BSG fic: The Employment of Ellen Tigh (G) 4/4
TITLE: The Employment of Ellen Tigh 4/4
Chapter 3: Love's Just A Dialogue
AUTHOR:
artemis_90
CHARACTERS: Ellen/Saul, with Zarek & a bartender
SUMMARY: Series of vignettes showing what Ellen does in her free time "...be a good girl."
RATINGS & WARNINGS: PG13 (for language), 3,212 words. Takes place in Season 2.5, LDYB2, but the fic is informed by events in Season 4.5.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Pls read 'em at Chapt 1a. A million thanks goes to the amazing betas,
stardust_20 and
jane_doh1 , for their patience with me. But all mistakes are mine.
Previous Parts:
Chapter 1a
Chapter 1b
Chapter 2
THE EMPLOYMENT OF ELLEN TIGH
Chapter 3: LOVE'S JUST A DIALOGUE
A hand on the hatch’s wheel, Ellen vowed to leave her troubles outside this door. In return, I expect a stiff drink and a warm husband. That’s what I want. Willing it, imagining it, Ellen entered their quarters. She wondered if tonight she could get him to celebrate the one thing that had been a success for her in a long while. It involved a drink, but hey, it had been five weeks already. I’d rather you’d be crazy, because you’re boring Saul when you’re straight.
“Hi, honey, I’m home!” she chirped in a determinedly happy voice. Her honey’s response was, at best, lukewarm.
“Ellen,” mumbled Saul, his back greeting her. He was hunched over his desk, his face engrossed over what, no one else cared.
Ellen made a face. It was just like last night and the night before, her dutiful husband sacrificing precious personal time all for the good of the Fleet. She cursed her endless ‘patience’ with such a man. If only the Fleet could see his dedication, if Bill could actually promote him, or if could he just RETIRE and spend time with her!
Ellen tamped down the disappointment, but it was frustrating to always be put last. Sharing quarters, Ellen had thought would have given them more time together, but lately he’d seemed to have forgotten her altogether. If Saul’s attitude doesn’t change soon, well… I might have to resort to more… drastic measures to get his attention again. She'd just had the most horrible day and would it have been too much to expect just a little consideration?
“Mumble lubble Scorpia Traveller mutter?” came from the back of that shiny head.
“Gods! My day was absolute FRAK! I’m DAMN glad to be home to someone who truly appreciates me!”
She thought that round head might have said, ‘lub yo too?’ but how could she be sure with his mouth addressing his boring desk instead of her fabulous figure.
* * * * * * * * *
In truth, her day had started decently enough. The latest batch of gin turned out to be exceptional, on par with that of the Colonies’. And it’ll be a special surprise when Saul finally finishes his ‘penance’. I love you Saul, but you’re stupid when you’re sane. I mean how else to explain passing up Pegasus? I don’t frakking care if The Beast is haunted, I’d’ve been a frakkin’ Commander’s wife!
The success of the gin even made up finding out the Rising Sun had ran out of champenois and so far no one in the Fleet had an inkling how to make it. The Champers Region had kept the recipe a state secret. I wonder if all you need to do is carbonate white wine? Just add yeast and sugar, like kids’ gingo beer? Can it really be that simple? She might have to go to the Central Library and post a question to see if anyone in the Fleet might know.
So far, none of the current bartenders from the top liners knew. Nor the moonshiners at the Prometheus nor at the Daru nor at the Demitrius. Not even those phrama guys re-patriated to the Celestra. How does a recycling scow end up with a regulation bowling alley? Wonder what the chem rats at the Celestra might trade for it? Can it even be transferred? Laura would probably just say they should move to the smelly underpopulated ship if they wanted to start a League. But I can’t see the suits going.
Ellen had been appropriately mourning the last mini-bottle that the bartender had saved for his favorite client when Tom Zarek dropped by for a little chat. She had decided to offer him a wee taste as a gesture of goodwill to the next (most probably, no small thanks to her) Vice President of the Colonies (or what was left of it), but the goodwill was not returned.
Zarek simply (rather bluntly actually) said that Mrs. Tigh was no longer needed at his, that is, Baltar’s, campaign. Ellen took it all with a false smile. In truth, she she really didn’t care that much for Baltar except for the little planet (a chance for early retirement) and Ellen was only volunteering to keep her eye on Zarek as her little ‘favor’ had not yet been redeemed. And maybe to bait Laura. So the news shouldn’t have bothered her that much; more time for her to find a reliable ethanol supply. Except ...
Except that dear Tom was particularly rude about it. Didn’t even bother crack those charming dimples of his and try to be self-deprecating about the severance. I’ve had better ‘its not you, its me’ dumps.
“The name ‘Tigh’ is a liability. Some of our most anti-establishment support still remember the Gideon massacre.” Liability my ass! ‘Miss Ellen’ wasn’t such a liability when you needed ‘ins with the Zephyr, the Kara Nixal, and the Gemenon Traveller? Sure, now that the polls are up, let’s just dump the volunteers that were with you since the beginning.
“I want to ignore it, but there are letters requesting for the Quorum to re-open Gideon.” Old news; I was just there - they’re all infatuated with the little planet, they’d rather dream of farming and move forward. The Fleet had more interesting things to complain about: the settlement issue, the Cylon in the brig, and if it ever returns, the ‘secret’ mission to Caprica.
“But you have nothing worry, I’ll do everything to squash it during new business.” Or, as long as I keep my mouth shut about your Colonial Day ‘friend’.
“You see we need to tread very carefully in the next two weeks until elections.” Can’t have Baltar drop you as the Vice Presidential candidate? I wonder if you’ll try to murder the last Vulcan Prize winner left too? Her smile just got bigger, the sharp teeth showing.
“So be a good girl and be patient until after.” Girl??? “No worries, you’re on our list for potential staffers in our government. I have an idea for you.” Her eyebrow rose in curiousity. “You went to Secretarial School, didn’t you?” I was a Miss Scorpia Shipyards with an accounting degree, you ungrateful ex-con. But the slap had been given. She wanted to throw the wine and spoil his suit, or maybe turn hysterical and make all the men uncomfortable and have them feel sorry. But she didn't.
“A toast then, Tom. To the New Colony!”
“To you, Ellen. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the free time. You really are very lucky that you never have to worry about rations, living on Galactica, despite not serving in the military. Don’t forget to listen to the final debate!” Bastard.
George the bartender took pity on Ellen, “Here, have another.”
“I thought this bottle was ‘the last champanois in the Universe’.”
He just shrugged. “On the house. I was saving it myself for bowling night. But it sounds like you could use it now?” And you want my panties again.
“Were you listening?”
“It sucks being fired.”
“I wasn’t fired!”
“Oh that’s right. You can’t get fired if you don’t have a job.”
“I am just sick, sick of people looking down at me for not having a ‘job’. Just because I don’t have a ‘career’ doesn’t mean I don’t work. My days are busy. Very busy.”
“Yeah, it must be hard, doing nothing all day.”
”Well, here’s some news, job or no job, no one’s still getting paid. Just because I don’t have a title or hours or kids - doesn’t mean I don’t contribute.” She wished she could stomp out and spill her drink (more ‘work’ for him) but it would be a shame to waste the bottle.
* * * * * * * * *
So all day, while trying to not feel useless (thanks to that damn server) and unwanted (thanks to the psycho terrorist), she consoled herself that Saul had domestic duty: he was all hers for the next three shifts! Every time someone questioned ‘why champenois, why not recreate spermicides instead’, she thought of the adorable smile Saul gave whenever they toasted the good stuff.
It therefore ticked her off when Saul just sat there. No hello. No hug. No kiss. Not even conversation.
Hardly audible phrases mumbled on, “…lax security… marine turnover,” as Ellen took off her shoes. Zarek’s veiled threat over Saul’s Gideon mistake didn’t quite concern her. Any follow-through would have to take place after Baltar won and by then the Fleet would be busy with colonization, and once people re-located to the surface no one would want to reminisce about the exodus. She absolutely wanted to go to the surface after the change of administration though. What an adventure, just like the original caravan to the Colonies. But with Saul, of course.
“Saul? It’s been a really long day. How about a toast to you and me and tonight? Oh, I’ve got a surprise for you!” Not wanting to get him down with her problems, she waved the last (possibly) champenois bottle in existence to entice her husband’s attention. “Champenois? Who knows if there’s any left?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Be with you in a minute.” Right. So no affectionate Saul tonight ... yet. Ellen tried to look at the good side; he didn’t turn down the drink.
“The last gin recipe was marvelous! This batch actually tastes like the real stuff from home. It has the correct color without any dye!” Was that mumble congratulations?
Stripping down to her slip, she turned to admire her recent project. Her success. Her very own peculiar contribution. The juno berries had left a subtle sheen of sapphire. Classy. Pleased, she poured two fingers to a clean tumbler. A whiff of licorice loosened her neck. As she took a first sip, a sharp fire shot right to her gut. The second sip relaxed her.
She eyed her husband - well, the back of her husband. She thought that she could easily grow to despise that back, except that it remained sexy. His trim, wiry frame still showed to advantage especially through his double tanks. She never understood the logic of two tanks, so she toasted them for successfully twice. “Hmm, this is really good. The gin, that is.” She then toasted his shoulders; even with his current poor posture they never looked slouched.
The warmth in her belly invigorated her. “Saul, put that down and come talk to me.” She wanted his congratulations - hopefully over a toast, to prove that he was back to normal. But she’d settle for his admiration. Now.
She refilled her tumbler and this time brought it to Saul. As she crept up to her man, like a cat stalking a soon to be ravished mouse, she aimed her sights to the right of his nape where it always thrilled Saul when she kissed him there.
From behind his desk, she grabbed his neck and licked at ‘her’ spot, putting down the glass in front of him. “You’ve got to taste this, Saul-y!”
Rather than relaxing, Saul suddenly twisted up to instinctively cover whatever boring shuttle runs he was approving but couldn’t because of the full glass, and in doing so knocked her to the floor.
“Dammit, Ellen!”
“Owww! SAUL!”
“Ah gods, Ellen - I’m sorry. But you shouldn’t have surprised me like that.” He was immediately contrite and bent to help her up.
Well at least she had her husband’s attention, but now she was back to being pissed. “Well excuse me for trying to talk to you. Can't you just chill for a sec? You work too hard. And no one realizes how much free time you spend covering for Bill.” She was tired of coming last with her own husband, after Bill, after the louty soldiers, after the frakking creaking BOAT.
It was time for some Ellen-time. His shift had ended over an hour ago. And if she wasn’t gonna get a frak then they might as well have a fight.
But before she could attack, her eyes spied on the one of the uncovered papers and zeroed on the words ‘Zarek, Rising Sun’. Was Saul spying on her? Having her followed? Aww, how sweet, he was jealous.
“Saul-y…”
Saul followed her eyes and instantly shoved her away from the desk.
“You didn’t see that!”
“Right, sweetie. I didn't read Zarek and -”
“No. You didn’t. I’m serious Ellen. You never saw anything!”
But Ellen decided to tease him a bit. “But Saul-y, that would be a lie.”
He put his arms on her and forced her to look at his eyes. They were serious and strangely guilty. He then said, “I have a secret assignment.”
So Saul hadn’t been spying on her; her vanity took another blow! Bill had given her overworked husband yet another assignment that was seriously threatening her sanity.
“Bill needs to remember you need some time off too. We haven’t gone on leave since he was shot.” It was a warm-up opening to their old argument. She was just finding her stridency when Saul brought her up short.
“Bill can’t know.”
Of all the things Saul could have said to halt his wife’s tirade, this proved damned effective. It confounded Ellen: Should she be elated that it wasn’t Bill ordering Saul about, but then what could Saul be up to? Not mutiny, Saul was wonderfully (and maddeningly) loyal. Ellen’s head spun. He was postponing their conjugal time and it wasn’t even for work? My Gods, who ELSE do I have to compete with besides Bill?
“What the frak is going on!?”
“Really, Ellen. That’s why it’s called ‘Top Secret’.”
“That’s shit. ‘Top Secret’ that Bill doesn’t know? Hera’s Tits, it’s another woman! Isn’t it!?”
“Oh for frak sake, now that’s just ridiculous.”
“It’s that new aide of Roslin’s. Why is she here all the time? She’s after you isn’t she?”
“Come on, now you’re just purposely being obtuse.”
“I’ve seen her here, always chasing you.”
“Look Ms. Foster is just coordinating the voting here at Galactica.”
“Oh yeah? It takes three personal visits to do that? So if not that, what’s she doing? Playing messenger for Laura Roslin?” Ellen demanded.
“Uh ... ”
“Unbelievable! You two-timing bastard! You - ”
“Ellen, shush. It’s not what you think. The President doesn’t know either. I think.”
“You think!?”
“But it’s for her own good.”
“What?” O Lords, don’t tell me he’s trying to setup Bill and the Schoolteacher. Eww.
“Look, for your own good just forget anything you saw, and be a good girl for once and just pour a drink and do whatever it is you do.”
“Be a good girl???” Again that phrase! First Tom, now Saul. What am I, a child? It was time to start throwing things. But with that, she connected the dots: Zarek. Campaign manager. Laura doesn’t know. Bill mustn’t know.
“Great Mother of Hermes! You’re gonna steal the election for Roslin.”
Saul’s two eyes bulged out in astonishment. “How-? What-!” He croaked. “Of course not!” He blustered. “I’m just coordinating the polling here at Galactica.”
“Oh please!” Ellen shook her head. Saul needed to review his subterfuge training if he wanted to get into politics. “Galactica’s marines will be in charge of the ballot boxes; you’re in charge of the marines. Roslin’s dropping in the polls. And Bill. Mustn’t. KNOW?” She raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to insult her intelligence with another half-assed denial.
Saul’s face was blank, but his throat constricted in agitation. Ellen wanted to giggle. Her Saul was trained in counterintelligence and how to withstand torture, but right now Ellen had him. She felt that control and it instantly made her day. Oh Sauly, you really need a drink, ‘cause you’re stupid when you’re straight.
“Why are you doing this if Bill didn’t order you to?” Saul didn’t respond and just picked up the not-so-top-secret papers to put away. “All I’ve heard you complain for the last two weeks was how that terrorist and his puppet fool would destroy this Fleet. But you know, Roslin could still win.” Ellen said.
“Dunno ‘bout that. Maybe martial law’s flawed, but there’s something wrong about democracy allowing the stupid to drag the rest of us to that mudhole. It’ll split the Fleet. But I’m not doing what you think I‘m doing.”
“Uh-huh. So what do you need?”
“Look, I know you support settlement and Baltar.”
“So what? I’m married to you and not him.” And his guy just fired me and threatened you. Ellen approached Saul and took his face in her hands. With utter sincerity she said, “Trust me, Saul. If I have anyone’s back, it would only be yours.”
A long look was exchanged between them and Saul’s eyes softened. He embraced her and placed the softest and kiss on her forehead. “I don’t know if I deserve you.” Saul said.
“Well, you’re no picnic, but then neither am I. Let me make it up to you this time.”
“So what do you want to do tonight?” Saul still hadn’t admitted to anything.
“What’s this about the security of Scorpia Traveller? It’s too risky trying change boxes during transport. What about stuffing the ballots on-site?”
He just shook his head, not wanting to be drawn in. “You know I trust you, Ellen. Let’s have that drink, ey? A sapphire gin you said?”
“Saul, I’m your wife, we’re a team. I want to help. Haven’t I always put you first- well yes, except for that one time. But now, I want to prove it you.”
“Clean slate, Ellen,” Saul said, reminding her that she’d been forgiven for those two years. “There’s no need to get involved. And we aren’t doing anything.”
“Look, the Scorpia’s clearly pro-settlement, but the Zephyr’s polls are still pretty neck to neck.”
Saul didn’t want to answer, but he softly asked, “Are you sure?”
Ellen warmed all over at her husband’s faith in her. She kissed him on the lips. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.” And then she kissed him more fully.
“But Bill can never find out.”
Ellen just nodded and smiled as her fingers went to attack his pants. “Of course.” Just thinking about pulling a fast one over Bill gave her an extra thrill. She ran her nails under his tanks before lifting them off. Who knew plotting against Bill was such a turn-on? And even better, she now had Saul’s complete attention. He lifted her toward their rack. But she couldn’t resist teasing him.
“You know me and the Zephyr’s Purser are tight.”
“What!?” His instant suspicion gratified her. She wasn't the only one who could get riled up in a flash.
“Relax, Saul don’t worry. His boyfriend just happens to be the Precinct Captain there.”
“Wait, Roslin also can’t be implicated.” Ellen let out a victorious shriek. If Saul thought it was because they had fallen to the bed, Ellen wasn’t going to clarify. Better and better, whenever that witch turns her sanctimonious nose on me, I’ll know just what a cheat she is and how much she owes me!
“She never needs to know. In fact, let’s not tell Foster either.” Oh yeah, who’s worthless now, bitches?
*****
Later, after, Saul finally asked, “Hey, is that champenois?”
“Let's open it on election night.”
FIN
gift for
nnaylime