Smiles We Left Behind, for daniisupernova
Title: Smiles We Left Behind
Author: sabaceanbabe
Summary: Ghosts of a past she never lived haunt her…
Characters: Sharon Valerii (Agathon-to-be), Anastasia Dualla, William Adama, Felix Gaeta
Pairings: past Sharon/Felix
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Beta Thanks: Thank you so much to both prolix_allie and grav_ity for your help. It’s a much stronger remix for your attentions.
Title, Author, and URL of original story: Beyond Time, by daniisupernova,
Author Notes: I love remixes, even though they can sometimes be harder to do than just writing a fic from a simple prompt. And Beyond Time was such a potent mix of present and past, well, I just hope I did it justice. (Oh, and I hate coming up with titles - this one is from the Barbra Streisand song The Way We Were.)
The collar is cold around her throat, though she knows its coldness is just her fear, for the metal has long since warmed with the touch of her skin. The long pole attached to the collar by a pair of deceptively thin chains bumps against the back of her neck uncomfortably with each step; her guard isn’t particularly careful about holding it steady. She can’t help but wonder if she should stumble, would he try to catch her? Or would he decide to hold the pole steady so she hanged herself?
They pause at the threshold as the Marine in front of their little cavalcade opens the hatch to the CIC. Sharon closes her eyes for just a moment, prays that God will give her the strength to do what she needs to do, what they all need her to do, to survive. The pole knocks into the metal collar around her neck, slips down, impacts with the vertebra that connects spine to shoulders. She opens her eyes, takes a lurching step forward, as much to get away from the bastard with the leash as to enter the CIC. But enter it she does.
They all stare at her. Colonel Tigh is there and the Old Man. Dee stares at her, eyes wide, and Sharon remembers the last time she saw her, over a card table, the game down to just the two of them.
“It’s to you, Dee. Put up or shut up.” Sharon put as much “shark” into her grin as she could, hoping to rattle the specialist, but as usual Dee just returned her grin with an impish one of her own.
Shifting in her seat, Dee reached into her back pocket, pulled something out and laid it carefully on top of the pile of cash and coin in the center of the table. Sharon raised a skeptical brow. Dee shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned.
“It was my father’s,” she said, her voice anything but nonchalant, and laid down her cards.
Boomer’s memory. Real, but not. Not to her. She pushes the memory away, turns her face away from Dee to look directly at Commander Adama.
For a moment, there is silence save for the mechanical sounds that are part and parcel of the CIC. Reluctant to break that silence, Sharon raises her manacled hands in mute request, never taking her eyes from Adama’s. When he doesn’t respond, she says, “We need to work quickly. We’re on borrowed time.”
Gruffly, he says, “Let her go,” and two of her guards step forward to unlock the cuffs, to release the leash from the metal around her throat, and then step quickly back. The suddenly loose chains combine with her own hair to tickle the back of her neck. A distant part of her is amused that they’re all so frightened of her that it requires six armed guards to escort her from her cage to CIC, even though she’s already told Adama that she’ll cooperate fully with him. She doesn’t want to die any more than the rest of them. She doesn’t want her baby to die.
The loss of her chains releases some of her own tension and Sharon moves quickly toward one of the lower consoles. Crouching down, she looks over her shoulder, back at Dee. “Dee, do you still carry your father’s pocket knife?” The woman shoots an unhappy look to the Old Man and Sharon tries not to care.
“Give it to her,” he orders and Dee moves to obey. Behind her Sharon sees Felix, standing beside the main dradis console, but her gaze slides away, unable to meet his.
Even so, she has to speak to him. “Mr. Gaeta, can you set me up with a fiber optic comm. link?” As she speaks, she studies the console in front of her as though her life depends on it. “I need broadcast to all frequencies and direct link to the mainframe.”
“Do it,” Adama barks-
“Sharon, don’t you do it!” Felix’s whisper, near panic making the sibilant sound of her name more sharp, very nearly made her laugh aloud. She choked back the sound, not wanting to draw attention to them, just wanting to make Felix squirm. She grinned and slid the half step necessary to bring her body up against his, the motion hiding what her strategically placed right hand did from any prying eyes. The fabric of his duty blues was just this side of rough against the palm of her hand and Felix jumped as though he’d been burned, but the sound that escaped him was closer to a groan than anything resembling a protest.
-and Felix jumps to obey.
“Right here, Sharon.” His voice is gentle and her eyes are drawn to his, almost without her will. She flushes, her face warm as she remembers the rest of that day, so long ago. Their fingers brush lightly as he transfers the comm. link into her hand. There is something like regret in his dark eyes, and for just a moment, Sharon wishes that she were someone else.
Author: sabaceanbabe
Summary: Ghosts of a past she never lived haunt her…
Characters: Sharon Valerii (Agathon-to-be), Anastasia Dualla, William Adama, Felix Gaeta
Pairings: past Sharon/Felix
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Beta Thanks: Thank you so much to both prolix_allie and grav_ity for your help. It’s a much stronger remix for your attentions.
Title, Author, and URL of original story: Beyond Time, by daniisupernova,
Author Notes: I love remixes, even though they can sometimes be harder to do than just writing a fic from a simple prompt. And Beyond Time was such a potent mix of present and past, well, I just hope I did it justice. (Oh, and I hate coming up with titles - this one is from the Barbra Streisand song The Way We Were.)
The collar is cold around her throat, though she knows its coldness is just her fear, for the metal has long since warmed with the touch of her skin. The long pole attached to the collar by a pair of deceptively thin chains bumps against the back of her neck uncomfortably with each step; her guard isn’t particularly careful about holding it steady. She can’t help but wonder if she should stumble, would he try to catch her? Or would he decide to hold the pole steady so she hanged herself?
They pause at the threshold as the Marine in front of their little cavalcade opens the hatch to the CIC. Sharon closes her eyes for just a moment, prays that God will give her the strength to do what she needs to do, what they all need her to do, to survive. The pole knocks into the metal collar around her neck, slips down, impacts with the vertebra that connects spine to shoulders. She opens her eyes, takes a lurching step forward, as much to get away from the bastard with the leash as to enter the CIC. But enter it she does.
They all stare at her. Colonel Tigh is there and the Old Man. Dee stares at her, eyes wide, and Sharon remembers the last time she saw her, over a card table, the game down to just the two of them.
“It’s to you, Dee. Put up or shut up.” Sharon put as much “shark” into her grin as she could, hoping to rattle the specialist, but as usual Dee just returned her grin with an impish one of her own.
Shifting in her seat, Dee reached into her back pocket, pulled something out and laid it carefully on top of the pile of cash and coin in the center of the table. Sharon raised a skeptical brow. Dee shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned.
“It was my father’s,” she said, her voice anything but nonchalant, and laid down her cards.
Boomer’s memory. Real, but not. Not to her. She pushes the memory away, turns her face away from Dee to look directly at Commander Adama.
For a moment, there is silence save for the mechanical sounds that are part and parcel of the CIC. Reluctant to break that silence, Sharon raises her manacled hands in mute request, never taking her eyes from Adama’s. When he doesn’t respond, she says, “We need to work quickly. We’re on borrowed time.”
Gruffly, he says, “Let her go,” and two of her guards step forward to unlock the cuffs, to release the leash from the metal around her throat, and then step quickly back. The suddenly loose chains combine with her own hair to tickle the back of her neck. A distant part of her is amused that they’re all so frightened of her that it requires six armed guards to escort her from her cage to CIC, even though she’s already told Adama that she’ll cooperate fully with him. She doesn’t want to die any more than the rest of them. She doesn’t want her baby to die.
The loss of her chains releases some of her own tension and Sharon moves quickly toward one of the lower consoles. Crouching down, she looks over her shoulder, back at Dee. “Dee, do you still carry your father’s pocket knife?” The woman shoots an unhappy look to the Old Man and Sharon tries not to care.
“Give it to her,” he orders and Dee moves to obey. Behind her Sharon sees Felix, standing beside the main dradis console, but her gaze slides away, unable to meet his.
Even so, she has to speak to him. “Mr. Gaeta, can you set me up with a fiber optic comm. link?” As she speaks, she studies the console in front of her as though her life depends on it. “I need broadcast to all frequencies and direct link to the mainframe.”
“Do it,” Adama barks-
“Sharon, don’t you do it!” Felix’s whisper, near panic making the sibilant sound of her name more sharp, very nearly made her laugh aloud. She choked back the sound, not wanting to draw attention to them, just wanting to make Felix squirm. She grinned and slid the half step necessary to bring her body up against his, the motion hiding what her strategically placed right hand did from any prying eyes. The fabric of his duty blues was just this side of rough against the palm of her hand and Felix jumped as though he’d been burned, but the sound that escaped him was closer to a groan than anything resembling a protest.
-and Felix jumps to obey.
“Right here, Sharon.” His voice is gentle and her eyes are drawn to his, almost without her will. She flushes, her face warm as she remembers the rest of that day, so long ago. Their fingers brush lightly as he transfers the comm. link into her hand. There is something like regret in his dark eyes, and for just a moment, Sharon wishes that she were someone else.