Shagathon fic. Kinda. The first part! LOL.
Dear lovely and amazing sabaceanbabe,
I'm writing a "Four Times" fic for you. I've been working like a dog lately, and unfortunately, that means that there hasn't been a lot of time for me to dig in and pound all the little pokey pieces into shape. Hence, there's a section of this story that's not yet meeting muster for me. So, with permission from the most kind and brilliant inlovewithnight, I've decide to post the first of the four time segments now (it's even over a thousand words! :D), and follow up with the rest this weekend.
I hope this meets with your approval.
Yours humbly,
Me. :D
Pairing: Helo/Kara
Rating (this segment): PG for language.
Summary: Uh, well, as you might be able to tell from the title, I'm exploring a bit of AU-ness here.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN! :) Also, this is unbeta'd... eek.
Four Times Number 47 Gave Up Her Seat.
After combat landing number 58, Lt. Kara "Starbuck" Thrace climbed out of her Viper, a little - but not much - worse for the wear, and glanced around the hangar. As she silently catalogued the number of birds that didn't make it back, she caught a glimpse of Lt. Karl "Helo" Agathon's back as he left the bay.
After combat landing number 86, it dawned on her that Helo's back was all she'd seen of him in the few precious moments between landings and briefings. Not in the bunks, not in the heads, not in the galley or the rec room or even in the corridors in passing.
After combat landing number 129, and just that once, she skipped her brief ritual of counting the fallen and followed Helo as he made his way through the twists and turns of Galactica's decks. She kept her distance, concentrated on lifting her feet high enough so as not to catch them on the metal decking. Tried to avoid giving herself away with the shuffling noises that more and more of the crew seemed to be making as they walked lately.
She'd been concentrating so hard, she hadn't paid much attention to where they were headed until they were there: the makeshift hall of the missing that had been so quickly constructed after the annihilation of the Colonies. There were more pictures now than the first and only other time she’d been here; a growing number of candles and other items of remembrance signaled that this place had become less a place of hope and more a memorial to the lost.
He was standing with his head bowed, his shoulders slumped, his hand resting on a small slip of paper. A tiny scrap pinned to the wall that his fingers were tracing, over and over again. She watched him for a few moments, watched until his fingers stilled and he began to sway slightly on his feet.
She moved quickly to his side and put her hand on his back to steady him. "Helo," she said softly and sharply. Softly, to protect the hallowedness of this hall, but sharply enough to cause him to awaken with a slight jerk.
She sucked in a soft breath when he turned to face her. Not because of the dark circles under his eyes or the pallor of his skin, but because of his expression. Haunted and regretful, filled with emotions so very different from the peace and warm amusement that he usually radiated. And even though they were at the end of the worlds, the look somehow seemed out of place on him.
He was silent for a moment, eyes on her, but his gaze somewhere far away. The silence stretched on and when he finally spoke, his voice seemed painfully loud to her ears, even though it was hardly louder than a whisper.
"There were so many people and we only had room for so few. We held a lottery, drew numbers." His eyes turned back to the ragged scrap and hers followed to find a sloppily scrawled number forty-seven written upon it. He tapped the number, once, softly. "She gave up her seat for me."
It took a minute for her brain to fit what he’d said together, and she didn’t like the shape it made. "What do you mean, she gave up her seat for you? You didn't put yourself in the lottery, did you?" The words came out more harshly than she’d intended. Echoed a bit in the dark corners, caused a few people closest to them to glance in their direction.
"No." The word nearly disappeared under the scratchiness of his voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. "No. Not originally, but when I saw Dr. Baltar... I knew he was important. That whoever survived would need people like him if they were going to have any chance at a future."
A surge of anger washed through her at his words. Of course he’d give up his seat. Big, lunkheaded, noble, self-sacrificing Helo. She wanted to beat the living daylights out of him for it; she wanted to hug him for it. Instead, she tried to tamp down on her wildly swinging emotions, because needed her. Needed someone, at least, and she was the one standing here. He needed support. And not that she was ever much good at that, but, for him, she was damned well going to try.
“And then what happened?” she prompted, a little more quietly, this time.
He looked down and away. "As Sharon prepared to close the hatch, this older woman, this number forty-seven... she reached out and grasped my arm. Stared at me for a few seconds. It was funny, she'd had trouble reading her number, but when she looked at me, I felt like she was staring straight into my soul.
She said, ‘People like you are just as important as people like him. Brains mean nothing without the heart to temper them. You will take my place,’ and stepped out of the Raptor.
"I protested, tried to push her back. The crowd was becoming agitated, I was trying to hold them off with my sidearm, but she refused to let go. Sharon was yelling at me and the mushroom clouds kept blooming and the people were pressing in and if the ship didn’t take off then, it wasn’t going to.
"The woman whispered 'be worthy’ and pushed me toward the ramp. She was stronger than I thought she would be... or maybe it just seemed that way because I was so weak...” His voice trailed off and his hand clenched into a fist at his side. "But either way, I stumbled. Boomer latched onto me, shut the hatch and..."
He lifted his head and met Kara’s eyes, watched her expectantly. Waiting for her condemnation. Or reassurance. Or maybe for her to just walk away. All of those thoughts flickered across his face as they stared at each other. She recognized them instantly because those same things always flitted through her mind each and every time she frakked up.
She struggled to find words; and godsdamn, why couldn't she be better at this heart to heart crap? He was always so good at it, made it seem easy. She wasn't used to being on this end of the conversation... Responses ran through her head, but not one of them seemed appropriate. So, she settled for the obvious. “And here you are."
"And here I am," he repeated and looked to the tattered scrap on the wall.
"Even though you think you shouldn't be."
"I could've fought harder. I could have..."
"And you'd be dead, Karl," she snapped angrily. This close, this close to losing her best friend... and he was talking as if he'd have preferred to die. She stopped to take a couple of deep breaths before continuing. "We all make our choices. You chose. She chose. But in the end, maybe the gods chose, too."
“Maybe they didn’t choose correctly,” he replied, barely loud enough for her to hear.
And how many times had she struggled with that thought, herself? Only to come back to her faith, her belief that the gods had their reasons, however hurtful or unjust or even warped as they seemed...
Kara placed her hand over his hand, rested her fingers in the spaces between his fingers, so she could touch both of the things left behind by number forty-seven.
She bowed her head and began to pray with softly spoken and familiar words. "Lords of Kobol, hear our prayer. Take her soul and deliver her unto the peace of your arms. Honor her for her sacrifice.”
Karl's voice broke slightly as he added a quiet "So say we all". A small shudder shook his body, his shoulders hitching as if he were stifling a sob.
It wasn’t right, seeing her stalwart, unflappable friend like this, but at least she could still see him. And for that, she would be forever grateful to number forty-seven.
"And tell her that your daughter, Kara Thrace, thanks her for her gift."
His eyes snapped immediately to hers, and she realized she'd spoken that last part out loud. She hadn't meant to, and she suddenly felt an overwhelming need to run. But when Karl trapped her fingers, twined and curled them with his and gave her hand a soft squeeze, she found herself leaning toward him and resting her head on his arm.
They stood together until the chronometer on his wrist beeped three minutes until briefing.
She gave his hand a quick squeeze of her own before stepping away from him. "Okay, Agathon, time to go be worthy.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him give the crumpled paper one last stroke before he turned and followed her to combat briefing 130.
***************************************************************
Some days she ran with him, some days she ran alone, and (more and more lately) some days she ran with the CAG. It all depended on a combination of shift assignments, her mood and about a million other reasons that only Starbuck would ever know.
Helo never knew when it would be his turn, not until she was hovering over his bunk, poking and prodding at him until he had no choice but to get up and run. Whether it was to humor her or to chase her down and kill her, he was never quite sure, but it always ended up with him accompanying her through the corridors of Galactica.
When the curtain to his bunk suddenly ripped open and her gleeful face hovered over his, he groaned. It appeared that today was one of his days...
"Come on, sunshine. Gotta keep that body all shiny and buff, or else the CAG's going to take your place as ‘hottest boy on Galactica’."
"Frak off, Starbuck," he grumbled and rolled over, away from her. He’d gotten used to her leaving him alone in the mornings and he didn't particularly feel like getting up and doing this today.
She leaned in close to his ear, but spoke in a stage whisper loud enough to reach the far corners of the room. "I caught 'Track checking out the CAG's ass yesterday, Helo."
There was a muffled growl from a bunk somewhere across the aisle.
"See? All I had to do was mention the CAG's ass and she gets all feisty. I think you've already lost your title."
"Not working, Starbuck. You're the one that has to be fitted for a bigger helmet every couple of days, not me."
"Better than being fitted for a bigger flightsuit," she quipped back and pulled on his arm, trying to get him to sit upright. “Come on, lazy boy.”
Another growl came from Racetrack’s bunk. "Helo, would you get up and get her the frak out of here so I can get some sleep?"
Starbuck laughed. “Yeah, Helo, come on. Get me the frak out of here.”
Starbuck wasn’t the type to relent until she got what she wanted. Which really only meant that she’d get more and more abrasive until he capitulated. So in order to save himself and the others more abuse, he swung his legs over and placed his feet on the floor.
She poked him in the stomach. "You get any puffier, they're not going to be able to squeeze you in your Raptor."
"If your mouth gets any bigger, they'll be able to use it as an auxiliary landing bay," he retorted as he stood up and reached for the pair of track pants hanging next to his bunk.
Starbuck ran her gaze down his body, pointedly eying his crotch as he slid the pants up his legs. “Not that you’re one of them, Helo, but some men are built to appreciate a big mouth.”
Something that sounded suspiciously like a smothered giggle came from ‘Track’s general direction. This was definitely going to be a “chase to kill” morning. He grabbed his athletic shoes from his locker and barked, “Out, now,” while pointing toward the hatch.
Starbuck buzzed around him as they ran, circling him, finally turning to run backwards so she could - he wasn’t exactly sure what to call it - but, he supposed ‘gleefully antagonize him to his face’ might be a close enough term. And through some preternatural sense, or maybe only because she watched the directions given by his eyes, she always seemed to narrowly avoid crashing into the passing crew. He considered not giving such obvious signals to see which theory was correct, but decided that wasn’t fair to whomever she would end up taking down. But all bets were off if they came across Colonel Tigh, because that ensuing mess would just be too amusing to pass up...
“Isn’t spending this quality time with me better than sleeping?” she asked, grinning even more widely, if that were possible.
Helo rolled his eyes.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she replied and swung back around to jog at his side.
She threw off sloppy salutes and obnoxiously bright and annoying greetings to nearly everyone they passed, while he only nodded agreeably, trying to drown her out by concentrating on the sound of their rhythmic footfalls. As he learned through experience, manic Starbuck mornings were always easier when he could just bear down and get the circuits done. And then get into a shower. And then grab whatever they were passing off as breakfast from the mess before heading to briefing.
She started in on an old cadence they’d learned together in basic, chanting loudly and off-key. And gods, when she started, there was no way to make her shut up, not unless he gave her something else to do. He supposed now was a good a time as any to bring up the topic that had been tickling the back of his brain lately.
He tapped her elbow with the back of his hand. “Does Sharon seem different to you, lately?”
Starbuck gave him confused glance. “How do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Distant. Pensive. A little off, somehow?”
A flash of guilt crossed her face. “I haven’t really noticed. But, with all we’ve been though lately, I can’t say that it would surprise me.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Helo said, and let the topic go. Maybe he was just imagining things... and even if he wasn’t, what Starbuck said was true. Were any of them the same people they used to be?
“I usually am,” she said with a smirk and a sideways glance, knowing how utterly ridiculous that statement was.
Helo choked back a guffaw. Struggled for a moment to not burst into outright laughter. "It’s scary how smart you are," he replied, dryly.
"A regular Gaius Baltar," she riposted.
"Makes sense, you're both legendary - Baltar in science and you in your own mind."
She paused for a moment, then laughed and swung around in front of him, put her hand on his chest to stop him. "How long have you been waiting to use that?"
He fought to remain expressionless, but with the way she was grinning at him, with the tiniest hint of admiration flirting around the corners of her lips, it was a losing proposition. He stepped around her and began to run in earnest. “I’ll tell you when you catch me," he tossed off over his shoulder as the first true smile of the morning broke upon his face.
I'm writing a "Four Times" fic for you. I've been working like a dog lately, and unfortunately, that means that there hasn't been a lot of time for me to dig in and pound all the little pokey pieces into shape. Hence, there's a section of this story that's not yet meeting muster for me. So, with permission from the most kind and brilliant inlovewithnight, I've decide to post the first of the four time segments now (it's even over a thousand words! :D), and follow up with the rest this weekend.
I hope this meets with your approval.
Yours humbly,
Me. :D
Pairing: Helo/Kara
Rating (this segment): PG for language.
Summary: Uh, well, as you might be able to tell from the title, I'm exploring a bit of AU-ness here.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN! :) Also, this is unbeta'd... eek.
Four Times Number 47 Gave Up Her Seat.
After combat landing number 58, Lt. Kara "Starbuck" Thrace climbed out of her Viper, a little - but not much - worse for the wear, and glanced around the hangar. As she silently catalogued the number of birds that didn't make it back, she caught a glimpse of Lt. Karl "Helo" Agathon's back as he left the bay.
After combat landing number 86, it dawned on her that Helo's back was all she'd seen of him in the few precious moments between landings and briefings. Not in the bunks, not in the heads, not in the galley or the rec room or even in the corridors in passing.
After combat landing number 129, and just that once, she skipped her brief ritual of counting the fallen and followed Helo as he made his way through the twists and turns of Galactica's decks. She kept her distance, concentrated on lifting her feet high enough so as not to catch them on the metal decking. Tried to avoid giving herself away with the shuffling noises that more and more of the crew seemed to be making as they walked lately.
She'd been concentrating so hard, she hadn't paid much attention to where they were headed until they were there: the makeshift hall of the missing that had been so quickly constructed after the annihilation of the Colonies. There were more pictures now than the first and only other time she’d been here; a growing number of candles and other items of remembrance signaled that this place had become less a place of hope and more a memorial to the lost.
He was standing with his head bowed, his shoulders slumped, his hand resting on a small slip of paper. A tiny scrap pinned to the wall that his fingers were tracing, over and over again. She watched him for a few moments, watched until his fingers stilled and he began to sway slightly on his feet.
She moved quickly to his side and put her hand on his back to steady him. "Helo," she said softly and sharply. Softly, to protect the hallowedness of this hall, but sharply enough to cause him to awaken with a slight jerk.
She sucked in a soft breath when he turned to face her. Not because of the dark circles under his eyes or the pallor of his skin, but because of his expression. Haunted and regretful, filled with emotions so very different from the peace and warm amusement that he usually radiated. And even though they were at the end of the worlds, the look somehow seemed out of place on him.
He was silent for a moment, eyes on her, but his gaze somewhere far away. The silence stretched on and when he finally spoke, his voice seemed painfully loud to her ears, even though it was hardly louder than a whisper.
"There were so many people and we only had room for so few. We held a lottery, drew numbers." His eyes turned back to the ragged scrap and hers followed to find a sloppily scrawled number forty-seven written upon it. He tapped the number, once, softly. "She gave up her seat for me."
It took a minute for her brain to fit what he’d said together, and she didn’t like the shape it made. "What do you mean, she gave up her seat for you? You didn't put yourself in the lottery, did you?" The words came out more harshly than she’d intended. Echoed a bit in the dark corners, caused a few people closest to them to glance in their direction.
"No." The word nearly disappeared under the scratchiness of his voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. "No. Not originally, but when I saw Dr. Baltar... I knew he was important. That whoever survived would need people like him if they were going to have any chance at a future."
A surge of anger washed through her at his words. Of course he’d give up his seat. Big, lunkheaded, noble, self-sacrificing Helo. She wanted to beat the living daylights out of him for it; she wanted to hug him for it. Instead, she tried to tamp down on her wildly swinging emotions, because needed her. Needed someone, at least, and she was the one standing here. He needed support. And not that she was ever much good at that, but, for him, she was damned well going to try.
“And then what happened?” she prompted, a little more quietly, this time.
He looked down and away. "As Sharon prepared to close the hatch, this older woman, this number forty-seven... she reached out and grasped my arm. Stared at me for a few seconds. It was funny, she'd had trouble reading her number, but when she looked at me, I felt like she was staring straight into my soul.
She said, ‘People like you are just as important as people like him. Brains mean nothing without the heart to temper them. You will take my place,’ and stepped out of the Raptor.
"I protested, tried to push her back. The crowd was becoming agitated, I was trying to hold them off with my sidearm, but she refused to let go. Sharon was yelling at me and the mushroom clouds kept blooming and the people were pressing in and if the ship didn’t take off then, it wasn’t going to.
"The woman whispered 'be worthy’ and pushed me toward the ramp. She was stronger than I thought she would be... or maybe it just seemed that way because I was so weak...” His voice trailed off and his hand clenched into a fist at his side. "But either way, I stumbled. Boomer latched onto me, shut the hatch and..."
He lifted his head and met Kara’s eyes, watched her expectantly. Waiting for her condemnation. Or reassurance. Or maybe for her to just walk away. All of those thoughts flickered across his face as they stared at each other. She recognized them instantly because those same things always flitted through her mind each and every time she frakked up.
She struggled to find words; and godsdamn, why couldn't she be better at this heart to heart crap? He was always so good at it, made it seem easy. She wasn't used to being on this end of the conversation... Responses ran through her head, but not one of them seemed appropriate. So, she settled for the obvious. “And here you are."
"And here I am," he repeated and looked to the tattered scrap on the wall.
"Even though you think you shouldn't be."
"I could've fought harder. I could have..."
"And you'd be dead, Karl," she snapped angrily. This close, this close to losing her best friend... and he was talking as if he'd have preferred to die. She stopped to take a couple of deep breaths before continuing. "We all make our choices. You chose. She chose. But in the end, maybe the gods chose, too."
“Maybe they didn’t choose correctly,” he replied, barely loud enough for her to hear.
And how many times had she struggled with that thought, herself? Only to come back to her faith, her belief that the gods had their reasons, however hurtful or unjust or even warped as they seemed...
Kara placed her hand over his hand, rested her fingers in the spaces between his fingers, so she could touch both of the things left behind by number forty-seven.
She bowed her head and began to pray with softly spoken and familiar words. "Lords of Kobol, hear our prayer. Take her soul and deliver her unto the peace of your arms. Honor her for her sacrifice.”
Karl's voice broke slightly as he added a quiet "So say we all". A small shudder shook his body, his shoulders hitching as if he were stifling a sob.
It wasn’t right, seeing her stalwart, unflappable friend like this, but at least she could still see him. And for that, she would be forever grateful to number forty-seven.
"And tell her that your daughter, Kara Thrace, thanks her for her gift."
His eyes snapped immediately to hers, and she realized she'd spoken that last part out loud. She hadn't meant to, and she suddenly felt an overwhelming need to run. But when Karl trapped her fingers, twined and curled them with his and gave her hand a soft squeeze, she found herself leaning toward him and resting her head on his arm.
They stood together until the chronometer on his wrist beeped three minutes until briefing.
She gave his hand a quick squeeze of her own before stepping away from him. "Okay, Agathon, time to go be worthy.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him give the crumpled paper one last stroke before he turned and followed her to combat briefing 130.
***************************************************************
Some days she ran with him, some days she ran alone, and (more and more lately) some days she ran with the CAG. It all depended on a combination of shift assignments, her mood and about a million other reasons that only Starbuck would ever know.
Helo never knew when it would be his turn, not until she was hovering over his bunk, poking and prodding at him until he had no choice but to get up and run. Whether it was to humor her or to chase her down and kill her, he was never quite sure, but it always ended up with him accompanying her through the corridors of Galactica.
When the curtain to his bunk suddenly ripped open and her gleeful face hovered over his, he groaned. It appeared that today was one of his days...
"Come on, sunshine. Gotta keep that body all shiny and buff, or else the CAG's going to take your place as ‘hottest boy on Galactica’."
"Frak off, Starbuck," he grumbled and rolled over, away from her. He’d gotten used to her leaving him alone in the mornings and he didn't particularly feel like getting up and doing this today.
She leaned in close to his ear, but spoke in a stage whisper loud enough to reach the far corners of the room. "I caught 'Track checking out the CAG's ass yesterday, Helo."
There was a muffled growl from a bunk somewhere across the aisle.
"See? All I had to do was mention the CAG's ass and she gets all feisty. I think you've already lost your title."
"Not working, Starbuck. You're the one that has to be fitted for a bigger helmet every couple of days, not me."
"Better than being fitted for a bigger flightsuit," she quipped back and pulled on his arm, trying to get him to sit upright. “Come on, lazy boy.”
Another growl came from Racetrack’s bunk. "Helo, would you get up and get her the frak out of here so I can get some sleep?"
Starbuck laughed. “Yeah, Helo, come on. Get me the frak out of here.”
Starbuck wasn’t the type to relent until she got what she wanted. Which really only meant that she’d get more and more abrasive until he capitulated. So in order to save himself and the others more abuse, he swung his legs over and placed his feet on the floor.
She poked him in the stomach. "You get any puffier, they're not going to be able to squeeze you in your Raptor."
"If your mouth gets any bigger, they'll be able to use it as an auxiliary landing bay," he retorted as he stood up and reached for the pair of track pants hanging next to his bunk.
Starbuck ran her gaze down his body, pointedly eying his crotch as he slid the pants up his legs. “Not that you’re one of them, Helo, but some men are built to appreciate a big mouth.”
Something that sounded suspiciously like a smothered giggle came from ‘Track’s general direction. This was definitely going to be a “chase to kill” morning. He grabbed his athletic shoes from his locker and barked, “Out, now,” while pointing toward the hatch.
Starbuck buzzed around him as they ran, circling him, finally turning to run backwards so she could - he wasn’t exactly sure what to call it - but, he supposed ‘gleefully antagonize him to his face’ might be a close enough term. And through some preternatural sense, or maybe only because she watched the directions given by his eyes, she always seemed to narrowly avoid crashing into the passing crew. He considered not giving such obvious signals to see which theory was correct, but decided that wasn’t fair to whomever she would end up taking down. But all bets were off if they came across Colonel Tigh, because that ensuing mess would just be too amusing to pass up...
“Isn’t spending this quality time with me better than sleeping?” she asked, grinning even more widely, if that were possible.
Helo rolled his eyes.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she replied and swung back around to jog at his side.
She threw off sloppy salutes and obnoxiously bright and annoying greetings to nearly everyone they passed, while he only nodded agreeably, trying to drown her out by concentrating on the sound of their rhythmic footfalls. As he learned through experience, manic Starbuck mornings were always easier when he could just bear down and get the circuits done. And then get into a shower. And then grab whatever they were passing off as breakfast from the mess before heading to briefing.
She started in on an old cadence they’d learned together in basic, chanting loudly and off-key. And gods, when she started, there was no way to make her shut up, not unless he gave her something else to do. He supposed now was a good a time as any to bring up the topic that had been tickling the back of his brain lately.
He tapped her elbow with the back of his hand. “Does Sharon seem different to you, lately?”
Starbuck gave him confused glance. “How do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Distant. Pensive. A little off, somehow?”
A flash of guilt crossed her face. “I haven’t really noticed. But, with all we’ve been though lately, I can’t say that it would surprise me.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Helo said, and let the topic go. Maybe he was just imagining things... and even if he wasn’t, what Starbuck said was true. Were any of them the same people they used to be?
“I usually am,” she said with a smirk and a sideways glance, knowing how utterly ridiculous that statement was.
Helo choked back a guffaw. Struggled for a moment to not burst into outright laughter. "It’s scary how smart you are," he replied, dryly.
"A regular Gaius Baltar," she riposted.
"Makes sense, you're both legendary - Baltar in science and you in your own mind."
She paused for a moment, then laughed and swung around in front of him, put her hand on his chest to stop him. "How long have you been waiting to use that?"
He fought to remain expressionless, but with the way she was grinning at him, with the tiniest hint of admiration flirting around the corners of her lips, it was a losing proposition. He stepped around her and began to run in earnest. “I’ll tell you when you catch me," he tossed off over his shoulder as the first true smile of the morning broke upon his face.