029 2/7 yet another fic starring kara thrace. i <3 her, ok?!
Title: The Life Before This
Fandoms: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Words: 702
Pairing: Helo/Kara
Rating: R, but not very porny. There are only allusions. Frak.
Summary: Written for bsg_pornbattle; prompt was supposed to be 'tough' but I feel like it meandered a bit. D'oh. (And I absolutely stole the title from one of the million movies Sarah Polley and CKR did together. ONE SCENE TOGETHER IS ALL I ASK. ONE. JESUS.)
Everyone likes Helo.
Everyone is scared out of their minds of Starbuck.
They’re not completely unrelated truths.
It might have something to do with the time he pulled her off of a cadet she was beating bloody on the floor of the mess hall. The Private had six inches and at least fifty pounds on Starbuck, but she’d had him half-fetal and covering his head. Onlookers had been laughing, bantering on how long she’d be in the brig (almost a week, it turned out), how long he’d be in the sickbay (two weeks, and a month outpatient). Helo had pushed through, yanked Starbuck back, first by the collar of her shirt, but when it had ripped in her ardor, he’d grabbed her forearms and picked her up bodily. A mess of fire and impulse, Starbuck had clocked him hard across the chin before he’d even considered the possible ramifications of his actions.
No good deed goes unpunished.
Or maybe Helo’s status as folk hero and Starbuck’s as a mythic creature of wrath and power was cemented by that fight they had on the night before Starbuck was going on furlough. Starbuck’s angry words had echoed through the alley behind the barracks and into the building behind them- it had been a good fifteen minutes of solid entertainment. Helo’s side of the conversation remained a mystery, because no matter how loud Starbuck got or how many frak-bombs she dropped, Helo remained Helo- calm, low voice that only bore the occasional tremor of emotion.
Everyone had wanted to know details, but no one had the nerve to ask for more when they’d already breached a certain base etiquette by eavesdropping.
They frak in a surplus bungalow one night. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last, but Starbuck didn’t hit him or worse, leave when he called her Kara, and that is a first. They both noticed, and Starbuck was quick to tell him that it didn’t mean she was kissing his ass like everyone else.
Even when the pilot sympathies got divided by Viper and Raptor, Helo was still the odds-on favorite for any popularity contests that might arise. The Viper pilots came to cherish Starbuck as their unofficial mascot, the drinking, cussing, frakking terrifying bitch that she was, and everyone sort of knew she was going to be a legend and Helo was just going to be Helo (always and forever), but there was a difference between being a good pilot and being sane, and as far as a strong majority of the Colonial Fleet was concerned, Starbuck didn’t have a prayer in the world of marrying the two concepts.
… The fact that no one considers it strange that Starbuck and Helo are practically the same entity does not say volumes for the collective observation skills of the Fleet’s enlistees, Helo can’t help but think.
Starbuck has issues. Helo was positive he had never met anyone as crazy as she is, and he kind of liked it. When she cajoled him into switching com channels in a test flight formation and talked dirty to him as her Viper and his Raptor and half a dozen other ships cut through a Caprican canyon, the words burned into his brain. The com devices weren’t anywhere near the ideal conduit for erotic wordplay, but she somehow made it work. And Helo almost had a heart attack when the base cut into the conversation and berated them for switching over.
It wasn’t until Starbuck came crashing into Helo’s life that he understood that saying about people in glass houses not throwing stones.
Once Helo tried to get a date that wasn’t ‘Buck. It wasn’t that he was bored of her, but she certainly didn’t let whatever they had stop her from doing whatever (and whomever) she godsdamn well pleased. The only problem turned out to be that he was everyone’s big brother, or alternatively, some kind of sex symbol. At the time it seemed to him that there was only one person on the planet who would both talk to him and frak him all night long.
Maybe that was a good thing, though. The world couldn’t handle more than one Starbuck.
Fandoms: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Words: 702
Pairing: Helo/Kara
Rating: R, but not very porny. There are only allusions. Frak.
Summary: Written for bsg_pornbattle; prompt was supposed to be 'tough' but I feel like it meandered a bit. D'oh. (And I absolutely stole the title from one of the million movies Sarah Polley and CKR did together. ONE SCENE TOGETHER IS ALL I ASK. ONE. JESUS.)
Everyone likes Helo.
Everyone is scared out of their minds of Starbuck.
They’re not completely unrelated truths.
It might have something to do with the time he pulled her off of a cadet she was beating bloody on the floor of the mess hall. The Private had six inches and at least fifty pounds on Starbuck, but she’d had him half-fetal and covering his head. Onlookers had been laughing, bantering on how long she’d be in the brig (almost a week, it turned out), how long he’d be in the sickbay (two weeks, and a month outpatient). Helo had pushed through, yanked Starbuck back, first by the collar of her shirt, but when it had ripped in her ardor, he’d grabbed her forearms and picked her up bodily. A mess of fire and impulse, Starbuck had clocked him hard across the chin before he’d even considered the possible ramifications of his actions.
No good deed goes unpunished.
Or maybe Helo’s status as folk hero and Starbuck’s as a mythic creature of wrath and power was cemented by that fight they had on the night before Starbuck was going on furlough. Starbuck’s angry words had echoed through the alley behind the barracks and into the building behind them- it had been a good fifteen minutes of solid entertainment. Helo’s side of the conversation remained a mystery, because no matter how loud Starbuck got or how many frak-bombs she dropped, Helo remained Helo- calm, low voice that only bore the occasional tremor of emotion.
Everyone had wanted to know details, but no one had the nerve to ask for more when they’d already breached a certain base etiquette by eavesdropping.
They frak in a surplus bungalow one night. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last, but Starbuck didn’t hit him or worse, leave when he called her Kara, and that is a first. They both noticed, and Starbuck was quick to tell him that it didn’t mean she was kissing his ass like everyone else.
Even when the pilot sympathies got divided by Viper and Raptor, Helo was still the odds-on favorite for any popularity contests that might arise. The Viper pilots came to cherish Starbuck as their unofficial mascot, the drinking, cussing, frakking terrifying bitch that she was, and everyone sort of knew she was going to be a legend and Helo was just going to be Helo (always and forever), but there was a difference between being a good pilot and being sane, and as far as a strong majority of the Colonial Fleet was concerned, Starbuck didn’t have a prayer in the world of marrying the two concepts.
… The fact that no one considers it strange that Starbuck and Helo are practically the same entity does not say volumes for the collective observation skills of the Fleet’s enlistees, Helo can’t help but think.
Starbuck has issues. Helo was positive he had never met anyone as crazy as she is, and he kind of liked it. When she cajoled him into switching com channels in a test flight formation and talked dirty to him as her Viper and his Raptor and half a dozen other ships cut through a Caprican canyon, the words burned into his brain. The com devices weren’t anywhere near the ideal conduit for erotic wordplay, but she somehow made it work. And Helo almost had a heart attack when the base cut into the conversation and berated them for switching over.
It wasn’t until Starbuck came crashing into Helo’s life that he understood that saying about people in glass houses not throwing stones.
Once Helo tried to get a date that wasn’t ‘Buck. It wasn’t that he was bored of her, but she certainly didn’t let whatever they had stop her from doing whatever (and whomever) she godsdamn well pleased. The only problem turned out to be that he was everyone’s big brother, or alternatively, some kind of sex symbol. At the time it seemed to him that there was only one person on the planet who would both talk to him and frak him all night long.
Maybe that was a good thing, though. The world couldn’t handle more than one Starbuck.