Two Ficlets
Title: No Relief
Pairing:Cally Henderson/Tory Foster
Rating:PG
Notes: Both of these ficlets were written for twelvecolonies. Sign-ups now open here.
Summary:If Chief finds out I'm a Cylon...
Suicide had been her first thought, but Cylons were hard to kill. Cally had learned that lesson the first time. She’d almost done it, the first night, standing in the launch tube with that song still pounding in her head. It was nearly too late when she remembered; saw herself waking up in a tub of goo somewhere, surrounded by her own copies, all plastic and mechanical and wrong. There was no way out of this nightmare. No relief.
Tory said the world was full of new sensations, new tastes, beautiful colors and sounds. Cally wasn’t sure she could feel anything. She couldn’t even look at her son. Before, she had stared into his face, delighting in every trace of herself she found there. Nicky had always been the spitting image of Galen, but she thought she could see a little of her mother in his eyes, a little of her favorite brother in his smile. Now she wished she could tear everything of her out of him. The impulse was so strong that she was afraid to be near him, so she spent her off-duty time crawling through the walls of the ship, trying to lose herself.
“How are things with you and Galen?” Tory asked, with just enough of a lilt in her voice to hint that she might be ready for another new experience.
“Tory, if he finds out - “ Images rushed at her - Boomer dying in his arms, Chief writhing in a nightmare, Nicky screaming - and Tory was wrapping her arms around her, telling her to breath. The kiss surprised them both, but then Tory smiled, and Cally clung to her, desperate and needy. And somewhere a small, detached part of her mind remembered: she had always wondered what Galen saw in them…
Title: Rain
Character: Cally
Rating:PG
Summary:Her son would grow up to hate this rain.
Her son would grow up hating rain, Cally thought. On New Caprica it rained one day out of every four, seemed like. A day of rain meant you couldn't wash your clothes; couldn't even go near the river if it lasted long enough. Sometimes it meant not seeing the clear sky for for so long that you joked about forgetting what the sun looked like. It meant the couple three tents over wouldn't let their kids go out to play, and their shrill complaints echoed through the thin walls, until Cally began to think it wouldn't be so bad if hers turned out to be a late talker.
Rain meant a day's work outside left you drenched and covered in mud, until you were ready to give up and start rolling around in it like a kid yourself. It meant trying not to giggle when she watched Anders slide a fistful of the clammy stuff down the back of his wife's jacket, making her jump, and then waiting all day as Starbuck plotted her revenge. Sometimes it meant work got called off and she and Galen never left their tent at all. Then it meant huddling close together as the wind howled around them, her husband's hand resting on her abdomen, waiting for a stray kick. It meant you couldn't keep the smile off your face when the sun finally shone, and you couldn't remember the last time so little made you so happy.
"At least it's dry," Galen told her ruefully, the first night they spent back on their old hanger-deck. Cally cradled her son on her belly and wished he could grow up to hate the rain.
Pairing:Cally Henderson/Tory Foster
Rating:PG
Notes: Both of these ficlets were written for twelvecolonies. Sign-ups now open here.
Summary:If Chief finds out I'm a Cylon...
Suicide had been her first thought, but Cylons were hard to kill. Cally had learned that lesson the first time. She’d almost done it, the first night, standing in the launch tube with that song still pounding in her head. It was nearly too late when she remembered; saw herself waking up in a tub of goo somewhere, surrounded by her own copies, all plastic and mechanical and wrong. There was no way out of this nightmare. No relief.
Tory said the world was full of new sensations, new tastes, beautiful colors and sounds. Cally wasn’t sure she could feel anything. She couldn’t even look at her son. Before, she had stared into his face, delighting in every trace of herself she found there. Nicky had always been the spitting image of Galen, but she thought she could see a little of her mother in his eyes, a little of her favorite brother in his smile. Now she wished she could tear everything of her out of him. The impulse was so strong that she was afraid to be near him, so she spent her off-duty time crawling through the walls of the ship, trying to lose herself.
“How are things with you and Galen?” Tory asked, with just enough of a lilt in her voice to hint that she might be ready for another new experience.
“Tory, if he finds out - “ Images rushed at her - Boomer dying in his arms, Chief writhing in a nightmare, Nicky screaming - and Tory was wrapping her arms around her, telling her to breath. The kiss surprised them both, but then Tory smiled, and Cally clung to her, desperate and needy. And somewhere a small, detached part of her mind remembered: she had always wondered what Galen saw in them…
Title: Rain
Character: Cally
Rating:PG
Summary:Her son would grow up to hate this rain.
Her son would grow up hating rain, Cally thought. On New Caprica it rained one day out of every four, seemed like. A day of rain meant you couldn't wash your clothes; couldn't even go near the river if it lasted long enough. Sometimes it meant not seeing the clear sky for for so long that you joked about forgetting what the sun looked like. It meant the couple three tents over wouldn't let their kids go out to play, and their shrill complaints echoed through the thin walls, until Cally began to think it wouldn't be so bad if hers turned out to be a late talker.
Rain meant a day's work outside left you drenched and covered in mud, until you were ready to give up and start rolling around in it like a kid yourself. It meant trying not to giggle when she watched Anders slide a fistful of the clammy stuff down the back of his wife's jacket, making her jump, and then waiting all day as Starbuck plotted her revenge. Sometimes it meant work got called off and she and Galen never left their tent at all. Then it meant huddling close together as the wind howled around them, her husband's hand resting on her abdomen, waiting for a stray kick. It meant you couldn't keep the smile off your face when the sun finally shone, and you couldn't remember the last time so little made you so happy.
"At least it's dry," Galen told her ruefully, the first night they spent back on their old hanger-deck. Cally cradled her son on her belly and wished he could grow up to hate the rain.