BSG fic: Disjuncture (Starbuck, Boomer; G)
Title: Disjuncture
Characters: Starbuck, Boomer
Timeline: pre-mini series (refers to something from episode 2.15)
Rating: G
Summary: Sharon doesn't feel it.
Sharon can't make her landings.
Over and over, she comes in at the wrong angle, or misjudges her speed. She lands the Raptor, sure, but it's with a jolt, with the crunch and scrape of metal.
"Just relax," Helo tells her, as she tries again, the latest landing. "You're tensing up."
I am relaxed, she thinks, biting her lip, concentrating.
She lands them too hard, hard enough that her teeth bite down. The blood in her mouth is metallic, harsh. "Frak," she mutters. "Frak."
She's getting used to the laughter, the sly remarks - Boomer can't make the landings. She's good in the air, but get out of the way when she's coming in. Every time she lands, Helo says, "You just need more practice." Sharon pretends she doesn't notice the way he rubs at his arm, after her landing jammed him against the wall. She ignores the small bruises on his shoulders, the one on the side of his face, that once.
"Right. Practice."
Helo grins, nods at her. "You'll get it."
After every spooched landing, she watches as the Chief inspects the Raptor. She follows the way he catalogues every scrape, every tear. Today, she follows the same routine. "Sorry," she says, the way she's said it too many times before. And she is sorry, because she's adding to the Chief's workload. He's already swamped with old Vipers, with the outdated systems on the Galactica. Decommissioning, that's the rumour these days.
The Chief doesn't need this extra work, this extra worry.
"Don't worry about it, kid." He smiles at her the way he smiles at everyone, like he doesn't quite see her standing there. The Chief has eyes for machinery only.
Look at me, she wants to say, just once. Look at me, not the Raptor. The problem isn't with the ship. It's with Sharon. But he doesn't see that. He just sees a kid, someone who can't quite get it right.
She's not a kid, though she isn't sure how she can convince him. Them. Sharon doesn't know how to say that she can't remember ever feeling like a kid, carefree and happy. She doesn't have the words, so she stands there and watches the Chief.
The taste of blood in her mouth is still strong.
She hears Starbuck coming before she sees her.
"What the frak is your problem, Nugget?"
Sharon closes her eyes briefly, just before she turns around. "Starbuck."
"You're the worst nugget to come through here in a frakking long time, you know that?"
And yeah, Sharon's heard the rumours, the whispered taunts. "I'm -"
Starbuck shrugs, cuts her off. "Look. You're not feeling it. You're tensing up. Stop thinking, and just do it." She gestures, incomprehensible. "Think of the Raptor as an extension of you. And remember that the Chief's got to go through a frakking pile of forms to req Galactica another one if you blow this one up."
Forms. Sharon half-smiles. "Bureaucrats."
Starbuck grins back. "Leeches."
And then there's the training, the years of training that she and Helo will have wasted if Sharon manages to thoroughly frak the Raptor and kill them in the process. She knows that. Starbuck knows it too, if the hand suddenly clapping Sharon's shoulder means anything.
"Just feel it. It's you. Part of you." Starbuck steers her away from the Raptor, out to the hall.
But that's the problem. Sharon doesn't know how to say that the Raptor feels clunky, awkward, under her hands. There's no connection, nothing there. The ship feels lifeless, empty. Sharon wants something else to work with, something responsive.
Deep down, Sharon knows the Raptor is somehow wrong.
The other pilots don't feel so disconnected, Sharon knows this. Starbuck flies her Viper like it's a living thing, something that's just taking her along for a ride. Sharon's seen it time and time again, smooth landings, aerial acrobatics; it's like Starbuck's hardwired to the Viper. It's almost communication.
Starbuck's got it all, and Sharon doesn't even come close.
But she nods. "Right. Part of me." Her tone is quiet, doubtful.
Leaning in closer, one arm still around Sharon's shoulders, Starbuck frowns. "You doubt, you'll get yourself killed. You'll get others killed."
"I know." She lies awake, some nights, thinking about that, her stomach tied up in knots.
"So stop doubting."
It's so easy to say. Don't doubt yourself, feel the Raptor, relax. "Stop doubting."
Starbuck stops walking and turns to grin at Sharon. Her teeth are bright white, shining. Sharon's knees feel a little weak under the strength of that smile, under all of this attention. She steps away from Starbuck, backing up to lean against the wall.
"Exactly. You're part of this crew. Act like it."
Swallowing, Sharon nods. Part of the crew, part of the Raptor. She knows this.
She just doesn't feel it.
Characters: Starbuck, Boomer
Timeline: pre-mini series (refers to something from episode 2.15)
Rating: G
Summary: Sharon doesn't feel it.
Sharon can't make her landings.
Over and over, she comes in at the wrong angle, or misjudges her speed. She lands the Raptor, sure, but it's with a jolt, with the crunch and scrape of metal.
"Just relax," Helo tells her, as she tries again, the latest landing. "You're tensing up."
I am relaxed, she thinks, biting her lip, concentrating.
She lands them too hard, hard enough that her teeth bite down. The blood in her mouth is metallic, harsh. "Frak," she mutters. "Frak."
She's getting used to the laughter, the sly remarks - Boomer can't make the landings. She's good in the air, but get out of the way when she's coming in. Every time she lands, Helo says, "You just need more practice." Sharon pretends she doesn't notice the way he rubs at his arm, after her landing jammed him against the wall. She ignores the small bruises on his shoulders, the one on the side of his face, that once.
"Right. Practice."
Helo grins, nods at her. "You'll get it."
After every spooched landing, she watches as the Chief inspects the Raptor. She follows the way he catalogues every scrape, every tear. Today, she follows the same routine. "Sorry," she says, the way she's said it too many times before. And she is sorry, because she's adding to the Chief's workload. He's already swamped with old Vipers, with the outdated systems on the Galactica. Decommissioning, that's the rumour these days.
The Chief doesn't need this extra work, this extra worry.
"Don't worry about it, kid." He smiles at her the way he smiles at everyone, like he doesn't quite see her standing there. The Chief has eyes for machinery only.
Look at me, she wants to say, just once. Look at me, not the Raptor. The problem isn't with the ship. It's with Sharon. But he doesn't see that. He just sees a kid, someone who can't quite get it right.
She's not a kid, though she isn't sure how she can convince him. Them. Sharon doesn't know how to say that she can't remember ever feeling like a kid, carefree and happy. She doesn't have the words, so she stands there and watches the Chief.
The taste of blood in her mouth is still strong.
She hears Starbuck coming before she sees her.
"What the frak is your problem, Nugget?"
Sharon closes her eyes briefly, just before she turns around. "Starbuck."
"You're the worst nugget to come through here in a frakking long time, you know that?"
And yeah, Sharon's heard the rumours, the whispered taunts. "I'm -"
Starbuck shrugs, cuts her off. "Look. You're not feeling it. You're tensing up. Stop thinking, and just do it." She gestures, incomprehensible. "Think of the Raptor as an extension of you. And remember that the Chief's got to go through a frakking pile of forms to req Galactica another one if you blow this one up."
Forms. Sharon half-smiles. "Bureaucrats."
Starbuck grins back. "Leeches."
And then there's the training, the years of training that she and Helo will have wasted if Sharon manages to thoroughly frak the Raptor and kill them in the process. She knows that. Starbuck knows it too, if the hand suddenly clapping Sharon's shoulder means anything.
"Just feel it. It's you. Part of you." Starbuck steers her away from the Raptor, out to the hall.
But that's the problem. Sharon doesn't know how to say that the Raptor feels clunky, awkward, under her hands. There's no connection, nothing there. The ship feels lifeless, empty. Sharon wants something else to work with, something responsive.
Deep down, Sharon knows the Raptor is somehow wrong.
The other pilots don't feel so disconnected, Sharon knows this. Starbuck flies her Viper like it's a living thing, something that's just taking her along for a ride. Sharon's seen it time and time again, smooth landings, aerial acrobatics; it's like Starbuck's hardwired to the Viper. It's almost communication.
Starbuck's got it all, and Sharon doesn't even come close.
But she nods. "Right. Part of me." Her tone is quiet, doubtful.
Leaning in closer, one arm still around Sharon's shoulders, Starbuck frowns. "You doubt, you'll get yourself killed. You'll get others killed."
"I know." She lies awake, some nights, thinking about that, her stomach tied up in knots.
"So stop doubting."
It's so easy to say. Don't doubt yourself, feel the Raptor, relax. "Stop doubting."
Starbuck stops walking and turns to grin at Sharon. Her teeth are bright white, shining. Sharon's knees feel a little weak under the strength of that smile, under all of this attention. She steps away from Starbuck, backing up to lean against the wall.
"Exactly. You're part of this crew. Act like it."
Swallowing, Sharon nods. Part of the crew, part of the Raptor. She knows this.
She just doesn't feel it.