, hadn’t it? The fleet. The military uniforms. The code they lived by. The family. Yeah. In the days before the war, it’d been something like a family. And in the days after the war…well. He tried not to think too hard about those days anymore. There was a time when his proud moments would’ve counted the time Admiral Cain entrusted him with the duty of taking care of the cylon agent. Or the time when Admiral Cain had told him he’d done a good job after killing an entire ship of people. Now…

Star Struck: Our characters space craft has broken down, and life support is on the fritz. Can our character’s fix the problem or will they die in space?

Pegasus was going down. The last cylon ambush had left them in shambles, systems down, sirens screeching. And Warren was trapped in the one wing of the ship with a large, hissing hole in the hull. With the last person he wanted to be stuck with: Mitro Verga. 

Prettyboy had proven, time and again, that he was good for nothing. He couldn’t follow orders. He couldn’t get things done. As far as Lucius was concerned, the only thing Mitro was good at doing was making a dent in the food and water rations. 

But he didn’t have a choice. The compartment was sealed off, but losing it could mean disaster for Pegasus. And they were losing air. Fast. Quickly, Lucius took command (assuming Prettyboy couldn’t do much but sit there and waste air, anyway), and, when the ship stopped trembling enough to get them on their feet, Lucius jumped up and said, wasting no time, “We’ve gotta fill th’ hole…there should be an emergency kit—find it." 

With that, Lucius pressed over to the hole. It was wedged in the back of the wall, of course, nearly impossible to reach unless he squeezed in between two vents. The hiss was damn near deafening now. He grabbed the closest thing he could find and just started trying to plug it up, or at very least, stem the flow before they lost their entire supply.

He was already breathing thickly, like his lungs were filled with syrup. He heard Mitro’s voice, felt the other man prod him with the kit and pulled a hand back to grab it. Wrong move. The could practically feel the air torn right out from him as the padding dropped from the hole, opening it back up again. He wheezed, tried covering his nose, and fumbled in the kit for…

A torch. With this, he should be able to meld the pieces together, close the hull. Done. But the torch wasn’t sparking. He tried it once…twice…and again, and again. Nothing but empty clicks. His head was spinning, vision blurring—that was it. They were going to die. They were all going to die. Admiral Cain was going to be so disappointed—

——————————————

And that was the last conscious thought that went through his head. The next thing he knew, he was waking up to white, medbay lights. Blinking. He coughed; his lungs still hurt. One of the doctors came over, checking his stats, offering a small smile. “Welcome back, Lieutenant Warren."

Was he really alive? Or was this some twisted Heaven—“What happened?" was all he could get out. 

Another smile from the doctor—this one a little more genuine. “You and Lieutenant Verga patched up that whole in the hull. You kept Pegasus flying, Sir."

"But—" But I didn’t. The words almost left his mouth until he realized what they meant. If he hadn’t been able to patch up the hole…

Lucius turned his head. Sure enough, there was Prettyboy. Grinning stupidly from the cot beside him. Sucking on some…what was that. Candy? Probably to make him feel better for the fact that his eyebrows looked singed, his arm blackened—no doubt, he’d gotten in a fight with a torch that fought back. “Hey, Warren," was all he said.

Smug bastard. Never mind the fact that now Lucius could feel himself reluctantly respecting the other man who had clearly found a way to step up to the plate and not only save Warren, but also the entire crew of Pegasus. 

So maybe he wasn’t the waste of space Lucius had assumed he was.