Prelude
Title: Prelude
Date posted: 12-03-11
Fandom: BSG
Word count: 2224
Disclaimer: These characters definitely don't belong to me, but instead RDM.
Characters: Sonja 'Legs' Sigardson, Sam ‘Longshot’ Anders, Simon O'Neill
Notes: So, kag523 wrote this awesome 'choose your own adventure' fic called Chain Reaction where readers got to vote on outcomes and suggest objects/people/themes to be included. Being myself, I requested a Six, and then specifically Sonja. As always, K hit the ground running, creating a pilot persona for Sonja where her callsign at the academy was Legs. At some point she mentioned to me that Legs and Longshot were still together when the attacks happened, and this occurred. I REGRET NOTHING.
They don't call her Legs in the CIC, but they still call her that below decks. The crew likes that their tactical officer keeps up her flight qualifications in her spare time and beats records besides. They also like that the callsign is just as teasing as the ones they have- no one can escape the whims of a flight instructor or your fellow nuggets even when they look like they could be on the cover of Caprican Fashion. Lieutenant Sigardson is the soul of the CIC, but Legs is the one who's good at Triad and who'll join in when they're doing shots.
She loves the Atlantia. It's a tactical officer's dream with the newest equipment and the best systems, and the whole battlestar is sleek and modern and beautiful. She loves her CO and her fellow shipmates. She's been happy for the past few years here, and if it weren't for Sam, Atlantia would be home.
There is Sam, though- funny, wonderful, handsome Sam who got recruited before he graduated from the Academy and plays professional Pyramid for the Caprica Buccaneers. She misses him so much she's used to it. They've been dating since their second year in the Academy, and it's been long distance for more than half that time, and they trust each other completely.
So when Sonja Sigardson starts having nightmares, she's completely at a loss. There's no new stresses with her job, nothing different in her relationship with Sam. She's had no difficult situations arise in CIC or disputes with any of her fellow officers. At first she manages to get rid of the anxiety with a few hours in the flight simulator, but before long she’s asking for permission for hours in a Viper. She lies about needing them for to log hours to keep her wings but really she’s looking for the adrenaline, the rush that’s almost as good as a good frak, enough to knock her out when she falls into her rack at night, which suddenly seems ridiculously big and cold with just her in it.
Flying only keeps the dreams at bay for a few weeks.
She couldn’t describe them if she wanted to- when she wakes up she can remember light and burning and the feeling of being both completely right and horribly wrong at the same time, and alone, so alone, but the underlying sensation of dread lodges hard and cold under her sternum when she wakes up, and she has to stop requesting time in the Viper due to her own fear of flying while sleep-deprived.
The idea to visit Sam comes unbidden during a routine shift in the CIC when she can hardly focus. No one’s noticed how tired she is, how drawn and pale she’s become, but she knows she needs to do something before it becomes a problem in her work. One the thought occurs to her, it’s as if a weight has been lifted from her. She can go and see Sam. It’s off-season, so he’ll still be training but he won’t be traveling for games, and she can sleep with her ear over his heart and she just knows that the nightmares will stop.
Admiral Nagala grants her request for leave when she tearfully tells him she’s having personal problems, and even though it’s true she still feels mildly guilty, like she’s abandoning her post. Her CO assures her that their battlestar is more than capable of functioning without her- “Without any of us,” he adds, referring to the new network whose installation Sonja had overseen. She informs him that it’s not entirely true: technology can’t replace people. When she adds, “At least not yet,” he laughs and sends her off.
It takes Sonja over a day to get to Caprica. Home, she thinks as the city skyline appears. She always spends her leave here with Sam, and whatever isn’t on the ship with her in scattered around Sam’s apartment- most of her civilian clothes are in his closet, most of her book collection is on his bookshelves, her files and old textbooks from the Academy in his storage unit in the basement. She’s added throw pillows to his sofa and coordinated curtains and bathroom towels and rugs, and there are pictures of the two of them on walls and desk tops and bedside tables. Home.
The C-Bucs are up in the mountains doing their annual high-altitude training but Sonja goes to the apartment anyway. She’s desperate for a shower and a fresh set of clothes, and the idea of a nap is so tempting that she almost gives in, but there’s a feeling of urgency that she attributes to her proximity to Sam. She can be at the training camp in two hours if she hurries, just in time for dinner, and then she and Sam can retire to his cabin.
She had called their coach from the Atlantia to tell him she was coming- she made sure not to ask permission, but instead to tell- and tries to call him again on her way up there. She gets Doctor O’Neill instead. “Please don’t tell Sam,” she asks, her phone between her ear and shoulder as she drives, “Just make sure he’s around in a hour.”
“That’s not a problem,” he replies, and for a moment Sonja feels the same way she does in her dream, right and wrong at once, but it’s gone as quickly as it arrives, and he’s hung up.
She pulls up to the front of the camp just as the team is walking back after practice. They’re all jazzed on a good game, teasing each other over mistakes or missteps, and for a moment it looks like Sam is going to walk right past her, but he doesn’t. The moment he sees her his face he breaks into a beam, and he runs to her, in full view of his team, and gathers her up in a hug.
“Oh, Sam,” she says in relief, and he holds her tightly and kisses her like he knows how hard it’s been for her.
“Are you okay?” His voice is full of genuine concern and one arm is wrapped around her shoulders and his other hand is on her waist and she wants to say, ‘Not now,’ because she doesn’t want to talk. She wants to have Sam hold her against him forever, because this is the best she’s felt in weeks, but the team is right behind him, trying to look like they’re not intrigued and failing.
She nods. “I wanted to surprise you,” she manages, tilting her head back to look at him. He’s got a streak of dirt across his forehead and he’s covered in sweat but she’s never seen anything so dear. “I wanted to see you.”
He looks deep into her eyes at that response. He always says the way he can tell she’s lying is because of her eyes. ‘Aquaria blue can’t lie,’ he says, and he would know- his eyes show when he’s lying too. They both do terribly when they’re hiding Solstice presents from one another. He searches her face but lets her answer go.
They go to his cabin and she can see he wants to ask again- he wants to know so that he can fix things, so that he can make her life better or easier but she beats him to it by saying, “I don’t want to talk right now.”
To make her smile, he puts his game shoes outside the door, and then comes back to make her forget.
“What’s going on with you?” He asks when she cuddles up to him. She can’t possibly describe how good it feels just to be near him, to know he’s safe. Home, she thinks, and it’s not the apartment in C-City, it’s Sam.
“I keep having bad dreams,” she admits. She feels ridiculous.
“What kind of bad dreams?” He isn’t teasing her, he’s curious. He’s rubbing soothing circles on her back and kissing the crown of her head like they have all the time in the worlds.
“I don’t remember them when I wake up. There’s fire, and it’s scary. I’m all alone.”
“If there was a fire, I’d find you,” Sam tells her. “I’d get you out.”
Sonja shakes her head. Sam doesn’t understand the scope of it. “No, there was no one left. Except for me, I think. Everyone else is in the fire.”
“It’s just a dream, baby.” He moves a hand up to her hair to run his fingers through it. He’s always liked the way her curls separate into finer strands.
“I don’t care about the dream, it’s how I feel afterwards. I wouldn’t call it fear, even, it’s more like dread. Deep, heavy dread.”
Sam mulls this over for a few minutes. “You came up here because of dread.”
“I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep in weeks,” she tells him quietly. “That’s how bad it is. I don’t know what it means.”
Attempting to lighten the mood, Sam laughs and says, “Is this the same Legs Sigardson who always teased the other pilots over superstition?”
“I’m not talking about some stupid talisman they think helped them stick a landing. It’s been over a month, the same dream, over and over again, the same dread.”
He’s quiet for a few minutes. “Is there anything you want me to do?”
“This,” she says, kissing his chest. “This helps.”
“Just a piece of meat to you,” he teases as she moves to kiss up his throat, “I feel so dirty.”
“Five years in, you should be used to it,” Sonja replies, and he gives her a smile that could light up a room. She loves him so fiercely she can hardly breathe.
“Five years,” Sam repeats, steadying her as she swings a leg over to straddle him. It looks like he might say something else teasing, but instead he says, “I love you.”
She falls asleep that night easily enough, with Sam’s heart beating under her head, just like she wanted, but she wakes up a few hours later in a panic. In her dream there had been the same fire, the same screams and smoke and righteousness and guilt, but this time Sam was there, on the other side of the flames, calling her name.
Here, though, Sam is safe and unburnt and still asleep. She takes deep and slow breaths to get her heart rate back to normal, and when she’s sure she can lay still, she cuddles up to Sam and pulls his arm over her.
“Sonja,” Sam sighs sleepily, and she likes that it’s not a question. He nuzzles her cheek and kisses her before falling back into sleep, and Sonja studies his face in the dark. Home, she thinks again, enjoying the warmth of his skin, home.
In the morning, she eats breakfast with the team and watches them do exercises until lunch. It’s hard not to wolf whistle when Sam runs past her, his form perfect and a healthy sheen of sweat on his brow that makes him look like an acolyte of Apollo, but she resists. She does tease him with what she intends to do to him later when they break for lunch, and Sam looks ravenous for more than the burgers they’re serving.
It’s overcast when the team gets on the court to start Pyramid practice, but for a while Sonja forgets why she’s there. It’s fun to watch the Bucs practice. The teammates rib each other playfully, but there is no doubting that they have a prowess seen in few other professional teams. Their camaraderie makes all the difference.
She’s thinking about how great the next season is going to be when Doctor O’Neill sits down next to her. “And how are you today, Sonja?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she says politely. Sam’s only had wonderful things to say about the doctor, but there’s something about him that gives Sonja a prickle of unease. “Have you enjoyed your time up here?”
“It’s good to be here,” he says, and he looks at her. He’s making her remember something, something that’s just too dark and out of focus to remember clearly, and Sonja forces herself to look away. Coach has just thrown a perfect shot and the team is cheering him.
“You win, Coach,” Sam says, falling to the ground dramatically, “I’m goin’ down!”
“No,” she says to herself, but Doctor O’Neill hears her.
“You know why you’re here, sister.” He says. His voice is smooth and soothing.
“No,” she repeats. She is his sister. She’s not just Lieutenant Sonja Sigardson, she’s Six. She’s Six, and she hears two booms. Mushroom clouds of fire and smoke blossom into the sky.
She wants to tell Simon to keep quiet, to beg him not to blow her cover, but the team is struck into horrified silence as the destruction of their kind begins and Sonja needs to get to Sam. She leaves the picnic table and slides her hand into his without saying anything. He looks devastated.
Her dreams had been wrong, she thinks as her heart breaks for him. There is no feeling of justification, no euphoria of righteousness, only fire and distress.
Date posted: 12-03-11
Fandom: BSG
Word count: 2224
Disclaimer: These characters definitely don't belong to me, but instead RDM.
Characters: Sonja 'Legs' Sigardson, Sam ‘Longshot’ Anders, Simon O'Neill
Notes: So, kag523 wrote this awesome 'choose your own adventure' fic called Chain Reaction where readers got to vote on outcomes and suggest objects/people/themes to be included. Being myself, I requested a Six, and then specifically Sonja. As always, K hit the ground running, creating a pilot persona for Sonja where her callsign at the academy was Legs. At some point she mentioned to me that Legs and Longshot were still together when the attacks happened, and this occurred. I REGRET NOTHING.
They don't call her Legs in the CIC, but they still call her that below decks. The crew likes that their tactical officer keeps up her flight qualifications in her spare time and beats records besides. They also like that the callsign is just as teasing as the ones they have- no one can escape the whims of a flight instructor or your fellow nuggets even when they look like they could be on the cover of Caprican Fashion. Lieutenant Sigardson is the soul of the CIC, but Legs is the one who's good at Triad and who'll join in when they're doing shots.
She loves the Atlantia. It's a tactical officer's dream with the newest equipment and the best systems, and the whole battlestar is sleek and modern and beautiful. She loves her CO and her fellow shipmates. She's been happy for the past few years here, and if it weren't for Sam, Atlantia would be home.
There is Sam, though- funny, wonderful, handsome Sam who got recruited before he graduated from the Academy and plays professional Pyramid for the Caprica Buccaneers. She misses him so much she's used to it. They've been dating since their second year in the Academy, and it's been long distance for more than half that time, and they trust each other completely.
So when Sonja Sigardson starts having nightmares, she's completely at a loss. There's no new stresses with her job, nothing different in her relationship with Sam. She's had no difficult situations arise in CIC or disputes with any of her fellow officers. At first she manages to get rid of the anxiety with a few hours in the flight simulator, but before long she’s asking for permission for hours in a Viper. She lies about needing them for to log hours to keep her wings but really she’s looking for the adrenaline, the rush that’s almost as good as a good frak, enough to knock her out when she falls into her rack at night, which suddenly seems ridiculously big and cold with just her in it.
Flying only keeps the dreams at bay for a few weeks.
She couldn’t describe them if she wanted to- when she wakes up she can remember light and burning and the feeling of being both completely right and horribly wrong at the same time, and alone, so alone, but the underlying sensation of dread lodges hard and cold under her sternum when she wakes up, and she has to stop requesting time in the Viper due to her own fear of flying while sleep-deprived.
The idea to visit Sam comes unbidden during a routine shift in the CIC when she can hardly focus. No one’s noticed how tired she is, how drawn and pale she’s become, but she knows she needs to do something before it becomes a problem in her work. One the thought occurs to her, it’s as if a weight has been lifted from her. She can go and see Sam. It’s off-season, so he’ll still be training but he won’t be traveling for games, and she can sleep with her ear over his heart and she just knows that the nightmares will stop.
Admiral Nagala grants her request for leave when she tearfully tells him she’s having personal problems, and even though it’s true she still feels mildly guilty, like she’s abandoning her post. Her CO assures her that their battlestar is more than capable of functioning without her- “Without any of us,” he adds, referring to the new network whose installation Sonja had overseen. She informs him that it’s not entirely true: technology can’t replace people. When she adds, “At least not yet,” he laughs and sends her off.
It takes Sonja over a day to get to Caprica. Home, she thinks as the city skyline appears. She always spends her leave here with Sam, and whatever isn’t on the ship with her in scattered around Sam’s apartment- most of her civilian clothes are in his closet, most of her book collection is on his bookshelves, her files and old textbooks from the Academy in his storage unit in the basement. She’s added throw pillows to his sofa and coordinated curtains and bathroom towels and rugs, and there are pictures of the two of them on walls and desk tops and bedside tables. Home.
The C-Bucs are up in the mountains doing their annual high-altitude training but Sonja goes to the apartment anyway. She’s desperate for a shower and a fresh set of clothes, and the idea of a nap is so tempting that she almost gives in, but there’s a feeling of urgency that she attributes to her proximity to Sam. She can be at the training camp in two hours if she hurries, just in time for dinner, and then she and Sam can retire to his cabin.
She had called their coach from the Atlantia to tell him she was coming- she made sure not to ask permission, but instead to tell- and tries to call him again on her way up there. She gets Doctor O’Neill instead. “Please don’t tell Sam,” she asks, her phone between her ear and shoulder as she drives, “Just make sure he’s around in a hour.”
“That’s not a problem,” he replies, and for a moment Sonja feels the same way she does in her dream, right and wrong at once, but it’s gone as quickly as it arrives, and he’s hung up.
She pulls up to the front of the camp just as the team is walking back after practice. They’re all jazzed on a good game, teasing each other over mistakes or missteps, and for a moment it looks like Sam is going to walk right past her, but he doesn’t. The moment he sees her his face he breaks into a beam, and he runs to her, in full view of his team, and gathers her up in a hug.
“Oh, Sam,” she says in relief, and he holds her tightly and kisses her like he knows how hard it’s been for her.
“Are you okay?” His voice is full of genuine concern and one arm is wrapped around her shoulders and his other hand is on her waist and she wants to say, ‘Not now,’ because she doesn’t want to talk. She wants to have Sam hold her against him forever, because this is the best she’s felt in weeks, but the team is right behind him, trying to look like they’re not intrigued and failing.
She nods. “I wanted to surprise you,” she manages, tilting her head back to look at him. He’s got a streak of dirt across his forehead and he’s covered in sweat but she’s never seen anything so dear. “I wanted to see you.”
He looks deep into her eyes at that response. He always says the way he can tell she’s lying is because of her eyes. ‘Aquaria blue can’t lie,’ he says, and he would know- his eyes show when he’s lying too. They both do terribly when they’re hiding Solstice presents from one another. He searches her face but lets her answer go.
They go to his cabin and she can see he wants to ask again- he wants to know so that he can fix things, so that he can make her life better or easier but she beats him to it by saying, “I don’t want to talk right now.”
To make her smile, he puts his game shoes outside the door, and then comes back to make her forget.
“What’s going on with you?” He asks when she cuddles up to him. She can’t possibly describe how good it feels just to be near him, to know he’s safe. Home, she thinks, and it’s not the apartment in C-City, it’s Sam.
“I keep having bad dreams,” she admits. She feels ridiculous.
“What kind of bad dreams?” He isn’t teasing her, he’s curious. He’s rubbing soothing circles on her back and kissing the crown of her head like they have all the time in the worlds.
“I don’t remember them when I wake up. There’s fire, and it’s scary. I’m all alone.”
“If there was a fire, I’d find you,” Sam tells her. “I’d get you out.”
Sonja shakes her head. Sam doesn’t understand the scope of it. “No, there was no one left. Except for me, I think. Everyone else is in the fire.”
“It’s just a dream, baby.” He moves a hand up to her hair to run his fingers through it. He’s always liked the way her curls separate into finer strands.
“I don’t care about the dream, it’s how I feel afterwards. I wouldn’t call it fear, even, it’s more like dread. Deep, heavy dread.”
Sam mulls this over for a few minutes. “You came up here because of dread.”
“I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep in weeks,” she tells him quietly. “That’s how bad it is. I don’t know what it means.”
Attempting to lighten the mood, Sam laughs and says, “Is this the same Legs Sigardson who always teased the other pilots over superstition?”
“I’m not talking about some stupid talisman they think helped them stick a landing. It’s been over a month, the same dream, over and over again, the same dread.”
He’s quiet for a few minutes. “Is there anything you want me to do?”
“This,” she says, kissing his chest. “This helps.”
“Just a piece of meat to you,” he teases as she moves to kiss up his throat, “I feel so dirty.”
“Five years in, you should be used to it,” Sonja replies, and he gives her a smile that could light up a room. She loves him so fiercely she can hardly breathe.
“Five years,” Sam repeats, steadying her as she swings a leg over to straddle him. It looks like he might say something else teasing, but instead he says, “I love you.”
She falls asleep that night easily enough, with Sam’s heart beating under her head, just like she wanted, but she wakes up a few hours later in a panic. In her dream there had been the same fire, the same screams and smoke and righteousness and guilt, but this time Sam was there, on the other side of the flames, calling her name.
Here, though, Sam is safe and unburnt and still asleep. She takes deep and slow breaths to get her heart rate back to normal, and when she’s sure she can lay still, she cuddles up to Sam and pulls his arm over her.
“Sonja,” Sam sighs sleepily, and she likes that it’s not a question. He nuzzles her cheek and kisses her before falling back into sleep, and Sonja studies his face in the dark. Home, she thinks again, enjoying the warmth of his skin, home.
In the morning, she eats breakfast with the team and watches them do exercises until lunch. It’s hard not to wolf whistle when Sam runs past her, his form perfect and a healthy sheen of sweat on his brow that makes him look like an acolyte of Apollo, but she resists. She does tease him with what she intends to do to him later when they break for lunch, and Sam looks ravenous for more than the burgers they’re serving.
It’s overcast when the team gets on the court to start Pyramid practice, but for a while Sonja forgets why she’s there. It’s fun to watch the Bucs practice. The teammates rib each other playfully, but there is no doubting that they have a prowess seen in few other professional teams. Their camaraderie makes all the difference.
She’s thinking about how great the next season is going to be when Doctor O’Neill sits down next to her. “And how are you today, Sonja?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she says politely. Sam’s only had wonderful things to say about the doctor, but there’s something about him that gives Sonja a prickle of unease. “Have you enjoyed your time up here?”
“It’s good to be here,” he says, and he looks at her. He’s making her remember something, something that’s just too dark and out of focus to remember clearly, and Sonja forces herself to look away. Coach has just thrown a perfect shot and the team is cheering him.
“You win, Coach,” Sam says, falling to the ground dramatically, “I’m goin’ down!”
“No,” she says to herself, but Doctor O’Neill hears her.
“You know why you’re here, sister.” He says. His voice is smooth and soothing.
“No,” she repeats. She is his sister. She’s not just Lieutenant Sonja Sigardson, she’s Six. She’s Six, and she hears two booms. Mushroom clouds of fire and smoke blossom into the sky.
She wants to tell Simon to keep quiet, to beg him not to blow her cover, but the team is struck into horrified silence as the destruction of their kind begins and Sonja needs to get to Sam. She leaves the picnic table and slides her hand into his without saying anything. He looks devastated.
Her dreams had been wrong, she thinks as her heart breaks for him. There is no feeling of justification, no euphoria of righteousness, only fire and distress.