Holiday Ficlet #14: "Couldn't Ask For More" [BSG]
Title: Couldn't Ask For More
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica 2003 - How to live and love 'verse
Characters: Dee, Helo, Gaeta
Wordcount: ~280 words
Summary: "Mind telling me why you call in sick for Hot Dog now?"
AN: For lls-mutant.
Couldn't Ask For More
"Mind telling me why you call in sick for Hot Dog now? Last time I checked, people still had to do that themselves."
The day after Dee found Felix sobbing in the officers' head, Helo stepped up to her at Joe's, leaning in with a look of rapt interest on his face that meant trouble.
Dee pulled herself up, signaling the bartender that she'd only need one glass despite the hunk hovering next to her.
I couldn't have done more, she thought. I went and found Brendan. He knew what to do. She'd made sure he wouldn't be missed at CAP, too. She'd checked the duty roster to see if she'd have to find a replacement for a single or a double shift, but he had his weekly free triple coming up.
"He was puking too hard to make the call himself," she said stiffly. "I was just helping out."
"Right." Helo grimaced, because this wasn't funny. "Is he alright?"
It was obvious that he didn't mean Brendan Costanza. Brendan hadn't lost a leg.
It's all we can do, she firmly reminded herself. It's enough of a miracle that people still care to ask. And that Felix has someone left who'll come running when he cries, and know what to do.
"You'd have to ask Cottle, sir," Dee pointed out. "I'd hardly know."
Helo gave her a long look. "Maybe I will," he eventually said. "Maybe I will." Seeming not all that happy with the answer, or the situation overall, he sauntered away.
Dee downed the drink Joe had placed in front of her, holding onto the bar and grimacing when it burned on the way down her throat. Four years of practice, but the knuckledraggers' brew had never improved.
We're still alive. Felix is alive.
They just couldn't ask for more.
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica 2003 - How to live and love 'verse
Characters: Dee, Helo, Gaeta
Wordcount: ~280 words
Summary: "Mind telling me why you call in sick for Hot Dog now?"
AN: For lls-mutant.
Couldn't Ask For More
"Mind telling me why you call in sick for Hot Dog now? Last time I checked, people still had to do that themselves."
The day after Dee found Felix sobbing in the officers' head, Helo stepped up to her at Joe's, leaning in with a look of rapt interest on his face that meant trouble.
Dee pulled herself up, signaling the bartender that she'd only need one glass despite the hunk hovering next to her.
I couldn't have done more, she thought. I went and found Brendan. He knew what to do. She'd made sure he wouldn't be missed at CAP, too. She'd checked the duty roster to see if she'd have to find a replacement for a single or a double shift, but he had his weekly free triple coming up.
"He was puking too hard to make the call himself," she said stiffly. "I was just helping out."
"Right." Helo grimaced, because this wasn't funny. "Is he alright?"
It was obvious that he didn't mean Brendan Costanza. Brendan hadn't lost a leg.
It's all we can do, she firmly reminded herself. It's enough of a miracle that people still care to ask. And that Felix has someone left who'll come running when he cries, and know what to do.
"You'd have to ask Cottle, sir," Dee pointed out. "I'd hardly know."
Helo gave her a long look. "Maybe I will," he eventually said. "Maybe I will." Seeming not all that happy with the answer, or the situation overall, he sauntered away.
Dee downed the drink Joe had placed in front of her, holding onto the bar and grimacing when it burned on the way down her throat. Four years of practice, but the knuckledraggers' brew had never improved.
We're still alive. Felix is alive.
They just couldn't ask for more.