WIP Amnesty: Team Awesome (BSG/Firefly/Chuck/DW)
Y'all remember like 6 months ago when I said I was going to post all my abandoned WIPs? Yeah. About that. Here's WIP Amnesty #4, herein titled "Team Awesome" because that's what the Word document is called. In my notes, I also had the potential title "When You Can't Run (The Find Someone to Carry You 'Verse)," and I think it's kinda funny that I ever envisioned this to be more than a one-off. Although maybe not that surprising as I basically considered it my dream TV show. Except that it was in a Stargate setting, and I don't watch Stargate. (For the curious, this fic was born of radio_silent asking me which four characters I would pick for my SG-1, and also of my insistence that Kara/Zoe would be totally awesome)
Title: Team Awesome, or When You Can't Run (The Find Somone to Carry You 'Verse)
Fandoms: Battlestar Galactica, Firefly, Chuck, Doctor Who (and kindasortamaybe SG-1)
Characters: Kara Thrace, Zoe Washburne, Chuck Bartowski, Martha Jones
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: not mine
Summary: Kara, Zoe, Chuck, and Martha are an interstellar space exploration team, or something like that (honestly, I'm not too clear on the details).
Kara Thrace was having a bad day.
It started when she woke up to hear Bartowski “singing” in her kitchen. Frakking hell, she thought as she rolled over and tried valiantly (but futilely) to drown out the noise. Was this that “blues” thing he’d been trying to explain to her last week? Singing away their troubles or broken hearts or what the frak ever.
Kara had had plenty of troubles in her life. And not once had they been improved by singing.
Right now, one of those troubles was Bartowski. When she finally stormed out of her bedroom in just enough clothes to be considered decent, she found him at the stove, still godsdamned wailing away his pain.
“You don’t have your own place?” she said, voice rough from sleep.
He turned around with a grin that was far too bright for this hour in the morning. “I’m making bacon!”
It did smell pretty good. And bacon was one of Kara’s favorite things about Earth. Still, she had her principles.
“Out,” she said, shoving him to the side as she took his place in front of the stove. Damn, that did smell good.
“Yeah, you’re welcome!” Chuck called from her living room. He didn’t sound like he was leaving.
Just as she was dumping the bacon strips onto one of her last clean plates-if he had to come invade her kitchen at all hours, couldn’t he at least do some dishes?-her housemate and 2IC walked into the room, looking flawlessly put together as always. Even if Kara still thought her vests were a little odd.
“Bartowski let himself in again?” Zoe said, smoothly snagging a strip of bacon. Like Kara, years of living in a tin can had taught her to appreciate any food so long as it was real.
Chuck had, shortly after they settled into this team, designated one of the windows looking out onto the backyard his own door. Rather, “Morgan Door,” he called it, and neither Kara nor Zoe had ever asked him to elaborate on the odd name. Boy elaborated too much, and he definitely didn’t need any encouragement.
Kara had been surprised, when she started living on this planet, to discover that she was, in fact, a backyard person. She’d never thought she’d live like this, in a house with a porch and a mailbox and a backyard, but she liked to see that space that was hers, to lie on the green grass and stare upwards, looking for stars even on the brightest of days.
Her housemate never said, but Kara suspected that Zoe was secretly a backyard person too. Zoe didn’t talk much about herself-or anything, really-but there were things Kara knew about her. She knew that Zoe still wore a ring, knew that her name hadn’t always been Washburne. Knew that she flew with another crew once, and knew that she mourned that loss along with so many others. But most of all, Kara knew that they were both soldiers-soldiers who’d lost their war, or maybe couldn’t escape it.
It was a comfort, on the good days, to know these things about Zoe. Today was not a good day.
She didn’t even get to finish her bacon before they got the call.
Zoe’s face was serious-well, more than usual-when she set the phone down and told Kara they were being called in. Mission, RFN.
“Right.” Kara nodded, and headed back to her room to find some pants, and the rest of her gear. “Bartowski,” she called over her shoulder, “get Jones and get yourself to the Mountain!”
-----
Kara drove. Zoe sat in the passenger seat, idly perusing a newspaper. Kara didn’t care much for news, but her partner did. She trusted Zoe to tell her anything important. After intergalactic warfare, petty squabbles over who-talks-to-whom or who-lives-where or who-marries-whom seemed just that-petty. Sometimes Kara wished the Cylons would attack Earth just so everybody would shut up and get their priorities straight. The civilians in the fleet were never this stupid.
“That was a red light, sir,” Zoe said, barely glancing up from her paper.
Kara frowned into the rearview mirror. “Your point?”
“Going a bit fast, don’t you think? They ain’t gonna gate without us.”
Kara grunted in reply, hands tightening on the steering wheel as she stared forward. And eased up on the accelerator.
Just a little.
Ten minutes later, Kara was sipping on some coffee in the General’s office, waiting for the missing half of their team. Coffee was another thing she appreciated about this planet, maybe even more than the bacon. Although she didn’t appreciate her callsign emblazoned on the side of the cup, but what can you do.
“You’re late,” Kara said when the other two walked into the room.
This team hadn’t been together long. For all his youthful vigor, Bartowski had been with the program the longest, having been pulled into the SGC from some other top-secret project when an assignment went south.
Or so Kara was told-this was before her rather spectacular entrance. She’d woken up one morning on the Galactica, launched, and after that things got a little fuzzy but somehow she’d crash-landed on Earth and quickly become property of the U.S. government.
“No, you’re early,” Martha fired back. To Zoe, she said, “She still ignoring all the traffic laws?”
Zoe nodded.
“We, on the other hand, are perfectly law abiding,” Chuck said. “Really doing our best to set an example for the other secret government agents.”
Martha took a seat next to Zoe; Chuck hurried to the other chair, still talking.
“…And if we were a bit late, maybe, it’s because somebody insisted on driving her own car, and really who drives stick shift these days? Although you are to be commended, truly, for remembering to drive on the right side of the road.”
Kara tuned him out. She didn’t understand half of what Bartowski said on a good day. And why did he think Martha would drive on the wrong side of the road? Who did that?
Martha managed to shut him up, finally, just before the General entered the room.
Martha Jones was, as far as Kara was concerned, a veritable gift from the gods. She was a damn fine medic, a cool head in a crisis, and-best of all-she was the only one who could really keep Chuck in line.
Plus, she’d been the one who brought Zoe into the fold. Martha was no stranger to interstellar travel, and had encountered Zoe on one trip with some guy she called “the Doctor” and nothing else. Zoe being Zoe, she had naturally saved their asses, and opted to follow them back to this planet for some reason she didn’t talk about.
So they were both strangers to this world, Kara and Zoe. Not knowing what else to do with them, the government had just stuck them together in a house, backyard and all, and sat back to watch the fallout. Of which there had been none, or at least nothing worth writing home about. They were surprisingly good roommates, both knowing when to talk and when to shut the frak up.
That, and maybe it was just easier to be lonely when you had somebody with you.
But all of that was old news.
Title: Team Awesome, or When You Can't Run (The Find Somone to Carry You 'Verse)
Fandoms: Battlestar Galactica, Firefly, Chuck, Doctor Who (and kindasortamaybe SG-1)
Characters: Kara Thrace, Zoe Washburne, Chuck Bartowski, Martha Jones
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: not mine
Summary: Kara, Zoe, Chuck, and Martha are an interstellar space exploration team, or something like that (honestly, I'm not too clear on the details).
Kara Thrace was having a bad day.
It started when she woke up to hear Bartowski “singing” in her kitchen. Frakking hell, she thought as she rolled over and tried valiantly (but futilely) to drown out the noise. Was this that “blues” thing he’d been trying to explain to her last week? Singing away their troubles or broken hearts or what the frak ever.
Kara had had plenty of troubles in her life. And not once had they been improved by singing.
Right now, one of those troubles was Bartowski. When she finally stormed out of her bedroom in just enough clothes to be considered decent, she found him at the stove, still godsdamned wailing away his pain.
“You don’t have your own place?” she said, voice rough from sleep.
He turned around with a grin that was far too bright for this hour in the morning. “I’m making bacon!”
It did smell pretty good. And bacon was one of Kara’s favorite things about Earth. Still, she had her principles.
“Out,” she said, shoving him to the side as she took his place in front of the stove. Damn, that did smell good.
“Yeah, you’re welcome!” Chuck called from her living room. He didn’t sound like he was leaving.
Just as she was dumping the bacon strips onto one of her last clean plates-if he had to come invade her kitchen at all hours, couldn’t he at least do some dishes?-her housemate and 2IC walked into the room, looking flawlessly put together as always. Even if Kara still thought her vests were a little odd.
“Bartowski let himself in again?” Zoe said, smoothly snagging a strip of bacon. Like Kara, years of living in a tin can had taught her to appreciate any food so long as it was real.
Chuck had, shortly after they settled into this team, designated one of the windows looking out onto the backyard his own door. Rather, “Morgan Door,” he called it, and neither Kara nor Zoe had ever asked him to elaborate on the odd name. Boy elaborated too much, and he definitely didn’t need any encouragement.
Kara had been surprised, when she started living on this planet, to discover that she was, in fact, a backyard person. She’d never thought she’d live like this, in a house with a porch and a mailbox and a backyard, but she liked to see that space that was hers, to lie on the green grass and stare upwards, looking for stars even on the brightest of days.
Her housemate never said, but Kara suspected that Zoe was secretly a backyard person too. Zoe didn’t talk much about herself-or anything, really-but there were things Kara knew about her. She knew that Zoe still wore a ring, knew that her name hadn’t always been Washburne. Knew that she flew with another crew once, and knew that she mourned that loss along with so many others. But most of all, Kara knew that they were both soldiers-soldiers who’d lost their war, or maybe couldn’t escape it.
It was a comfort, on the good days, to know these things about Zoe. Today was not a good day.
She didn’t even get to finish her bacon before they got the call.
Zoe’s face was serious-well, more than usual-when she set the phone down and told Kara they were being called in. Mission, RFN.
“Right.” Kara nodded, and headed back to her room to find some pants, and the rest of her gear. “Bartowski,” she called over her shoulder, “get Jones and get yourself to the Mountain!”
-----
Kara drove. Zoe sat in the passenger seat, idly perusing a newspaper. Kara didn’t care much for news, but her partner did. She trusted Zoe to tell her anything important. After intergalactic warfare, petty squabbles over who-talks-to-whom or who-lives-where or who-marries-whom seemed just that-petty. Sometimes Kara wished the Cylons would attack Earth just so everybody would shut up and get their priorities straight. The civilians in the fleet were never this stupid.
“That was a red light, sir,” Zoe said, barely glancing up from her paper.
Kara frowned into the rearview mirror. “Your point?”
“Going a bit fast, don’t you think? They ain’t gonna gate without us.”
Kara grunted in reply, hands tightening on the steering wheel as she stared forward. And eased up on the accelerator.
Just a little.
Ten minutes later, Kara was sipping on some coffee in the General’s office, waiting for the missing half of their team. Coffee was another thing she appreciated about this planet, maybe even more than the bacon. Although she didn’t appreciate her callsign emblazoned on the side of the cup, but what can you do.
“You’re late,” Kara said when the other two walked into the room.
This team hadn’t been together long. For all his youthful vigor, Bartowski had been with the program the longest, having been pulled into the SGC from some other top-secret project when an assignment went south.
Or so Kara was told-this was before her rather spectacular entrance. She’d woken up one morning on the Galactica, launched, and after that things got a little fuzzy but somehow she’d crash-landed on Earth and quickly become property of the U.S. government.
“No, you’re early,” Martha fired back. To Zoe, she said, “She still ignoring all the traffic laws?”
Zoe nodded.
“We, on the other hand, are perfectly law abiding,” Chuck said. “Really doing our best to set an example for the other secret government agents.”
Martha took a seat next to Zoe; Chuck hurried to the other chair, still talking.
“…And if we were a bit late, maybe, it’s because somebody insisted on driving her own car, and really who drives stick shift these days? Although you are to be commended, truly, for remembering to drive on the right side of the road.”
Kara tuned him out. She didn’t understand half of what Bartowski said on a good day. And why did he think Martha would drive on the wrong side of the road? Who did that?
Martha managed to shut him up, finally, just before the General entered the room.
Martha Jones was, as far as Kara was concerned, a veritable gift from the gods. She was a damn fine medic, a cool head in a crisis, and-best of all-she was the only one who could really keep Chuck in line.
Plus, she’d been the one who brought Zoe into the fold. Martha was no stranger to interstellar travel, and had encountered Zoe on one trip with some guy she called “the Doctor” and nothing else. Zoe being Zoe, she had naturally saved their asses, and opted to follow them back to this planet for some reason she didn’t talk about.
So they were both strangers to this world, Kara and Zoe. Not knowing what else to do with them, the government had just stuck them together in a house, backyard and all, and sat back to watch the fallout. Of which there had been none, or at least nothing worth writing home about. They were surprisingly good roommates, both knowing when to talk and when to shut the frak up.
That, and maybe it was just easier to be lonely when you had somebody with you.
But all of that was old news.