[ficlets] bsg: for bsg-epics
A few mini-ficlets written for bsg-epics over the past couple of weeks.
She sees the green before she opens her eyes.
Everything is green - vivid, dazzling, almost harsh in its intensity and stretching miles every which way. She looks up and there's the sky, blue, bright and brilliant.
She wonders if this is death; if this is a dream, or if she's waking up from one.
And then - Bill. Bill with his graying hair and dull BDUs, and suddenly he's the most real, the most vibrant thing she could have hoped to see. There's no how, or when, or who - there's only why, and when she thinks about it later it she'll decide it might just be that they deserve a second chance. She knows what she's going to do with it.
He leans over her with eyes so soft she thinks she could fall asleep in them.
"Hello," he says.
***
He first sees her in the Raptor, inspecting some flickering instrument on the dashboard with a focus so familiar it makes his chest ache. She hears his sharp intake of breath and looks up, peering at him over her glasses.
"So much for getting rid of all our technology," she says, the smirk playing at her lips telling him all he needs to know about her thoughts on that particular brainstorm. The amused quirk of her mouth tightens, though, and when her breath hitches Bill's already there, catching it between his own lips and winding his fingers through her long, brilliantly red hair.
She doesn't disappear, like he thinks she might. He's probably going mad but he doesn't care, not when she's here next to him, leaning against the rocky cliff-face with her head on his shoulder and giggling at the rasp of his newly-grown beard against her cheek. The cabin waits, half-finished, as grass grows around it and birds build nests in the dark corners.
Saul and Ellen find him after awhile, and Laura hides in the woods nearby as they try to convince him to join them at one of the new settlements. "I'm fine," Bill tells them repeatedly. "I just need to be alone." They leave with a promise to return the following week, and Laura emerges, face flushed and with leaves in her hair.
They talk, sometimes, about the old days, about books they read together and those they never finished. Mostly he clings to her like she'll slip away the moment he lets go. She's been dead six months and when he tries to tell her how much he's missed her, how much he loves her, she silences him with a finger to his lips. "I'm here now," she tells him.
When she finally does disappear, not quite a year after they first laid eyes on this planet, he follows her into the white.
***
In the weeks following the rescue, Laura doesn't think about much beyond population counts and rations and fuel stores. She doesn't think about Maya, or the baby - the long nights they used to spend huddled in her tent, drinking what passed for tea and working out lesson plans as Isis slept in a nest of blankets on Laura's bed. She doesn't think about Kara, who she hasn't seen since they made their escape, or the missing pieces of Saul Tigh, an eye and a woman she couldn't stand on a good day but would grieve nonetheless if she had a moment. She doesn't think about Gaius Baltar, beyond the occasional snide comment, or the way he'd handed her glasses to her and played the moral high ground. She doesn't think about Duck or Nora, guns in a temple or bombs strapped to a young man's chest.
Mostly she doesn't think of a cabin by a lake, water so clear it was like looking through glass. She did, once, for a moment, and everything went to hell. She knows better now.
So she thinks about ship repairs and military drafting and decontaminating the ship that is her home, the ship that will remain her home. She gave it up once. She won't do it again.
She sees the green before she opens her eyes.
Everything is green - vivid, dazzling, almost harsh in its intensity and stretching miles every which way. She looks up and there's the sky, blue, bright and brilliant.
She wonders if this is death; if this is a dream, or if she's waking up from one.
And then - Bill. Bill with his graying hair and dull BDUs, and suddenly he's the most real, the most vibrant thing she could have hoped to see. There's no how, or when, or who - there's only why, and when she thinks about it later it she'll decide it might just be that they deserve a second chance. She knows what she's going to do with it.
He leans over her with eyes so soft she thinks she could fall asleep in them.
"Hello," he says.
***
He first sees her in the Raptor, inspecting some flickering instrument on the dashboard with a focus so familiar it makes his chest ache. She hears his sharp intake of breath and looks up, peering at him over her glasses.
"So much for getting rid of all our technology," she says, the smirk playing at her lips telling him all he needs to know about her thoughts on that particular brainstorm. The amused quirk of her mouth tightens, though, and when her breath hitches Bill's already there, catching it between his own lips and winding his fingers through her long, brilliantly red hair.
She doesn't disappear, like he thinks she might. He's probably going mad but he doesn't care, not when she's here next to him, leaning against the rocky cliff-face with her head on his shoulder and giggling at the rasp of his newly-grown beard against her cheek. The cabin waits, half-finished, as grass grows around it and birds build nests in the dark corners.
Saul and Ellen find him after awhile, and Laura hides in the woods nearby as they try to convince him to join them at one of the new settlements. "I'm fine," Bill tells them repeatedly. "I just need to be alone." They leave with a promise to return the following week, and Laura emerges, face flushed and with leaves in her hair.
They talk, sometimes, about the old days, about books they read together and those they never finished. Mostly he clings to her like she'll slip away the moment he lets go. She's been dead six months and when he tries to tell her how much he's missed her, how much he loves her, she silences him with a finger to his lips. "I'm here now," she tells him.
When she finally does disappear, not quite a year after they first laid eyes on this planet, he follows her into the white.
***
In the weeks following the rescue, Laura doesn't think about much beyond population counts and rations and fuel stores. She doesn't think about Maya, or the baby - the long nights they used to spend huddled in her tent, drinking what passed for tea and working out lesson plans as Isis slept in a nest of blankets on Laura's bed. She doesn't think about Kara, who she hasn't seen since they made their escape, or the missing pieces of Saul Tigh, an eye and a woman she couldn't stand on a good day but would grieve nonetheless if she had a moment. She doesn't think about Gaius Baltar, beyond the occasional snide comment, or the way he'd handed her glasses to her and played the moral high ground. She doesn't think about Duck or Nora, guns in a temple or bombs strapped to a young man's chest.
Mostly she doesn't think of a cabin by a lake, water so clear it was like looking through glass. She did, once, for a moment, and everything went to hell. She knows better now.
So she thinks about ship repairs and military drafting and decontaminating the ship that is her home, the ship that will remain her home. She gave it up once. She won't do it again.