BSG fic: swiss diplomacy
title: swiss diplomacy
char: Saul & Ellen Tigh, Laura Roslin, Tory Foster
word count: c. 550 words
title property of the Sork, characters borrowed from BSG
a/n: for plaid_slytherin
They haven’t seen anyone for the first three weeks since the Cylon invasion. They were all under strict surveillance at first, Laura in particular and Tory and Maya by extension. But two weeks in, they’d started running an announcement about wishing to return to normal life, how they were not heartless; Gaius Frakking Baltar (as he’s known in the tent behind the tiny schoolhouse) comes over the intercom to beg them to play at normalcy, as if normal down here even without the Cylons had been a frakking treat.
But Ellen Tigh swings by the schoolhouse one day and the last couple of weeks have moved so slowly, carried only by dread as thick as molasses, and it really is like being asked over for dinner by an old friend, and so they go, and in truth, not just to keep up appearances.
Saul is gruff as ever, fussing with the sloppy layers of civvie clothing just to keep his hands busy. Laura saves them all from embarrassment, walks over and kisses Ellen on the cheek and then wraps her arms around Saul’s shoulders. “How are you doing?”
“This isn’t a social call.”
“I’m well aware of that, Colonel.” And indeed, her posture doesn’t change; she’s at the center of the room, standing straight but not rigid, fixing the Colonel with a look she usually saves for Adamas and other recalcitrant adolescents. “But if you’re going to be running this operation, I would still like to know how you are.”
“Well, my bum knee’s acting up, I haven’t eaten anything but algae for three days now, and the frakkin’ Cylons have invaded my planet again. So I’d say how I am is about ready to blow some shit up. How’re you, Madam President?”
“About the same, Colonel.”
Tigh smiles a little. “Figured I could count on you.”
Laura acknowledges the compliment gracefully. “So who else?”
“You know the more I tell you…”
“I understand the risk, Saul. If I were a high priority, they’d have taken me in right away.”
“And we can trust her?” Ellen gestures at Tory.
Laura and Saul avoid each other’s eyes. “I think my assistant has more than proven her loyalty.”
Tory feels herself smile a little. “Thank you, Laura.”
“Yeah, but what’s she gonna do for us?” Saul asks.
“Eyes and ears. I’m a supervisor at the market.”
“I thought you worked at the school with her.”
“I was never much for kids, Saul.”
“Can’t say I don’t understand that. But what good does it do us? Thought the Cylons were staying out of the market for the time being.”
“No, she’s right, Saul. She’ll be able to find collaborators, or undercover human models - people who can afford things they shouldn’t be able to, or who don’t look completely ragged.”
Saul looks a little surprised and pleased that Ellen’s pushed her way in; Tory doesn’t know how he’d ever thought she’d stay out of it. “Think that’s really going to be a problem?”
“We can’t afford to assume it’s not,” Tory says.
He nods. “Well, normally we’d have a godsdamn initiation ceremony, but circumstances being what they are, we’ll have to skip the formalities. Three days from now, two hours before curfew.”
“What’s the password?” Ellen teases gently.
“Poseidon,” Tory suggests. The tamer of horses, the shaker of the ground. Saul misses the reference entirely, but nods his assent to the code.
The resistance begins.