Home of the Thirteenth Tribe
Title: Home of the Thirteenth Tribe
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Characters: Sam Anders and Galen Tyrol friendship.
Rating: PG I s'pose.
Notes: TW: assisted suicide...ish? With resurrection. Sam and Galen back on the Thirteenth Tribe, when they're scientists hunting for resurrection.
“Just do it.” Sam felt molars grind together as he clenched his teeth against the onslaught…which never came.
“I can’t.”
Sam turned his eyes up to stare down the cold gun barrel. Galen’s finger didn’t move from the trigger, but he didn’t press in either. “What do you mean, you can’t?” Sam said shortly.
“I mean I can’t,” Galen replied, simple. “I’m a scientist. Not a frakking executioner.”
Never mind that Sam had volunteered to get his head blown off and Galen was the one getting cold feet. Someone had to do it. Out of the five core scientists (Sam, Galen, Tory, Saul, Ellen), one of them had to test it out. One of them had to serve as the test bunny. One of them had to die in order to prove that resurrection was possible.
Sam had volunteered. He had to see this project through. Had to be the first one to do it. And maybe the adrenaline rush didn’t hurt. The thud of his heart, the spike in his veins, the perfect buzz that Galen was killing.
And, of course, that meant that Galen had to volunteer to do the deed. Because Galen was Sam’s best friend. The only one Sam really trusted with his life and death. As a scientist? Galen was brilliant. But put a gun in the man’s hand and he was turning out to be useless. “We can do this another way…with an injection…”
“No-no,” Sam countered, firmly. “It has to be this way. I don’t want to wake up a vegetable because you chickened out at the last second. There’s no coming back from this. I resurrect? It changes everything.” Sam took the barrel of Galen’s gun in his hand, coaxing it back to his forehead. “This is going to work,” he reassured the other man. “I believe in you.”
Still that edge of reluctant empathy in Galen’s face. Sam was far too impatient for this. Finally, he looked Galen in the eyes and said, “I frakked Tory.”
-------
Perfection. For a second. And then it was gone.
-------
Sam woke up gasping in the tub, clawing at the edges. Desperate to get back…to get something lost…something that was falling away like a poorly sewn together dream…It has happened before…it will happen again…
His head was coming out of the fog. Computing the images in front of him. Galen, eyes wet and remorseful. Ellen with a feline curiosity perched in her face. Saul growling (It frakking worked). The beep of the heart monitor.
His new heart. Beating soundly in his chest.
Sam laughed. He couldn’t think to do anything else. He laughed as the sweet taste of success washed away any doubt. He laughed to suck new breath into new lungs. He laughed until that ever-elusive mistress Perfection danced away to a tune he didn’t recognize.
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Characters: Sam Anders and Galen Tyrol friendship.
Rating: PG I s'pose.
Notes: TW: assisted suicide...ish? With resurrection. Sam and Galen back on the Thirteenth Tribe, when they're scientists hunting for resurrection.
“Just do it.” Sam felt molars grind together as he clenched his teeth against the onslaught…which never came.
“I can’t.”
Sam turned his eyes up to stare down the cold gun barrel. Galen’s finger didn’t move from the trigger, but he didn’t press in either. “What do you mean, you can’t?” Sam said shortly.
“I mean I can’t,” Galen replied, simple. “I’m a scientist. Not a frakking executioner.”
Never mind that Sam had volunteered to get his head blown off and Galen was the one getting cold feet. Someone had to do it. Out of the five core scientists (Sam, Galen, Tory, Saul, Ellen), one of them had to test it out. One of them had to serve as the test bunny. One of them had to die in order to prove that resurrection was possible.
Sam had volunteered. He had to see this project through. Had to be the first one to do it. And maybe the adrenaline rush didn’t hurt. The thud of his heart, the spike in his veins, the perfect buzz that Galen was killing.
And, of course, that meant that Galen had to volunteer to do the deed. Because Galen was Sam’s best friend. The only one Sam really trusted with his life and death. As a scientist? Galen was brilliant. But put a gun in the man’s hand and he was turning out to be useless. “We can do this another way…with an injection…”
“No-no,” Sam countered, firmly. “It has to be this way. I don’t want to wake up a vegetable because you chickened out at the last second. There’s no coming back from this. I resurrect? It changes everything.” Sam took the barrel of Galen’s gun in his hand, coaxing it back to his forehead. “This is going to work,” he reassured the other man. “I believe in you.”
Still that edge of reluctant empathy in Galen’s face. Sam was far too impatient for this. Finally, he looked Galen in the eyes and said, “I frakked Tory.”
-------
Perfection. For a second. And then it was gone.
-------
Sam woke up gasping in the tub, clawing at the edges. Desperate to get back…to get something lost…something that was falling away like a poorly sewn together dream…It has happened before…it will happen again…
His head was coming out of the fog. Computing the images in front of him. Galen, eyes wet and remorseful. Ellen with a feline curiosity perched in her face. Saul growling (It frakking worked). The beep of the heart monitor.
His new heart. Beating soundly in his chest.
Sam laughed. He couldn’t think to do anything else. He laughed as the sweet taste of success washed away any doubt. He laughed to suck new breath into new lungs. He laughed until that ever-elusive mistress Perfection danced away to a tune he didn’t recognize.