BSG Fic - Fast Friends
Title: Fast Friends
Authors: volatile/becisvolatile
Part: 1/1
Rating: G
Characters: Kara, Helo
Genre: Ficlet and, unless I’m very much mistaken, this might actually be gen. Not that I’d know the meaning of the word.
Word Count: 600+
Summary: She didn’t like Karl C. Agathon. Not at first.
Disclaimer: Not my sandpit.
Notes: Point out any glaring mistakes, I was lazy with the beta… and by lazy I mean “didn’t get one”. I’ve had this for a while, it was just waiting for me to finish it off.
Fast Friends
She didn’t like Karl C. Agathon. Not at first. Not even at second or third instance. She didn’t like the way that the guy had hit the academy with his call sign already ingrained into his soul so deeply that she’d only learned his name while snooping on admin duty, it didn’t seem right that he had one when they were still grappling to learn real names. Besides, didn’t that thing get chosen for you? Karl C. “Helo” Agathon could well have chosen his own, for all they knew. They hadn’t even been designated corps or specialties and he was aligning himself with flight.
She didn’t like the way he’d spent the first three days passing his large hands over his freshly shaven scalp when the thought no one was looking. He’d looked stupid with hair anyway.
She didn’t like that he got care packages. She didn’t like that his mother had obviously heard about how woefully thin the general issue socks were and taken it upon herself to keep Helo flush with hosiery.
And she really didn’t like finding new, overlarge, pairs of socks balled up and stuffed underneath her pillow.
She didn’t like that he said “back home in Caprica” with such warmth, because it wasn’t a phrase she could ever manage. Even if, by some fluke, she were able to consider anyplace “home”.
She didn’t like that on the one day his alarm failed there was no shortage of people to wake him up before he got it from the XO. Even though it had never really been a risk, because Kara had beaten them all to it by smacking anonymously against their shared wall when she heard no signs of life.
She didn’t like that on the mandatory seven day stint of sleep and food depravation he’d sat and listened to the pains and grievances of his peers with an understanding nod. Not when she’d smacked the first stupid frakker obtuse enough to whine out loud, “I’m hungry!” They all were.
He couldn’t play Triad for shit, and she didn’t like that either. She didn’t trust people who couldn’t lie. There was something dishonest about honesty. Humans weren’t honest. The infinite capacity for deceit seemed comforting and when met with a man who actually frowned at his own shitty cards she had to rethink a lot of what she thought she knew.
She didn’t like that he was so tall that when he leaned in to whisper during briefs his chin could brush the top of her head and she didn’t like the bob of his Adam’s apple because it made her want to touch her index finger against the bump while he spoke and feel the warming resonation of his words run up to her elbow. And she didn’t like knowing that, if she’d actually done it, he wouldn’t have minded.
She didn’t like that he remembered her birthday. Even her mother hadn’t bothered with that.
She didn’t like the way that his father had given her flowers after she’d marched out on their graduation day. It didn’t seem fair that a man she’d never met could pick her out of a crowd of hundreds to shove peonies beneath her nose and haul her into arms that held on as unashamedly and sincerely as his sons.
She even went so far as to hate him for taking away her sidearm and flimsy pink razors in the week after Zak’s funeral.
She didn’t like the way his tee shirts came down to her knees. Few things had ever made her feel so small in her life.
There was so much that she didn’t like that she had to frak up anyone else who disliked Helo, because she had the monopoly on it.
But she overlooked everything she didn’t like about Helo, because she did like it when she found him on Caprica. She liked that he was breathing, she liked that he was solid and she really liked that he had a dry pair of socks in his pack.
Authors: volatile/becisvolatile
Part: 1/1
Rating: G
Characters: Kara, Helo
Genre: Ficlet and, unless I’m very much mistaken, this might actually be gen. Not that I’d know the meaning of the word.
Word Count: 600+
Summary: She didn’t like Karl C. Agathon. Not at first.
Disclaimer: Not my sandpit.
Notes: Point out any glaring mistakes, I was lazy with the beta… and by lazy I mean “didn’t get one”. I’ve had this for a while, it was just waiting for me to finish it off.
Fast Friends
She didn’t like Karl C. Agathon. Not at first. Not even at second or third instance. She didn’t like the way that the guy had hit the academy with his call sign already ingrained into his soul so deeply that she’d only learned his name while snooping on admin duty, it didn’t seem right that he had one when they were still grappling to learn real names. Besides, didn’t that thing get chosen for you? Karl C. “Helo” Agathon could well have chosen his own, for all they knew. They hadn’t even been designated corps or specialties and he was aligning himself with flight.
She didn’t like the way he’d spent the first three days passing his large hands over his freshly shaven scalp when the thought no one was looking. He’d looked stupid with hair anyway.
She didn’t like that he got care packages. She didn’t like that his mother had obviously heard about how woefully thin the general issue socks were and taken it upon herself to keep Helo flush with hosiery.
And she really didn’t like finding new, overlarge, pairs of socks balled up and stuffed underneath her pillow.
She didn’t like that he said “back home in Caprica” with such warmth, because it wasn’t a phrase she could ever manage. Even if, by some fluke, she were able to consider anyplace “home”.
She didn’t like that on the one day his alarm failed there was no shortage of people to wake him up before he got it from the XO. Even though it had never really been a risk, because Kara had beaten them all to it by smacking anonymously against their shared wall when she heard no signs of life.
She didn’t like that on the mandatory seven day stint of sleep and food depravation he’d sat and listened to the pains and grievances of his peers with an understanding nod. Not when she’d smacked the first stupid frakker obtuse enough to whine out loud, “I’m hungry!” They all were.
He couldn’t play Triad for shit, and she didn’t like that either. She didn’t trust people who couldn’t lie. There was something dishonest about honesty. Humans weren’t honest. The infinite capacity for deceit seemed comforting and when met with a man who actually frowned at his own shitty cards she had to rethink a lot of what she thought she knew.
She didn’t like that he was so tall that when he leaned in to whisper during briefs his chin could brush the top of her head and she didn’t like the bob of his Adam’s apple because it made her want to touch her index finger against the bump while he spoke and feel the warming resonation of his words run up to her elbow. And she didn’t like knowing that, if she’d actually done it, he wouldn’t have minded.
She didn’t like that he remembered her birthday. Even her mother hadn’t bothered with that.
She didn’t like the way that his father had given her flowers after she’d marched out on their graduation day. It didn’t seem fair that a man she’d never met could pick her out of a crowd of hundreds to shove peonies beneath her nose and haul her into arms that held on as unashamedly and sincerely as his sons.
She even went so far as to hate him for taking away her sidearm and flimsy pink razors in the week after Zak’s funeral.
She didn’t like the way his tee shirts came down to her knees. Few things had ever made her feel so small in her life.
There was so much that she didn’t like that she had to frak up anyone else who disliked Helo, because she had the monopoly on it.
But she overlooked everything she didn’t like about Helo, because she did like it when she found him on Caprica. She liked that he was breathing, she liked that he was solid and she really liked that he had a dry pair of socks in his pack.