Ficlet: Stammbaum
This is not the fic I intended to post first, but it's the one that's postable. Short and slightly melancholic. Bon appetit!
Title: Stammbaum
Setting: Several years before the fall of the colonies
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None, assuming you've seen pretty much any episode, at any point, or are vaguely familiar with the concept of the rebooted BSG.
Laura Roslin contemplates her family tree
When she lets slip that her mother was diagnosed, her own doctor starts asking questions. Were there others? How many? How old?
The truth is, Laura isn’t sure. She thinks of her aunt, who lived. She’s heard about cousins who died. She doesn’t really know for sure how many, how old… Her family is a bit of a diaspora, spread across Caprica, with some even farther afield - she remembers mention of a few on Aquarion and Libron. Some lived, some died - that’s all she knows. She hasn’t met most of the cousins, might have seen photos.
The doctor pleads his case. She listens dutifully. When she goes home, she calls her mother - together, they try to draw up a family tree. The conversation drifts away from cancer. It drifts to trips off-world, that one dessert they’d both loved on Aquarion, the one with the berries and spices. Students. School. Subjects they wish they had taken. Subjects they wish they’d avoided.
She returns with a half-finished, half forgotten genealogy. There is nothing half-way about his opinion. He pleads his case again. She nods, says she’ll consider it.
She does consider it.
She knows the logical thing to do. The problem is, she likes her breasts. She’s always considered them one of her better features. Sure, there are options. Sure, there’s reconstruction, but they’d never look real and she knows it. She’s never considered herself an overly vain woman - she cares about how she looks, but not to excess, and never to the point of surgery. Suddenly, she would be a woman with fake breasts. What would be next? A new nose? A few shots to fill out her cheeks or plump her lips?
Her mother has surgery and she stays overnight in the hospital, feeding her ice-chips. When leaves the hospital, Laura moves back home. The house smells of old memories and bread. They argue about how Laura cooks, how Laura leaves her shoes by the door - pair after pair, day after day, until they are all there and the floor of her closet is bare.
A friend nags her this time. Has she given it any more thought?
She’s busy, she explains. Her mother, her job. There’s simply no time right now and she’s still young. There’s plenty of time to consider it later, when things are quieter. Not one of the women in her family was under 50 - she has plenty of time to consider. Plenty of time, she tells herself, to enjoy what she has, when she finally has the chance to sneak out for a rendez-vous.
Richard likes her breasts. He likes to paw at them, and bite, and suck and taste. He would notice the difference - she’s sure of it. It would not mean the end of their assignations, she thinks, only the end of the attention he lavishes on that particular part of the terrain. Not that it would matter, some little voice adds - they’d probably be numb after the surgery - and strange, and alien. She doesn’t think she would want anyone to touch them, after.
Title: Stammbaum
Setting: Several years before the fall of the colonies
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None, assuming you've seen pretty much any episode, at any point, or are vaguely familiar with the concept of the rebooted BSG.
Laura Roslin contemplates her family tree
When she lets slip that her mother was diagnosed, her own doctor starts asking questions. Were there others? How many? How old?
The truth is, Laura isn’t sure. She thinks of her aunt, who lived. She’s heard about cousins who died. She doesn’t really know for sure how many, how old… Her family is a bit of a diaspora, spread across Caprica, with some even farther afield - she remembers mention of a few on Aquarion and Libron. Some lived, some died - that’s all she knows. She hasn’t met most of the cousins, might have seen photos.
The doctor pleads his case. She listens dutifully. When she goes home, she calls her mother - together, they try to draw up a family tree. The conversation drifts away from cancer. It drifts to trips off-world, that one dessert they’d both loved on Aquarion, the one with the berries and spices. Students. School. Subjects they wish they had taken. Subjects they wish they’d avoided.
She returns with a half-finished, half forgotten genealogy. There is nothing half-way about his opinion. He pleads his case again. She nods, says she’ll consider it.
She does consider it.
She knows the logical thing to do. The problem is, she likes her breasts. She’s always considered them one of her better features. Sure, there are options. Sure, there’s reconstruction, but they’d never look real and she knows it. She’s never considered herself an overly vain woman - she cares about how she looks, but not to excess, and never to the point of surgery. Suddenly, she would be a woman with fake breasts. What would be next? A new nose? A few shots to fill out her cheeks or plump her lips?
Her mother has surgery and she stays overnight in the hospital, feeding her ice-chips. When leaves the hospital, Laura moves back home. The house smells of old memories and bread. They argue about how Laura cooks, how Laura leaves her shoes by the door - pair after pair, day after day, until they are all there and the floor of her closet is bare.
A friend nags her this time. Has she given it any more thought?
She’s busy, she explains. Her mother, her job. There’s simply no time right now and she’s still young. There’s plenty of time to consider it later, when things are quieter. Not one of the women in her family was under 50 - she has plenty of time to consider. Plenty of time, she tells herself, to enjoy what she has, when she finally has the chance to sneak out for a rendez-vous.
Richard likes her breasts. He likes to paw at them, and bite, and suck and taste. He would notice the difference - she’s sure of it. It would not mean the end of their assignations, she thinks, only the end of the attention he lavishes on that particular part of the terrain. Not that it would matter, some little voice adds - they’d probably be numb after the surgery - and strange, and alien. She doesn’t think she would want anyone to touch them, after.