Battlestar Galactica: I'm Afraid I Think I'm (More Human Than Human Remix)
Original Fic: Five Things That Never Happened To Sharon Valerii (#3), by projectjulie
Remix: I'm Afraid I Think I'm (More Human Than Human Remix) [Boomer, 250 Words, Rated PG-13], by amathela
Boomer tastes blood as Tigh hits her, and she sprawls, ungainly, to the floor. Part of her feels like she hasn't stopped tasting it since
(she shot herself)
the accident, the sharp tang in her mouth, the contour of the scar on the inside of her cheek. It's human, or close enough, as red on the corrugated floor as
(Adama's, on the console, in Apollo's hands)
anyone else's, and so was she -
(only close enough isn't, not any more; not when you go around shooting people and setting explosives and waking up in corridors where you have no reason to be, where -
It doesn't matter if once you maybe single-handedly saved half the fleet.)
Almost human, or at least a fair approximation, and it's not like she was the only one keeping secrets. Nobody is who they seem to be; Tigh's a drunk and
(Starbuck's frakking the president of what's left of the colonies, skin sweat-slick and -)
Apollo's a mutineer, and she's hardly the first
(or the last)
person to betray them. She can feel the blood on her cheek, feel where the scar split open and the gun is pressed against her skin, and
(maybe he'll be able to finish what she couldn't)
she knows she could resist. But she's human enough to feel guilt, sharp, twisting dread in her stomach, and something else, a cold sort of relief that
(she knows what she is)
it's over, maybe -
When he releases her, the worst part is maybe she's glad.
Remix: I'm Afraid I Think I'm (More Human Than Human Remix) [Boomer, 250 Words, Rated PG-13], by amathela
Boomer tastes blood as Tigh hits her, and she sprawls, ungainly, to the floor. Part of her feels like she hasn't stopped tasting it since
(she shot herself)
the accident, the sharp tang in her mouth, the contour of the scar on the inside of her cheek. It's human, or close enough, as red on the corrugated floor as
(Adama's, on the console, in Apollo's hands)
anyone else's, and so was she -
(only close enough isn't, not any more; not when you go around shooting people and setting explosives and waking up in corridors where you have no reason to be, where -
It doesn't matter if once you maybe single-handedly saved half the fleet.)
Almost human, or at least a fair approximation, and it's not like she was the only one keeping secrets. Nobody is who they seem to be; Tigh's a drunk and
(Starbuck's frakking the president of what's left of the colonies, skin sweat-slick and -)
Apollo's a mutineer, and she's hardly the first
(or the last)
person to betray them. She can feel the blood on her cheek, feel where the scar split open and the gun is pressed against her skin, and
(maybe he'll be able to finish what she couldn't)
she knows she could resist. But she's human enough to feel guilt, sharp, twisting dread in her stomach, and something else, a cold sort of relief that
(she knows what she is)
it's over, maybe -
When he releases her, the worst part is maybe she's glad.