BSG fic: A Face Not Her Own (The Perpetrators, Victims and Bystanders Remix)
Title: A Face Not Her Own (The Perpetrators, Victims and Bystanders Remix)
Remix of The Power In Hate by lls-mutant for the Remix Duello Melee 2010
Pairings: Cain/Gina, Hoshi/Fisk
Warnings: Rape, as in canon.
Rating: PG-13
Beta: Thank you very much, millari
Summary: Helena had seen it coming, of course.
Author's Note: Dear Mutant, don't act like you didn't just know I would. ;-) I hope you'll enjoy this. I read your fic just after you mentioned signing up with it in a comment, starting to write the remix about five minutes later.
And The Other Note: While I'm not sure if knowing this will add anything to the story for you, I should probably point out that "Perpetrators, Victims and Bystanders" is a distinction taken from Holocaust research, where it was established by a historian called Raul Hilberg.
---
Helena had seen it coming, of course. It was one occurrence amongst thousand little events on her ship. But it was her ship, and there were things a Commander just couldn't let herself be blind about.
There were a great many things that weren't Lieutenant Jack Fisk's fort, and subtlety was one of them. His double entendres were all rather awful, and while Helena had made a point of figuring out where to stand in her CIC for sound to carry her way best, whispering wasn't another thing Jack Fisk excelled at. She saw his hand brush Louis Hoshi's scrawny ass - not once, but twice -, and if it weren't for the look of indignation the Comms officer gave him in return, Helena would have put a stop to it right there.
Gina, of course, thought it was all rather sweet.
“You do keep acting like you're just an ice cube,” she said one evening in their quarters, coming up to hug her from behind, smelling of lavender. “But just look at all the things you notice. You know of everything that's going on. Don't tell me you can see all this, know all this, without feeling the slightest bit of empathy. Without understanding what's going on in Lt. Fisk's mind.” She smirked; the motion of her cheek against Helenas' neck was tickling. “Although there's no accounting for taste - Louis is a nice enough man, I’ll grant him that, but his hair...”
“It's a Commander’s job to be informed about her officers,” Helena said stiffly, although soon she gave in with an eyeroll, leaning into Gina's touch. There were some people for whom she was ready to feel empathy.
---
Nothing ever happened between Jack Fisk and Louis Hoshi. Helena was ready to make sure it would stay like that, up until the day Gina turned out to be a robot or a traitor, betrayal or program -mutually exclusive concepts. And Helena was burning with hatred and hurt and an intense need to learn which of these two it had been.
She stood in a corner of the cell with her arms crossed all day, watching her men kick and abuse that bloody thing down on the ground that wasn't her, had never been her, was taking punches made to kill a human being.
She stood there, nodding an affirmative when Belzen told her what the crew was just itching to do at this point. When she left that night, screams were ringing through the hallway again.
It felt like Gina's hand was brushing across the back of her neck, but it was just her own hair, stirred by the ventilation shaft.
---
Helena had never liked Jack Fisk. While he was useful as an officer, he had always rubbed her the wrong way on a personal level. Just intelligent enough to follow orders, but no ounce of creativity. He was the kind of person that had tortured small pets as a child because he liked the way they tried to run, and there were children’s games harder to manipulate than him when he was drunk.
Not everybody could be a Stinger or a Shaw. After Belzen - she clenched her hand into a fist at that thought: after Belzen - Fisk became just the kind of man she could trust. She couldn't say she liked him better for that.
His sense of order sucked, as well.
“Just like yours,” the voice of a ghost teased into her ear.
“You need an assistant,” she told him without bothering to fully look at him, standing in front of her desk. “Your organization skills have never been the best.”
“With respect, sir, but I'm not sure who we can spare for the job,” he said.
So it was petty. So be it. She hadn't slept for days.
“I've already assigned Lieutenant Hoshi,” she said. “He's used to the position.”
She didn't bother watching him salute.
---
Louis Hoshi had been Belzen's aide, and he was undoubtedly feeling the loss of his mentor. It made him vulnerable, she knew at the back of her mind, squeezing his shoulder hard every now and then to show him he was doing well. It was the small things that mattered still, now more than ever.
“How is this different from watching a pet die?” Gina's voice asked disapprovingly when Helena watched Fisk coming up behind Hoshi at Comms, breathing into the crook of his neck.
But Helena didn’t answer to ghosts.
---
She'd never be able to say if this was what she had wanted to happen, or if she had wanted to see Fisk rejected and hurting.
They fell into a pattern easily. Hoshi reported each morning and each afternoon, always in Jack's private quarters. It was hard to tell when exactly they started frakking, except one day she knew that they were. It was hard to tell when exactly Hoshi's eyes stopped burning into Fisk's back with annoyance, his looks transforming into something that burned a lot more in too many ways for her to decipher, although some of them were clear enough.
She left them alone. It might have been fraternization, but it was also the end of the world.
It was too satisfying, seeing that look on a face not her own.
Watching the self-hatred on Louis Hoshi's face turn into compassion and straight back into disgust, she waited for Gina to comment. But the toaster stayed silent.
A lot of rules had changed.
Remix of The Power In Hate by lls-mutant for the Remix Duello Melee 2010
Pairings: Cain/Gina, Hoshi/Fisk
Warnings: Rape, as in canon.
Rating: PG-13
Beta: Thank you very much, millari
Summary: Helena had seen it coming, of course.
Author's Note: Dear Mutant, don't act like you didn't just know I would. ;-) I hope you'll enjoy this. I read your fic just after you mentioned signing up with it in a comment, starting to write the remix about five minutes later.
And The Other Note: While I'm not sure if knowing this will add anything to the story for you, I should probably point out that "Perpetrators, Victims and Bystanders" is a distinction taken from Holocaust research, where it was established by a historian called Raul Hilberg.
---
Helena had seen it coming, of course. It was one occurrence amongst thousand little events on her ship. But it was her ship, and there were things a Commander just couldn't let herself be blind about.
There were a great many things that weren't Lieutenant Jack Fisk's fort, and subtlety was one of them. His double entendres were all rather awful, and while Helena had made a point of figuring out where to stand in her CIC for sound to carry her way best, whispering wasn't another thing Jack Fisk excelled at. She saw his hand brush Louis Hoshi's scrawny ass - not once, but twice -, and if it weren't for the look of indignation the Comms officer gave him in return, Helena would have put a stop to it right there.
Gina, of course, thought it was all rather sweet.
“You do keep acting like you're just an ice cube,” she said one evening in their quarters, coming up to hug her from behind, smelling of lavender. “But just look at all the things you notice. You know of everything that's going on. Don't tell me you can see all this, know all this, without feeling the slightest bit of empathy. Without understanding what's going on in Lt. Fisk's mind.” She smirked; the motion of her cheek against Helenas' neck was tickling. “Although there's no accounting for taste - Louis is a nice enough man, I’ll grant him that, but his hair...”
“It's a Commander’s job to be informed about her officers,” Helena said stiffly, although soon she gave in with an eyeroll, leaning into Gina's touch. There were some people for whom she was ready to feel empathy.
---
Nothing ever happened between Jack Fisk and Louis Hoshi. Helena was ready to make sure it would stay like that, up until the day Gina turned out to be a robot or a traitor, betrayal or program -mutually exclusive concepts. And Helena was burning with hatred and hurt and an intense need to learn which of these two it had been.
She stood in a corner of the cell with her arms crossed all day, watching her men kick and abuse that bloody thing down on the ground that wasn't her, had never been her, was taking punches made to kill a human being.
She stood there, nodding an affirmative when Belzen told her what the crew was just itching to do at this point. When she left that night, screams were ringing through the hallway again.
It felt like Gina's hand was brushing across the back of her neck, but it was just her own hair, stirred by the ventilation shaft.
---
Helena had never liked Jack Fisk. While he was useful as an officer, he had always rubbed her the wrong way on a personal level. Just intelligent enough to follow orders, but no ounce of creativity. He was the kind of person that had tortured small pets as a child because he liked the way they tried to run, and there were children’s games harder to manipulate than him when he was drunk.
Not everybody could be a Stinger or a Shaw. After Belzen - she clenched her hand into a fist at that thought: after Belzen - Fisk became just the kind of man she could trust. She couldn't say she liked him better for that.
His sense of order sucked, as well.
“Just like yours,” the voice of a ghost teased into her ear.
“You need an assistant,” she told him without bothering to fully look at him, standing in front of her desk. “Your organization skills have never been the best.”
“With respect, sir, but I'm not sure who we can spare for the job,” he said.
So it was petty. So be it. She hadn't slept for days.
“I've already assigned Lieutenant Hoshi,” she said. “He's used to the position.”
She didn't bother watching him salute.
---
Louis Hoshi had been Belzen's aide, and he was undoubtedly feeling the loss of his mentor. It made him vulnerable, she knew at the back of her mind, squeezing his shoulder hard every now and then to show him he was doing well. It was the small things that mattered still, now more than ever.
“How is this different from watching a pet die?” Gina's voice asked disapprovingly when Helena watched Fisk coming up behind Hoshi at Comms, breathing into the crook of his neck.
But Helena didn’t answer to ghosts.
---
She'd never be able to say if this was what she had wanted to happen, or if she had wanted to see Fisk rejected and hurting.
They fell into a pattern easily. Hoshi reported each morning and each afternoon, always in Jack's private quarters. It was hard to tell when exactly they started frakking, except one day she knew that they were. It was hard to tell when exactly Hoshi's eyes stopped burning into Fisk's back with annoyance, his looks transforming into something that burned a lot more in too many ways for her to decipher, although some of them were clear enough.
She left them alone. It might have been fraternization, but it was also the end of the world.
It was too satisfying, seeing that look on a face not her own.
Watching the self-hatred on Louis Hoshi's face turn into compassion and straight back into disgust, she waited for Gina to comment. But the toaster stayed silent.
A lot of rules had changed.