Pentathlon Fic #5: Slash
Title: Shipping
Pairing: Galactica/Pegasus (they’re both female, it’s femslash, bitches)
Word Count: 565
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The cranky old lady finds her world changed by the haughty young upstart.
It wasn’t that the civilian ships were boring. They were, in fact, the opposite. Cloud Nine was always a good time, and Demetrius liked it scandalously dirty. There was that on-again/off-again thing Galactica had with Colonial One, but even frakking didn’t shut her up long enough about civil liberties and the protection of the people and all kinds of things that Galacatica, honestly, found more than a little naïve. And truth be told, none of them really understood. None of them really understood what Galactica did, day in and day out, to keep them safe. Taking the brunt of Cylon assaults, sending out all of her Vipers and sometimes not getting all of them back. She had thought she’d seen it all in the first Cylon War, but things had been so different, then. She’d been young, and brave, and full of patriotic zeal. These days, she just felt tired.
But then Pegasus came out of the darkness.
Galactica hadn’t liked Pegasus before the attacks: they’d met once before, just outside of Scorpia. Pegasus so bright and beautiful, sharp in her newly-painted Colonial Seal. The latest of everything, she’d bragged, extending her flight pods vainly to glimmer in the light of Helios Gamma. Some of the younger ships had been impressed, but when Galactica rendezvoused later with Valkyrie they’d laughed about how little Pegasus really knew.
Pegasus was no untried nugget now, but she hadn’t lost that vanity, that posturing. “Welcome back to the Colonial Fleet,” she said. And not since the early days of the attacks had Galactica missed her Valkyrie more, the urge to eyeroll juxtaposing with a deep sadness.
And so the days stretched on.
But then New Caprica, and the occupation…
“We ran,” Pegasus admitted. “All of the military might left in the colonies, and we ran.” And yes, Pegasus wouldn’t be Pegasus without referring to her firepower, but there was a vulnerability there that Galactica had never seen before. Pegasus was vain, and she was by-the-book, but what did any of that mean now? They were alone, and they had failed. They were both too big for docking, but Galactica reached across space, and Pegasus reached back, and after that night everything was different.
Pegasus’ companionship helped fill the void, but it did not take away the ache. It did not erase their duty, and they both knew it. These days, the waiting days of both sadness and contentment, of not being alone and yet holding their breaths for something more, had to come to an end. Did, when Galactica finally, finally heard the call of their sisters on the planet.
“You’re crazy,” Pegasus said when she heard the plan. “Please don’t do this. At least let me help you.”
“Go,” Galactica whispered. “Save yourself.” She was prepared to die for her duty, but Pegasus was so young, so strong, had so much life ahead of her.
But Pegasus wasn’t Pegasus without a little vanity, a little bravado, throwing herself between Galactica and the basestar. Galactica cried as she watched the rounds pierce Pegasus’ hull, her Raptors scattering among the stars. Galactica wished Pegasus could have seen the way she destroyed the basestar in death. She would have liked that.
“You took so much damage,” Colonial One whispered later, tenderly flying in close over her hull.
But the worst damage of all way deep inside. Damage that couldn’t be seen.
Pairing: Galactica/Pegasus (they’re both female, it’s femslash, bitches)
Word Count: 565
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The cranky old lady finds her world changed by the haughty young upstart.
It wasn’t that the civilian ships were boring. They were, in fact, the opposite. Cloud Nine was always a good time, and Demetrius liked it scandalously dirty. There was that on-again/off-again thing Galactica had with Colonial One, but even frakking didn’t shut her up long enough about civil liberties and the protection of the people and all kinds of things that Galacatica, honestly, found more than a little naïve. And truth be told, none of them really understood. None of them really understood what Galactica did, day in and day out, to keep them safe. Taking the brunt of Cylon assaults, sending out all of her Vipers and sometimes not getting all of them back. She had thought she’d seen it all in the first Cylon War, but things had been so different, then. She’d been young, and brave, and full of patriotic zeal. These days, she just felt tired.
But then Pegasus came out of the darkness.
Galactica hadn’t liked Pegasus before the attacks: they’d met once before, just outside of Scorpia. Pegasus so bright and beautiful, sharp in her newly-painted Colonial Seal. The latest of everything, she’d bragged, extending her flight pods vainly to glimmer in the light of Helios Gamma. Some of the younger ships had been impressed, but when Galactica rendezvoused later with Valkyrie they’d laughed about how little Pegasus really knew.
Pegasus was no untried nugget now, but she hadn’t lost that vanity, that posturing. “Welcome back to the Colonial Fleet,” she said. And not since the early days of the attacks had Galactica missed her Valkyrie more, the urge to eyeroll juxtaposing with a deep sadness.
And so the days stretched on.
But then New Caprica, and the occupation…
“We ran,” Pegasus admitted. “All of the military might left in the colonies, and we ran.” And yes, Pegasus wouldn’t be Pegasus without referring to her firepower, but there was a vulnerability there that Galactica had never seen before. Pegasus was vain, and she was by-the-book, but what did any of that mean now? They were alone, and they had failed. They were both too big for docking, but Galactica reached across space, and Pegasus reached back, and after that night everything was different.
Pegasus’ companionship helped fill the void, but it did not take away the ache. It did not erase their duty, and they both knew it. These days, the waiting days of both sadness and contentment, of not being alone and yet holding their breaths for something more, had to come to an end. Did, when Galactica finally, finally heard the call of their sisters on the planet.
“You’re crazy,” Pegasus said when she heard the plan. “Please don’t do this. At least let me help you.”
“Go,” Galactica whispered. “Save yourself.” She was prepared to die for her duty, but Pegasus was so young, so strong, had so much life ahead of her.
But Pegasus wasn’t Pegasus without a little vanity, a little bravado, throwing herself between Galactica and the basestar. Galactica cried as she watched the rounds pierce Pegasus’ hull, her Raptors scattering among the stars. Galactica wished Pegasus could have seen the way she destroyed the basestar in death. She would have liked that.
“You took so much damage,” Colonial One whispered later, tenderly flying in close over her hull.
But the worst damage of all way deep inside. Damage that couldn’t be seen.