fic: BSG: there's no success like failure (and failure's no success at all)
Title: there's no success like failure (and failure's no success at all)
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Pairing: Implied Kara/Cain
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers: AU, but isn't all my fic? ;) No spoilers to speak of, just thievin'. This isn't for profit, just for fun. All characters & situations belong to RDM, David Eick, Sci-Fi, NBC Universal and their various subsidiaries. Title from a song of Bob Dylan's, which I also had nothing to do with.
A/N: So, this was gonna be for taragel's Galactica Ladies Ficathon, but (though it's not porny) there are still too many references to The Sexy Times for me to feel right about posting it over there. Prompt was from shah_of_blah, and since it was "Kara, Cain, AU, partners in crime," what could I do but revisit the 'verse where Kara, Lee and Sam are international thieves? I will take aaaaaaaaaaany excuse to revisit that 'verse. So. This is indeed written in the same world as that fic, which is porny, and which you can read here if you're so inclined.
As she slides one long black stocking up her thigh, the band snapping snugly around her leg just a few inches below a discreetly placed thigh-holster, it occurs to Kara Thrace that she'd never do a thing like this for her boys. It seems that no one gets her into-- or out of-- a dress like Helena Cain, and tonight is no exception. Helena Cain, badass international thief and assassin, is a woman of mystery to most people: Interpol simply refers to her as "The Razor," for reasons that Kara never really wants to know. Kara, on the other hand, has always called her Raisin, because when they met eight years ago, Kara was six tequila shots into a wild night and thought that this little nickname she'd just thought up was abso-fucking-lutely hilarious, brilliant in that way that most things are after that much tequila.
"Raisin," she had giggled, lifting her newly refilled shot glass to Helena Cain. "Get it? Like Raising Cain."
Helena Cain had favored her with a long, slow smile, which Kara understands now is often the last thing most people see before Cain shuffles them out of their mortal coil. In Kara's case, it's often the last thing that she sees before Cain tells her to take off her clothes.
She counts herself lucky, and not just because she has given Helena Cain a stupid nickname and lived to tell the tale. Kara's a thief and a con artist, and damn good at it, too, but Cain is a whole different beast. She's got no trouble leaving bodies behind if she needs to, though to her credit, every time she's called Kara for a favor, everyone involved has walked away-- and walked away richer, and usually, at least in Kara's experience, well-sexed. So when Helena calls, Kara answers, skipping out on her Sam and Lee to do whatever job Cain has for her.
Tonight's heist is a museum job, which is another thing that she never does-- she's told Lee and Sam before that they bring back bad flashbacks to boring grade school field trips, but that's only half the truth, which, as Cain often points out, is also half a lie, and she doesn't tolerate that kind of nonsense from anyone, not even Kara. Her total inability to put up with bullshit is the reason that Cain's the only one who knows the truth about why Kara refuses to do museum jobs, the only one who knows that when Kara was seven years old, she palmed her first merch from the gift shop at the museum and got caught by store security, and though that it is still, to date, the only failure she's ever had, it stings even now, because this is what Kara's good at. She lives for the thrill of a job, the adrenaline rush before, the exhilaration after, the heady feeling of invincibility during. She hates that she ever screwed this up, and so she tries to tell Cain no, to find somebody else, knowing all the time in the back of her mind that it won't work, that Cain is not a person that asks for things unless she expects to get them, and get them her way. Hell, they've got that in common, at least, and it's part of the reason Kara likes her so much.
"We all fuck up. You got it out of the way early. That's good. I refuse to take no for an answer," Helena had said, when Kara protested, loudly, that she does not do museums, no how, no way. "You're doing this job, Thrace, and you're doing it right this time."
She gave in, of course, like she always does when Cain comes calling, and she's hoping, as she pulls on the other stocking and tugs her dress down over her knees, that she doesn't let the Raisin down. Helena's notes about the party she's attending are on the dressing table, and she runs through them one more time, reciting the names, the security intel, the information that Helena needs her to gather, committing all the information to memory before flicking open her cigarette lighter and watching as the paper burns down to nothing. Then she takes a breath and checks her reflection in the mirror, wrinkles her nose at herself, sticks her tongue out, and bats her eyes, noticing the curious weighty feeling of mascara on her eyelashes.
"You can do this," Kara tells herself, and stands up a little straighter. "Game on," she says, and winks at her reflection before heading out the door.
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Pairing: Implied Kara/Cain
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers: AU, but isn't all my fic? ;) No spoilers to speak of, just thievin'. This isn't for profit, just for fun. All characters & situations belong to RDM, David Eick, Sci-Fi, NBC Universal and their various subsidiaries. Title from a song of Bob Dylan's, which I also had nothing to do with.
A/N: So, this was gonna be for taragel's Galactica Ladies Ficathon, but (though it's not porny) there are still too many references to The Sexy Times for me to feel right about posting it over there. Prompt was from shah_of_blah, and since it was "Kara, Cain, AU, partners in crime," what could I do but revisit the 'verse where Kara, Lee and Sam are international thieves? I will take aaaaaaaaaaany excuse to revisit that 'verse. So. This is indeed written in the same world as that fic, which is porny, and which you can read here if you're so inclined.
As she slides one long black stocking up her thigh, the band snapping snugly around her leg just a few inches below a discreetly placed thigh-holster, it occurs to Kara Thrace that she'd never do a thing like this for her boys. It seems that no one gets her into-- or out of-- a dress like Helena Cain, and tonight is no exception. Helena Cain, badass international thief and assassin, is a woman of mystery to most people: Interpol simply refers to her as "The Razor," for reasons that Kara never really wants to know. Kara, on the other hand, has always called her Raisin, because when they met eight years ago, Kara was six tequila shots into a wild night and thought that this little nickname she'd just thought up was abso-fucking-lutely hilarious, brilliant in that way that most things are after that much tequila.
"Raisin," she had giggled, lifting her newly refilled shot glass to Helena Cain. "Get it? Like Raising Cain."
Helena Cain had favored her with a long, slow smile, which Kara understands now is often the last thing most people see before Cain shuffles them out of their mortal coil. In Kara's case, it's often the last thing that she sees before Cain tells her to take off her clothes.
She counts herself lucky, and not just because she has given Helena Cain a stupid nickname and lived to tell the tale. Kara's a thief and a con artist, and damn good at it, too, but Cain is a whole different beast. She's got no trouble leaving bodies behind if she needs to, though to her credit, every time she's called Kara for a favor, everyone involved has walked away-- and walked away richer, and usually, at least in Kara's experience, well-sexed. So when Helena calls, Kara answers, skipping out on her Sam and Lee to do whatever job Cain has for her.
Tonight's heist is a museum job, which is another thing that she never does-- she's told Lee and Sam before that they bring back bad flashbacks to boring grade school field trips, but that's only half the truth, which, as Cain often points out, is also half a lie, and she doesn't tolerate that kind of nonsense from anyone, not even Kara. Her total inability to put up with bullshit is the reason that Cain's the only one who knows the truth about why Kara refuses to do museum jobs, the only one who knows that when Kara was seven years old, she palmed her first merch from the gift shop at the museum and got caught by store security, and though that it is still, to date, the only failure she's ever had, it stings even now, because this is what Kara's good at. She lives for the thrill of a job, the adrenaline rush before, the exhilaration after, the heady feeling of invincibility during. She hates that she ever screwed this up, and so she tries to tell Cain no, to find somebody else, knowing all the time in the back of her mind that it won't work, that Cain is not a person that asks for things unless she expects to get them, and get them her way. Hell, they've got that in common, at least, and it's part of the reason Kara likes her so much.
"We all fuck up. You got it out of the way early. That's good. I refuse to take no for an answer," Helena had said, when Kara protested, loudly, that she does not do museums, no how, no way. "You're doing this job, Thrace, and you're doing it right this time."
She gave in, of course, like she always does when Cain comes calling, and she's hoping, as she pulls on the other stocking and tugs her dress down over her knees, that she doesn't let the Raisin down. Helena's notes about the party she's attending are on the dressing table, and she runs through them one more time, reciting the names, the security intel, the information that Helena needs her to gather, committing all the information to memory before flicking open her cigarette lighter and watching as the paper burns down to nothing. Then she takes a breath and checks her reflection in the mirror, wrinkles her nose at herself, sticks her tongue out, and bats her eyes, noticing the curious weighty feeling of mascara on her eyelashes.
"You can do this," Kara tells herself, and stands up a little straighter. "Game on," she says, and winks at her reflection before heading out the door.