Fic: BSG RPF
Title: Color Moving and Still
Author: Trinity
Rating: PG-13 for implied...stuff.
Word count: 963
Summary: You see blue, and you run, and you don't let him say your name again...
Author's note: My first attempt at RPF. Usual disclaimers apply. I saw this picture from the Peabodys and just had to know why Mary and Katee were holding hands. So I wrote it. Thanks to beautifultyrant for the beta and the mp3 of "The Next Ten Minutes." You rock, E.
Color Moving and Still
Your mother, who reads all those internet boards regularly, tells you that everyone complains about what Jamie wears to these sorts of things. She thinks it's funny that all the dizzy fangirls think that Kerry dresses him.
You don't think it's amusing at all.
*
"Katee..."
It doesn't take much to make your heart stop, but two syllables in that soft accent and you're making that mistake you both said you wouldn't make again. Nothing about what you picked out to wear (girly, of course, blue and frilly and so far away from Starbuck that you can hear the fanboys complaining already) says "easy access," but Jamie's found a way, and he's doing things to you, things you'd purposely forgotten he was so good at.
You had to forget, told yourself it was for the best. So this wouldn't happen again. Once was too much. But you push the jacket back over his shoulders, the one his wife
his wife...
probably picked out for him, and you slip your hands inside his open collar and touch your lips to his pulse and there are hands, hands everywhere and those impossibly long fingers and he's hardly done anything but you're gasping, whispering his name and shaking against him. His arms come around you to hold you until you've come down, but you have to push him away, and then you run.
You're suddenly, strangely glad that Lee and Kara never quite made this mistake. Art imitates life far too well sometimes.
You cancel your next appearance at the MTR and give the blue blouse to Goodwill.
*
"Missed you last week."
You sip your coffee and shrug noncommittally, and Mary keeps talking about the MTR seminar, how lovely the audience was and how funny Jamie is, and apparently the after party was nice, but you're not really paying attention until Mary says "Much better than at Paley." Then suddenly you sit up straight and run a hand through the fake hair they glued back on for today's flashback shoot; Mary's looking at you funny and God, are you that transparent?
Before it gets bad, Sergio and his impeccable sense of timing are calling you over to where he and Michael are doing something stupidly silly with a pyramid ball, giving you the opportunity to laugh and smile and more importantly, get the hell out of there.
Deep breath and you're ready to be Starbuck, ready to go pretend you're in love with someone other than Lee (Jamie), and you slip into it so easily that surely nobody notices the very Katee-like falter when you turn around and see Mary still staring at you like that.
Surely nobody notices.
*
Galactica has won a Peabody, and there's a ceremony tomorrow night, and you're happy at first because it means you get to be girly, despite the awful things Ron made you do to your hair. It's more Starbuck, yes, but you were growing used to the ponytails. Your mother says the fans were complaining about the length of your hair, and won't they all love seeing Kara practically shave her head come October?
You can't tell your mom to shove it up her ass, but you want to all the same.
So the hair is short again, miniseries short and you somehow managed not to cry too much when they cut it all off, and now you're standing in front of a closet full of frilly things, lacy and sheer and low-cut. Girly, very un-Starbuck. You're in heaven.
So why aren't you looking forward to tonight?
*
Jamie's in blue this time, and he's so handsome it makes you dizzy. You know he's not wearing it to spite you, to remind you of the Paley festival, but you think it anyway.
You promised yourself. For real this time.
Everyone says you look stunning, and nobody mentions the hair, not even Jamie. Of course, that might be because Jamie hardly says two words to you all night. You want not to care, because you know where words lead, but you can't help yourself. You catch his eye and he smiles, and there is blue in his eyes and the blue of his suit and you see yourself
pressed against some wall in some closed-off corridor of the museum, strong hands fisted in the blue folds of your blouse, mouth warm and soft and God, I'm going to hell, I'm going to hell I'm going
Then the photographer is lining you up, David's holding the award and you're supposed to look happy? Yes, that's it, happy, they cut off all your hair and you're in love with your married co-star and you're supposed to look happy that the whole reason you found yourself in this mess just earned itself a little gold statue.
Right.
Ron obviously wants you to stand by Jamie, because he always wants Starbuck and Apollo together, but hasn't he noticed yet that you never, ever stand by him? So you maneuver yourself to the other side of the photo and you're thinking you're pretty slick, maybe people will think you just want to be near the statue and you don't much care. Just as long as you're not by Jamie.
Mary catches your eye.
She knows. You don't know how, but you are certain she knows.
It's harder to smile now that you know that.
Just before they snap the picture, you lace your fingers in hers, and maybe you feel a little better. You're still going to run, duck out of that line and back to your hotel as soon as is polite and before Jamie can say anything, and if you're lucky you won't find yourself dreaming about shadowed corners and frilly blue shirts and long, thin fingers.
You force your best smile.
Mary squeezes your hand.
You don't think about Jamie. For now.
**
Author: Trinity
Rating: PG-13 for implied...stuff.
Word count: 963
Summary: You see blue, and you run, and you don't let him say your name again...
Author's note: My first attempt at RPF. Usual disclaimers apply. I saw this picture from the Peabodys and just had to know why Mary and Katee were holding hands. So I wrote it. Thanks to beautifultyrant for the beta and the mp3 of "The Next Ten Minutes." You rock, E.
Color Moving and Still
Your mother, who reads all those internet boards regularly, tells you that everyone complains about what Jamie wears to these sorts of things. She thinks it's funny that all the dizzy fangirls think that Kerry dresses him.
You don't think it's amusing at all.
*
"Katee..."
It doesn't take much to make your heart stop, but two syllables in that soft accent and you're making that mistake you both said you wouldn't make again. Nothing about what you picked out to wear (girly, of course, blue and frilly and so far away from Starbuck that you can hear the fanboys complaining already) says "easy access," but Jamie's found a way, and he's doing things to you, things you'd purposely forgotten he was so good at.
You had to forget, told yourself it was for the best. So this wouldn't happen again. Once was too much. But you push the jacket back over his shoulders, the one his wife
his wife...
probably picked out for him, and you slip your hands inside his open collar and touch your lips to his pulse and there are hands, hands everywhere and those impossibly long fingers and he's hardly done anything but you're gasping, whispering his name and shaking against him. His arms come around you to hold you until you've come down, but you have to push him away, and then you run.
You're suddenly, strangely glad that Lee and Kara never quite made this mistake. Art imitates life far too well sometimes.
You cancel your next appearance at the MTR and give the blue blouse to Goodwill.
*
"Missed you last week."
You sip your coffee and shrug noncommittally, and Mary keeps talking about the MTR seminar, how lovely the audience was and how funny Jamie is, and apparently the after party was nice, but you're not really paying attention until Mary says "Much better than at Paley." Then suddenly you sit up straight and run a hand through the fake hair they glued back on for today's flashback shoot; Mary's looking at you funny and God, are you that transparent?
Before it gets bad, Sergio and his impeccable sense of timing are calling you over to where he and Michael are doing something stupidly silly with a pyramid ball, giving you the opportunity to laugh and smile and more importantly, get the hell out of there.
Deep breath and you're ready to be Starbuck, ready to go pretend you're in love with someone other than Lee (Jamie), and you slip into it so easily that surely nobody notices the very Katee-like falter when you turn around and see Mary still staring at you like that.
Surely nobody notices.
*
Galactica has won a Peabody, and there's a ceremony tomorrow night, and you're happy at first because it means you get to be girly, despite the awful things Ron made you do to your hair. It's more Starbuck, yes, but you were growing used to the ponytails. Your mother says the fans were complaining about the length of your hair, and won't they all love seeing Kara practically shave her head come October?
You can't tell your mom to shove it up her ass, but you want to all the same.
So the hair is short again, miniseries short and you somehow managed not to cry too much when they cut it all off, and now you're standing in front of a closet full of frilly things, lacy and sheer and low-cut. Girly, very un-Starbuck. You're in heaven.
So why aren't you looking forward to tonight?
*
Jamie's in blue this time, and he's so handsome it makes you dizzy. You know he's not wearing it to spite you, to remind you of the Paley festival, but you think it anyway.
You promised yourself. For real this time.
Everyone says you look stunning, and nobody mentions the hair, not even Jamie. Of course, that might be because Jamie hardly says two words to you all night. You want not to care, because you know where words lead, but you can't help yourself. You catch his eye and he smiles, and there is blue in his eyes and the blue of his suit and you see yourself
pressed against some wall in some closed-off corridor of the museum, strong hands fisted in the blue folds of your blouse, mouth warm and soft and God, I'm going to hell, I'm going to hell I'm going
Then the photographer is lining you up, David's holding the award and you're supposed to look happy? Yes, that's it, happy, they cut off all your hair and you're in love with your married co-star and you're supposed to look happy that the whole reason you found yourself in this mess just earned itself a little gold statue.
Right.
Ron obviously wants you to stand by Jamie, because he always wants Starbuck and Apollo together, but hasn't he noticed yet that you never, ever stand by him? So you maneuver yourself to the other side of the photo and you're thinking you're pretty slick, maybe people will think you just want to be near the statue and you don't much care. Just as long as you're not by Jamie.
Mary catches your eye.
She knows. You don't know how, but you are certain she knows.
It's harder to smile now that you know that.
Just before they snap the picture, you lace your fingers in hers, and maybe you feel a little better. You're still going to run, duck out of that line and back to your hotel as soon as is polite and before Jamie can say anything, and if you're lucky you won't find yourself dreaming about shadowed corners and frilly blue shirts and long, thin fingers.
You force your best smile.
Mary squeezes your hand.
You don't think about Jamie. For now.
**