The Inevitable BSG ficbit.
And by an hour I mean forty-five minutes.
Set immediately following Flesh and Bone in Season One, using the Downloaded format of Season Two. Because who_shot_kr had to wonder aloud if Leoben had a Chip Starbuck.
Downloaded: Deleted Scene
He’s gasping for air what, a minute now? Feels like longer, should be shorter, human lungs don’t work beyond thirty seconds in a vacuum. And the fact that he’s gasping for air means there’s air, which is just-
“You did well.” It’s a Three, only she’s got the drawl. Why’d she wait this long to speak?
“I-what?” After hours of too much water, thickness, he sure sounds dry.
“Got them.” An Eight, the thinks, cracks an eye-yeah. This is filmy, rancid stuff he’s sunken in. So much for standing on the shore. “You had the entire fleet on your line from the moment they saw you.”
“And now I’m-”
“In a new body.” It’s the Three again. There are two Fives flanking her, both blank and pointless-faced as ever.
It hurts to laugh, as much as usual. “Ah, good to be wrong.”
“What,” says Kara, beautiful Kara, “you actually convinced yourself you were gonna die?”
-Kara.
The ship is black but she isn’t, over the Eight’s shoulder, aglow and so perfectly in focus, all the patternless green and grey of her uniform and the pocks of her skin emphasized in the shadow. “Hurry up and tell the furniture I’m here, that’ll just make their days, won’t it.”
His hands are still hobbled to the edges of the tank, but the gel’s finally out of his eyes. Just the four-Three, Eight, Fives. And Kara. Resurrection ship, new body, being right about everything except that he was too far out, which was mostly true, he’d never lie to her.
“So how much can you tell us?” The Five on the left. Tacky red suit, he’d stand out like a windmill out there, the Fives have no idea how to acclimate-
“Yeah,” Kara challenges, “how much can you tell them?” She leans in real close, over the foot of the tank, right up his body. Her eyes are like her dogtags. “You get them to cater to your humanizing painplay fantasies too?”
“I can-” Talking hurts more than laughing. “-I can tell you everything.” He smiles. It’s good. “Who bends, who breaks, who doesn’t. Everything.”
“Except how much you like it.” She’s so alive. So close. Looking up and down the tank, him, the gel. “You’re gonna miss the scars I gave you. You’re gonna look for them in the mirror when you’re supposed to be frakkin’ up your haircut and forgetting to shave.”
“Everything,” he tells the others.
“Except that I’m right.” She perches, thunks down on the edge of the tank. The others don’t look. He should tell them what he sees, that it’s all working, all on the right path. If his hand wasn’t shackled he’d touch her. He tries. She doesn’t flinch. “You’re gonna tell them right now that you’ve steered the fleet toward Kobol and somehow found time between stints with your head in a bucket to shove my destiny clean up my ass.”
“I got Thrace,” he tells them, smiles. Hurts less.
“Oh, you got me all right.”
“Oh?” asks the Eight. “She bend, or she break?”
“Yeah, scrapheap?” Kara’s-oh, God-she’s swung herself over the tank, like pushups between benches, right over him, her hair brushing his cheeks where the bruises should be but aren’t. “Which is it?” He watches her elbows supine, her lips get nearer. “Think you broke me?”
“Bend,” he pants. Smiles. Ghosts her lips.
The Three crosses her arms. “Even better.”
--
.
Set immediately following Flesh and Bone in Season One, using the Downloaded format of Season Two. Because who_shot_kr had to wonder aloud if Leoben had a Chip Starbuck.
Downloaded: Deleted Scene
He’s gasping for air what, a minute now? Feels like longer, should be shorter, human lungs don’t work beyond thirty seconds in a vacuum. And the fact that he’s gasping for air means there’s air, which is just-
“You did well.” It’s a Three, only she’s got the drawl. Why’d she wait this long to speak?
“I-what?” After hours of too much water, thickness, he sure sounds dry.
“Got them.” An Eight, the thinks, cracks an eye-yeah. This is filmy, rancid stuff he’s sunken in. So much for standing on the shore. “You had the entire fleet on your line from the moment they saw you.”
“And now I’m-”
“In a new body.” It’s the Three again. There are two Fives flanking her, both blank and pointless-faced as ever.
It hurts to laugh, as much as usual. “Ah, good to be wrong.”
“What,” says Kara, beautiful Kara, “you actually convinced yourself you were gonna die?”
-Kara.
The ship is black but she isn’t, over the Eight’s shoulder, aglow and so perfectly in focus, all the patternless green and grey of her uniform and the pocks of her skin emphasized in the shadow. “Hurry up and tell the furniture I’m here, that’ll just make their days, won’t it.”
His hands are still hobbled to the edges of the tank, but the gel’s finally out of his eyes. Just the four-Three, Eight, Fives. And Kara. Resurrection ship, new body, being right about everything except that he was too far out, which was mostly true, he’d never lie to her.
“So how much can you tell us?” The Five on the left. Tacky red suit, he’d stand out like a windmill out there, the Fives have no idea how to acclimate-
“Yeah,” Kara challenges, “how much can you tell them?” She leans in real close, over the foot of the tank, right up his body. Her eyes are like her dogtags. “You get them to cater to your humanizing painplay fantasies too?”
“I can-” Talking hurts more than laughing. “-I can tell you everything.” He smiles. It’s good. “Who bends, who breaks, who doesn’t. Everything.”
“Except how much you like it.” She’s so alive. So close. Looking up and down the tank, him, the gel. “You’re gonna miss the scars I gave you. You’re gonna look for them in the mirror when you’re supposed to be frakkin’ up your haircut and forgetting to shave.”
“Everything,” he tells the others.
“Except that I’m right.” She perches, thunks down on the edge of the tank. The others don’t look. He should tell them what he sees, that it’s all working, all on the right path. If his hand wasn’t shackled he’d touch her. He tries. She doesn’t flinch. “You’re gonna tell them right now that you’ve steered the fleet toward Kobol and somehow found time between stints with your head in a bucket to shove my destiny clean up my ass.”
“I got Thrace,” he tells them, smiles. Hurts less.
“Oh, you got me all right.”
“Oh?” asks the Eight. “She bend, or she break?”
“Yeah, scrapheap?” Kara’s-oh, God-she’s swung herself over the tank, like pushups between benches, right over him, her hair brushing his cheeks where the bruises should be but aren’t. “Which is it?” He watches her elbows supine, her lips get nearer. “Think you broke me?”
“Bend,” he pants. Smiles. Ghosts her lips.
The Three crosses her arms. “Even better.”
--
.