He learns her name a few days later when someone is talking up how Edmondson bested Kara Thrace and there was a fight brewing, and someone was going to end up in the brig or the infirmary. Helo knows Kara, and he's seen Edmondson, so he's not sure who to bet on. Kara's anger and determination and survival skills, but Edmondson's something else altogether, something cooler than where Kara runs hot. He'd lay even money down if he bet, but he doesn't, because he's got no desire to take sides in a war he can only lose.

Two of the knuckledraggers are talking about it, chests puffed out like they've got something to do with tactics and war games. He sits back and listens as they describe both of them - Kara and Maggie, and he'll be Gods-damned if that doesn't suit her - breasts and bitches and tight tanks and wet from the shower. Karl thinks about seeing her in the bar, and all he can see is her smile, and he's pretty sure these idiots are missing everything important.

It's nearly two weeks before he sees her again. She's been busted to the brig and called up to the Academy stage for a commendation in that time, and he just watches her like he's trying to find chinks in her armor, which he knows she's wearing around her, tighter than the tanks she wears under her uniform, but really he's just looking for whatever it is that keeps his mind coming back to her, thinking about her when he should be thinking about spherical geometry and weight ratios. He's pretty sure it's the smile, but it might be the flash in her eyes or the strangely delicate curve to her neck that reminds him that, behind the balls and bluster he hears about, she's all woman.

Tonight she's not wearing a uniform though. She's dressed in civvies, a frakking dress, all black and slinky and short, showing off a stretch of muscular legs before getting to the straps of her black high-heeled shoes. He can still imagine she's got that armor on though, still wrapped as tightly around her as he wishes his hand was on his dick, but he keeps moving forward regardless, sliding his hand to the small of her back, his thumb brushing skin right above the low cut of her dress.

"Dance with me."

She looks over her shoulder and then up at him for a long moment before nodding once and letting him lead her onto the dance floor. He wraps her up in his arms, not thinking of anything but the way she feels as she settles against him. They move together like they're made for it, and Karl can feel the slow heat start low in his stomach and slide lower. She smells like wildflowers and sweet wine like he used to help his momma make. "You're Helo."

"Guilty as charged." He closes his eyes and inhales her, his head resting against hers, the dark strands of hair teasing his jaw. "You're Maggie."

"Racetrack."

He shakes his head the little he can while they're dancing, while he's breathing her in. "Maggie. Tonight, you're just Maggie."

She pulls back enough to see him, her eyes dancing and that smile lighting up the room. "What's the matter? Can't handle me being a pilot?"

"Nah." He shakes his head and leans in, his voice whispering against her ear. "I just don't care about your flight stats tonight."

"What do you care about?"

He turns his head, kissing her softly. She accepts it, but doesn't respond much, though when he pulls away, her lips part in a dazed invitation. "I'll tell you later."

It leads exactly where he plans it to, or hopes it will if he's honest, because he's pretty sure she'd sense if he was planning anything, but regardless, it ends right here in the dark back hallways of the Academy Pavilion. She's like honey on his tongue, aggressive and hot as he kisses her, as she kisses him back. His hands touch everywhere they can, covering her bare back and sliding down her spine, the cut of her dress. He palms the curve of her ass and presses her harder against him. Maggie moans against his mouth and he's pretty sure that he needs to get them out of here and somewhere horizontal before one of them - and he admits it's going to be her if it's going to be anyone - comes to their senses.

"C'mon." He pulls away from her kiss, but not from her. He guides her down the hall to the bank of offices. The doors are locked, but they're easy enough to break into, flimsy locks that don't hold up to the pressure of his weight, of his need. Maggie's still warm and willing in his arms, fingers tangled in his hair and tongue melting against his. He leans against the open door, his hands beneath her skirt now, skimming whatever thing the Gods made that makes her ass feel so silky soft, fabric slipping under his fingers and making his cock throb with want.

"Gods, Maggie." He guides her back against the desk, sliding her up on it and shoving everything in the way onto the floor. She spreads her legs for him to fit between them, and the scent of heat and desire sends another jolt through him and he can't help but press his fingers to the fabric again, silk wet beneath his fingers. "So frakking hot. So frakking wet."

She makes a noise that makes him groan, fingers pressing hard through the material as he leans down and kisses her, his weight holding her down against the desk. Her legs wrap around his waist and hold him there as well, and she kisses him like she flies, hot and hard and dangerous, keeping a pace that he knows is going to explode near the finish line.

"Gods, Maggie." His vocabulary has taken a sharp dive, along with his IQ, stretched beneath the skin of his hard cock, pumping with all the blood in his body. He kisses her skin, tugging the top of her dress down away from her breasts as he tastes her, licking and sucking and nibbling until every inch of her from her neck to her breasts is flushed pink from his attention. Her breasts are heavy and full, nipples hard and tight, red as her lips, swollen from his kisses. He nuzzles one and offers another silent prayer to Aphrodite before breathing Maggie's name and taking the tip in his mouth.

Maggie gasps and shudders, shaking beneath him as he sucks and nibbles at the hard flesh. He shifts between her legs, a low rolling thrust as his hands slide down to her hips and hold her steady. Her back arches as he moves to the other breast, watching as the cool air hits the wet skin and her nipple tightens even further as he pulls away.

He shakes his head, tugging her dress down further as he plants warm, wet kisses down her stomach. Her chest rises and falls on ragged breaths, though she doesn't say anything. No words pass her lips, though she makes sweet noises that hang in the air around them. Her skin is lush and soft and just as sweet as her lips, milk pale against the midnight black of her dress.

"Maggie." He moans her name against her skin before he pulls back, unfastening his uniform pants and shoving them down his thighs, easing his briefs over his too-hard cock, the air of the room just as cold on the wet tip as it had been on her nipples. He slides his hand up her thighs, pushing her skirt up until it meets the tangle of the rest of her dress, exposing the silk of her panties to the pale light from the moon and the grounds. They're as black as her dress, blacker with wetness. He slides them down her legs, moving back only as much as he has to to rid her of them, letting them drop to the floor against the slick shine of his dress shoes.

She shivers as he moves back in, fingers splayed on her thighs. He lets them slide up her smooth skin, tracing the sensitive flesh until he reaches the dark, wet hairs. They brush his fingers, clinging to his skin hungrily as he parts the velvet flesh. He groans, echoing the low moan Maggie offers him.

"Gods, Maggie. Sweet, sweet Maggie." He's beyond thinking as he reaches for his cock, pressing it against her skin. Pure, unadulterated heat engulfs him as he pushes inside her, her tight body closing around him. He fills her with slow thrusts, grunting softly under his breath as she shudders hard, resisting him for the longest of seconds before he feels it all give way, and a different kind of heat surrounds him.

"Frak. Holy…frak." He's too far gone to do more than pay lip service to the realization swimming at the back of his brain, his fingers too tight on her hips as he buries himself deeper. "Maggie." He moans her name, his hips rocking forward, pressing her against the desk with very stroke. She's still shivering and he plants hot kisses and hotter breaths against her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck, her jaw. His mouth offers alms on her skin as he continues pushing into her, desperately seeking release.

It comes seconds later as she reaches up, her fingers touching his jaw, smoothing along his skin. He groans and his hips jerk hard then still, his eyes close and his breath rasps in his chest, falling down over her bare skin.

When he pulls back, there's a strange look on her face, a mixture of disappointment and frustration marring her features, the curve of her smile absent. He watches her sit up, tugging her dress back into place. Her nipples still stand out against the fabric, the shadow of moonlight falling across them as she stands, tugging her skirt back down into place.

"You didn't say anything."

"Was I supposed to?" Her face is a mask of defiance and her smile's back, but it's not what he expects, something brittle and razor-sharp.

"It was your first time. I would have…"

"What? Given a frak about what I was hoping for instead of what you wanted? Doesn't work that way, Agathon." She's on fire now, mocking him with those brown eyes that still flash, though there's no humor in them. "I got what I expected."

"Yeah, well it's supposed to be more."

"Who says?"

"I do."

Maggie shakes her head and taps him on the chest before curling his tie around her finger. "You're wrong."