New Fic
Title: My Secret Angel
Characters: Kara, Helena Cain (BSG 2003); Cassiopeia, Sheba (The Original Series)
Genre: Femslash/Crossover
Rating: This chapter is PG
Chapter One/?
This is written for and inspired by scifi_mel Mel, haven't watched the original since I was about 18, so I hope I get it right. Just have to figure out where to cross post it now. LOL.
Kara was addicted. She knew she was. She didn’t care. She thought she deserved a little time out to forget some stuff. She had crashed on that frakkin’ moon and made it back alive. She’d even brought back a cylon raider. She’d done her bit for a while. It was time for a rest. Her frakkin’ leg was killing her.
Cottle had screwed pins in it and every time she even rolled over in the bed she felt one of them stick into her skin at the incorrect angle. She wondered if he had frakked the whole thing up but dismissed this idea. She had to admit that the cranky old son-of-a-bitch knew his stuff.
Good sense told her she would need to wean herself off the drugs eventually. Maybe she needed something to take her mind off the dull ache that was starting to spread from her leg up to other parts of her body. Yeah, that’s a plan, she thought. She’d put up with the pain for a bit longer. She just needed to distract herself, she decided.
She’d read the magazine Crashdown had brought her. She didn’t ask where he’d found it. How his dick hadn’t fallen off from some disease, she’d never know. Every time there was an assignment to the Rising Star or Cloud Nine, Crashdown’s name would be pencilled in to volunteer. She doubted any sensible woman would be voluntarily frakkin’ him, so she figured he was paying for it somewhere. Rumours of prostitute rings were flying around the fleet. Some of these rumours must be true.
The magazine was sitting on the tray that she ate her meals off. She reached out to wheel it closer and was annoyed when she realised it was just out of reach. She wriggled her body close to the edge of the sick bay cot and leaned over towards the tray again. Frak, she thought, it was still too far. Maybe she should have taken that frakkin’ walking stick that Cottle had offered her yesterday. At least then she would have something to hook onto the cart. She tried one last stretch but still failed to touch it with even the tips of her fingers.
She reached up and grabbed the emergency buzzer and held her finger down on it. By the time she frakkin’ got the magazine, the pain would be so unbearable she’d need to have the drugs anyway.
Exactly three minutes later, she was still sitting there, in pain, with no magazine and no attention. She counted to thirty and held her finger down on the buzzer for the count of thirty. She lifted her thumb. Counted to thirty. No one came. She held down the buzzer. Counted to thirty. Lifted her thumb. That would make it five minutes, she thought. Too bad if a person was frakkin’ dying.
As she once again held down her finger, her curtain finally drew back to reveal a medic. She didn’t know this one’s name. She only knew they had started about a week ago. She had heard Ishay making a fuss about finally someone helping out. Of course, Kara thought, she would have noticed this medic whether or not Ishay had referred to her.
The woman was frakkin’ sex on wheels. Tall and slim with blonde shoulder length hair that curled up at the ends, the woman’s demeanour just oozed sensuality. Kara had found herself tilting her head to one side to spy the woman’s sashaying ass through the gap of her curtain on more than one occasion. Under the influence of the drugs, she’d imagined lots of crazy stuff about the new medic. Usually this included the woman giving her a dazzling smile. Kara had to concede at the moment, she was getting a look more suited to Cottle than the woman of her dreams.
The woman snatched the buzzer from her fingers and placed it back onto its position behind the cot.
“What can I do for you Starbuck?”
“You could of frakkin’ answered the buzzer a bit sooner for starters,” she snapped.
“You aren’t our only patient, you know,” the woman said. Even though the medic was talking in a condescending tone, Kara couldn’t help but notice her voice was light and feminine. “In case you haven’t noticed, we only have one doctor and a handful of medics.”
“You’re new,” she changed tack.
“Yes. I was recruited by Doctor Cottle.”
She had never heard anyone say Cottle’s name with such respect. Doc, the Doctor or Cottle was how most people addressed him. Most of the crew never even knew his first name. Whatever he’d done for this woman, it had made an impression.
“You’re a civie?” she asked.
“Yes. I was a civilian. I was aboard the Gemenon Liner 1701 and Doctor Cottle found out I was two years into a four year nursing degree. That was qualified enough, according to him.”
She smiled. She could just picture Cottle saying those exact words.
“So you’re a nursing nugget then. And Cottle’s your God,” she laughed.
The newly unqualified medic just gave her a serious look in return.
“I train nuggets. Viper pilot nuggets,” she tried to explain. “I make them call me God.”
“You rang the buzzer,” the medic reminded her.
“I want that magazine,” she pointed to the cart.
“The magazine,” the woman repeated.
“Yeah. That or some more frakkin’ drugs.”
The woman walked over to her chart that was clipped on the end of her bed, lifted it and flicked through the pages.
“You’re not due any more meds for another three hours.”
“Frak me! Three frakkin’ hours! You have to be frakkin’ kidding me.”
“Are you going for the world record for swearing, Lieutenant?”
“Just give me the frakkin’ magazine won’t you? I need to get my mind off this thing,” she pointed at her leg.
The medic sighed, picked up the magazine and read the cover.
“Pyramid Weekly.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re a Pyramid fan?”
“Yeah, I used to play before I banged up my knee.”
The woman glanced over at her leg again.
“Same knee?”
“Yeah. I think Cottle had to screw screws on top of screws in fact.”
The woman surprised her by tilting her head back and laughing. She decided she liked the sound. It reminded her of a piano’s keys twinkling. In a past life, she played the piano. She wondered if she could play this woman also.
“I’ll go and see Doctor Cottle and check about the meds,” the woman said.
“Okay. Thanks,” she said sincerely.
The woman started to walk away before stopping and turning back to Kara.
“You’re a much prettier God than Doctor Cottle, by the way,” the woman said as parting shot.
She couldn’t resist tilting her head to catch sight of the woman’s ass again.
*
Cassiopeia sighed and berated herself. She’d let herself be taken in by Lieutenant Thrace’s charm. She laughed at the girl’s joke. She’d given into Starbuck’s cheeky brash nature and had flirted on her way out of the room.
Idiot, she thought. She didn’t need a new relationship with someone else from the Colonial Fleet. Things hadn’t worked out that great last time she had given into her attraction for strong females wearing uniforms.
She had been given a second chance here on Galactica. She needed to concentrate on her work that Doctor Cottle had been good enough to entrust her with. She was almost certain that flirting with patients was not part of her position description.
“Ishay,” she said as her more senior medic colleague walked past. “Lieutenant Thrace has asked for more meds. Her chart says three more hours. I was wondering if you could talk to her about it.”
Ishay rolled her eyes.
“Leave it to me,” Ishay said firmly.
Cassie felt a bit guilty. Ishay was the most uptight woman she had ever met. Starbuck would be read the riot act. Then she remembered Starbuck’s full lips and knew that Ishay would deal with that factor much better than she would.
Next chapter
Characters: Kara, Helena Cain (BSG 2003); Cassiopeia, Sheba (The Original Series)
Genre: Femslash/Crossover
Rating: This chapter is PG
Chapter One/?
This is written for and inspired by scifi_mel Mel, haven't watched the original since I was about 18, so I hope I get it right. Just have to figure out where to cross post it now. LOL.
Kara was addicted. She knew she was. She didn’t care. She thought she deserved a little time out to forget some stuff. She had crashed on that frakkin’ moon and made it back alive. She’d even brought back a cylon raider. She’d done her bit for a while. It was time for a rest. Her frakkin’ leg was killing her.
Cottle had screwed pins in it and every time she even rolled over in the bed she felt one of them stick into her skin at the incorrect angle. She wondered if he had frakked the whole thing up but dismissed this idea. She had to admit that the cranky old son-of-a-bitch knew his stuff.
Good sense told her she would need to wean herself off the drugs eventually. Maybe she needed something to take her mind off the dull ache that was starting to spread from her leg up to other parts of her body. Yeah, that’s a plan, she thought. She’d put up with the pain for a bit longer. She just needed to distract herself, she decided.
She’d read the magazine Crashdown had brought her. She didn’t ask where he’d found it. How his dick hadn’t fallen off from some disease, she’d never know. Every time there was an assignment to the Rising Star or Cloud Nine, Crashdown’s name would be pencilled in to volunteer. She doubted any sensible woman would be voluntarily frakkin’ him, so she figured he was paying for it somewhere. Rumours of prostitute rings were flying around the fleet. Some of these rumours must be true.
The magazine was sitting on the tray that she ate her meals off. She reached out to wheel it closer and was annoyed when she realised it was just out of reach. She wriggled her body close to the edge of the sick bay cot and leaned over towards the tray again. Frak, she thought, it was still too far. Maybe she should have taken that frakkin’ walking stick that Cottle had offered her yesterday. At least then she would have something to hook onto the cart. She tried one last stretch but still failed to touch it with even the tips of her fingers.
She reached up and grabbed the emergency buzzer and held her finger down on it. By the time she frakkin’ got the magazine, the pain would be so unbearable she’d need to have the drugs anyway.
Exactly three minutes later, she was still sitting there, in pain, with no magazine and no attention. She counted to thirty and held her finger down on the buzzer for the count of thirty. She lifted her thumb. Counted to thirty. No one came. She held down the buzzer. Counted to thirty. Lifted her thumb. That would make it five minutes, she thought. Too bad if a person was frakkin’ dying.
As she once again held down her finger, her curtain finally drew back to reveal a medic. She didn’t know this one’s name. She only knew they had started about a week ago. She had heard Ishay making a fuss about finally someone helping out. Of course, Kara thought, she would have noticed this medic whether or not Ishay had referred to her.
The woman was frakkin’ sex on wheels. Tall and slim with blonde shoulder length hair that curled up at the ends, the woman’s demeanour just oozed sensuality. Kara had found herself tilting her head to one side to spy the woman’s sashaying ass through the gap of her curtain on more than one occasion. Under the influence of the drugs, she’d imagined lots of crazy stuff about the new medic. Usually this included the woman giving her a dazzling smile. Kara had to concede at the moment, she was getting a look more suited to Cottle than the woman of her dreams.
The woman snatched the buzzer from her fingers and placed it back onto its position behind the cot.
“What can I do for you Starbuck?”
“You could of frakkin’ answered the buzzer a bit sooner for starters,” she snapped.
“You aren’t our only patient, you know,” the woman said. Even though the medic was talking in a condescending tone, Kara couldn’t help but notice her voice was light and feminine. “In case you haven’t noticed, we only have one doctor and a handful of medics.”
“You’re new,” she changed tack.
“Yes. I was recruited by Doctor Cottle.”
She had never heard anyone say Cottle’s name with such respect. Doc, the Doctor or Cottle was how most people addressed him. Most of the crew never even knew his first name. Whatever he’d done for this woman, it had made an impression.
“You’re a civie?” she asked.
“Yes. I was a civilian. I was aboard the Gemenon Liner 1701 and Doctor Cottle found out I was two years into a four year nursing degree. That was qualified enough, according to him.”
She smiled. She could just picture Cottle saying those exact words.
“So you’re a nursing nugget then. And Cottle’s your God,” she laughed.
The newly unqualified medic just gave her a serious look in return.
“I train nuggets. Viper pilot nuggets,” she tried to explain. “I make them call me God.”
“You rang the buzzer,” the medic reminded her.
“I want that magazine,” she pointed to the cart.
“The magazine,” the woman repeated.
“Yeah. That or some more frakkin’ drugs.”
The woman walked over to her chart that was clipped on the end of her bed, lifted it and flicked through the pages.
“You’re not due any more meds for another three hours.”
“Frak me! Three frakkin’ hours! You have to be frakkin’ kidding me.”
“Are you going for the world record for swearing, Lieutenant?”
“Just give me the frakkin’ magazine won’t you? I need to get my mind off this thing,” she pointed at her leg.
The medic sighed, picked up the magazine and read the cover.
“Pyramid Weekly.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re a Pyramid fan?”
“Yeah, I used to play before I banged up my knee.”
The woman glanced over at her leg again.
“Same knee?”
“Yeah. I think Cottle had to screw screws on top of screws in fact.”
The woman surprised her by tilting her head back and laughing. She decided she liked the sound. It reminded her of a piano’s keys twinkling. In a past life, she played the piano. She wondered if she could play this woman also.
“I’ll go and see Doctor Cottle and check about the meds,” the woman said.
“Okay. Thanks,” she said sincerely.
The woman started to walk away before stopping and turning back to Kara.
“You’re a much prettier God than Doctor Cottle, by the way,” the woman said as parting shot.
She couldn’t resist tilting her head to catch sight of the woman’s ass again.
*
Cassiopeia sighed and berated herself. She’d let herself be taken in by Lieutenant Thrace’s charm. She laughed at the girl’s joke. She’d given into Starbuck’s cheeky brash nature and had flirted on her way out of the room.
Idiot, she thought. She didn’t need a new relationship with someone else from the Colonial Fleet. Things hadn’t worked out that great last time she had given into her attraction for strong females wearing uniforms.
She had been given a second chance here on Galactica. She needed to concentrate on her work that Doctor Cottle had been good enough to entrust her with. She was almost certain that flirting with patients was not part of her position description.
“Ishay,” she said as her more senior medic colleague walked past. “Lieutenant Thrace has asked for more meds. Her chart says three more hours. I was wondering if you could talk to her about it.”
Ishay rolled her eyes.
“Leave it to me,” Ishay said firmly.
Cassie felt a bit guilty. Ishay was the most uptight woman she had ever met. Starbuck would be read the riot act. Then she remembered Starbuck’s full lips and knew that Ishay would deal with that factor much better than she would.
Next chapter