BSG fic: "the dog days are done"
Oct. 26th, 2011 08:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardHi, um, I wrote more BSG fic? This one falls in the indeterminate space between Kobol in "Home: Part 2" and "Flight of the Phoenix." Title from Florence + the Machine.
“Look,” Doc Cottle prefaces the meeting with, “I’m not saying that the kid’s irreparably frakked up, but I’d give him a good, long look before I even thought about putting him into a combat situation any time soon. But I’m not a shrink, so don’t take my word for it.”
“Understood, Doctor,” Commander Adama says dryly. “But give us the rundown anyway.”
Cottle lights a cigarette and flips through his notes. “Physically Agathon’s all right – I pulled the records from his last check-up on Galactica, about two weeks before the attacks, for comparison. He’s down almost two stone – hasn’t been getting enough nutrition, told me he was mostly eating whatever tinned food they could scavenge, which doesn’t really cut it. He’s got some injuries, mostly minor, mostly healed up; worst of it’s shrapnel from the initial crash on Caprica, which healed up all right considering he patched it up himself. Nothing remaining in the wound, anyway. I know we were worried about radiation poisoning, but he’s a smart kid, he kept up with the anti-radiation shots; said he found some survivalist’s store to carry him over after the emergency kit ran out.”
“All right,” Lee says. “Well, he can make the weight back up and I’ll probably make him requalify on a Raptor, but what’s the bad news?”
“He’s a frakking basketcase, that’s what,” Cottle says, tapping ash into an ashtray. “Kid’s been running on fumes for months now, with only Sharon – the other Sharon,” he adds, shrugging a little, because it probably doesn’t make a difference one way or another to him, “for company, not eating enough and not sleeping enough, on a dead world, constantly on the run from the Cylons. How well would you be doing?”
“He seemed all right on the Astral Queen,” Lee says, a little defensive. “A little high-strung, maybe.”
“Someone slammed a door in the med bay and he was on the floor reaching for his weapon before you or I could say ‘go,’” Cottle says dryly. “I’d wait a few weeks before issuing him with a sidearm again unless you want someone to get shot.”
“The Cylons might not give us that luxury,” says the commander.
The doc shrugs. “Under ideal circumstances, I’d tell you to give him a week or so to reintroduce himself to Galactica, to being on a battlestar again, being around all these people. Well, under ideal circumstances I’d tell you to take him off duty for six months and have him talk to a shrink, but that’s not an option.”
“No.”
Lee looks at his father. “Well, rumor’s flying fast and furious right now, but only a few people know that Helo’s back from the dead. We can give him a few days while Starbuck breaks the news to everyone on Galactica.”
“I’ll ask the ugly question,” says Colonel Tigh, speaking up for the first time. “How do we know Agathon’s not a Cylon like his little girlfriend?”
“Not my area,” says Cottle, flicking more ash away.
“Starbuck vouches for him,” Lee says. “She and Helo go back to their first year at the Academy – that’s where I met him. She’s met his family, seen the house where he grew up on Tauron – you know, mother, father, two sisters, ex-wife. We don’t think the Cylons would be able to fake that; Sharon claimed that her entire family died at Troy, so we never had any background for her. Besides, it doesn’t make much sense that the Cylons would go to so much trouble to sneak another Cylon on Galactica – fooling him with another Sharon, a pregnancy, you know?” He looks at his father for support.
The commander nods once, slowly. “Helo’s a good kid,” he says. “I’ll talk to him, tell him it’s all right to lay low if he needs it. I assume you won’t be declaring him fit for duty, Doctor?”
“No. Someone will end up dead or injured. Might be him, might be someone else. Might be he takes out a Raptor while he’s doing it.”
Tigh’s mouth twists. “You’d better tell him to keep quiet about Caprica. Last thing we need is a bunch of Starbucks clamoring to go back to the Colonies and try to find survivors where there aren’t any. Agathon’s the exception, not the rule, and that’s only because he had a Cylon keeping him safe.”
Lee hesitates. “He and Starbuck both said that there were survivors on Caprica –”
“And she’d better keep quiet about that too, if she knows what’s good for her.”
“If there are survivors on Caprica, then there must be survivors on the other Colonies too,” Lee says. “Isn’t it our duty as Colonial officers to find them and bring them back to the Fleet?”
“It’s not our duty to commit suicide,” Tigh snaps.
“That’s a matter for the President to decide,” the commander intervenes swiftly. “Is there anything else, Doctor?”
Doc Cottle shakes his head and grinds out his cigarette. “He can come see me in a week, I’ll weigh him, check him out again, see how long it takes him to stop jumping at small noises.”
“After the time we had, we’re all jumping at small noises,” says Tigh. “What makes Agathon so special? Put him back in a Raptor if you can find someone who’ll fly with a Cylon-lover.”
Now that’s something Lee doesn’t really want to think about, but keeping Helo off the flight roster until he’s cleared for duty will hopefully take care of that problem – hopefully by the time he’s fit the rest of the pilots will be used to him again. Lee hasn’t served with Helo outside of training, but he’d been on Leonidas when Helo and Starbuck had been doing their term onboard during the Academy, and from what he remembers Helo had been a good ECO. Of course, he’d still been a cadet then, but Lee doubts he’s gotten any worse.
After the meeting’s over, he goes to find Helo. Not many places for him to be; Lee checks in with Kara in the weight room, who tells him that Helo’s with the Cylon. He probably should have looked there first, because ever since they got back to Galactica Helo’s spent more time standing outside that cell than he has anywhere else, except maybe his rack. Lee snaps his fingers to get Helo’s attention.
Helo nods at him, then finishes up his conversation with Sharon – with the Cylon – by saying, “I’m going to see if I can get Boomer’s books, okay? I love you too, baby. See you tomorrow.” He touches his fingers to the glass through the chain-link, smiling at the Cylon, then steps away.
“Boomer’s books?” Lee says, stepping back as the marine guard opens the hatch for them.
“Wouldn’t you be bored in there?” Helo says defensively. “I was thinking maybe we could read them together. Something to get her mind off –”
“Being a lying murdering toaster?”
Helo glares at him. “Something you wanted, sir?”
“Yeah, you’re not cleared for duty,” Lee says. “Doc Cottle says you’re suffering from severe post-traumatic stress disorder because of your time on Caprica.”
“I’m fine. I’m ready to return to duty. Put me in a Raptor and I’ll do my job.”
Lee shrugs. “You’ll have to convince him first. We’re going to slowly reintroduce you to Galactica, in case anyone gets the bright idea that your return from the dead means you’re a Cylon too.”
His mouth twists. “I’m not. That would be simpler, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, you and your girlfriend sure are complicating things.”
“Sharon saved my life!” Helo snaps, voice rising. “She saved your life on Kobol, more than once! You heard her, she’s not Boo – she’s not the other Sharon.”
“Yeah, no hidden protocols or programming, right?” Lee sneers. “We could have just gotten you a blow-up doll, less chance of you electrocuting yourself –”
Helo punches him in the face.
Lee hits him back on reflex before he remembers what Doc had said about Helo having hair-trigger reflexes after what he’d gone through on Caprica, but maybe Helo never came up against a skinjob he had to hit instead of a Centurion he had to shoot the frak out of, because he’s already backed off, staring at Lee like a puppy that’s been smacked on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.
“You all right, Apollo?” he says stiffly.
Lee rubs the sore spot on his jaw; yeah, that’ll be a lovely shade of black and blue tomorrow. Helo hits like a mule. “Little surprised.”
“I love her, all right?” Helo says. “I know it’s insane. I know I’m human and she’s a Cylon and neither of those two things is ever going to change. I don’t care. I still love her.”
“Point taken,” Lee says. “I wouldn’t say that where anyone else can hear you, though.”
Helo snorts. “Sorry about – so I guess this means I’m not going back on the flight roster any time soon.”
“Well, your first pilot’s dead and your other pilot’s in a high-security jail cell and everyone except me and Starbuck thinks you’re either dead or a Cylon conspirator, so – no. And you’re not fit for duty.”
“So I guess I’m not getting my sidearm back either.”
“First you have to convince Doc Cottle that you’re not going to start hallucinating Cylons,” Lee says, and slaps him on the shoulder.
Helo wrinkles up his nose, the same way Boomer used to. “I’m not crazy.”
“Tell that to Cottle, not me.”
“You’re the CAG. If you say you’re short an ECO –”
“I am. But you’re not cleared for duty yet,” Lee says, stepping back against the wall as Hotdog and Kat come running up the hallway, trading little verbal stabs at every other step. They slow a little to salute, looking at Helo curiously; they don’t know him because he predates them on Galactica.
“Hey, Kat, Hotodg,” he says, spur of the moment, and they stop. Hotdog leans over a little, panting; Kat flips her ponytail over her shoulder with one finger. “This is Lieutenant Agathon, Starbuck brought him back from Caprica. He’s a Galactica ECO.”
Helo gives him a curious look, head cocked a little to the side. “Hey,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”
Kat blinks once. “Helo, right? Boo – the Cylon used to talk about you sometimes.”
He nods. “Yeah, I am – I was her ECO.”
“Doc Cottle hasn’t cleared him for duty yet, but once he’s back to flight status he’ll start pulling his weight around here,” Lee says, and grins a little to take the edge off as Helo rolls his eyes.
“What was it like on Caprica?” Hotdog asks eagerly. “Were you, like –”
Lee shakes his head, warning, and Hotdog subsides. Costanza’s a good kid, a good natural pilot with instincts that’ll do him good if he stays alive long enough.
“It was quiet,” Helo says. “It was really quiet.”
Costanza and Katraine seem to get it after that. “Be seeing you around, sir,” Kat says, and dashes off a sloppy salute before she kicks Hotdog in the ankle and takes off again, leaving him swearing and chasing after her.
“You all right?” Lee asks again, touching the spot on his jaw where Helo had him.
“I wish people would stop frakking asking me that,” Helo mutters. “I was on Caprica, not a Cylon basestar. It was fine.”
“I’m sure you saw some stuff,” Lee says tentatively. “On Caprica –”
“Apollo,” Helo says, “Lee. I already said everything I’m going to say about Caprica in the debriefing. Look, I just want everything to go back to normal, okay? I just want Doc Cottle to check me out, I want to get back in a Raptor, hell, I’ll even settle for getting back in my rack like a normal officer, not stuck in an empty room because everyone on Galactica thinks I’m too crazy to stay in a room with the rest of you.”
“I’ll see about you getting back into senior officers’ quarters,” Lee allows. “We’ve got a spare bunk because of – we’ve got a spare bunk, anyway. I took yours, sorry. You’re going to have to requalify on a Raptor, though; I’ll find you a flight manual.”
Helo makes a face. “Whatever I have to do. Okay. Can I get Boomer’s things?”
Lee blinks at him. “What?”
“Can I get Boomer’s things?” Helo repeats. “They’re Sharon’s things too. I told her I’d try to get her some clothes, some books, that sort of thing.”
“You want Boomer’s things,” Lee repeats. “That Cylon’s –”
Helo raises his chin, jaw set stubbornly. “Yes. I want them.”
“I’ll – I’ll tell the commander,” Lee says. “Listen, Helo, just – just take it easy, all right? When you’re back on duty you won’t have a chance to, so – enjoy it while you can.” He reaches out to touch Helo, then thinks better of it and turns the gesture into readjusting his belt, not missing the way that Helo’s eyes track the movement. It doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself. He or Starbuck or any of the other pilots would do the same thing. Just tracking a target, that’s all. Only thing is, there’re no targets in here.
“Take it easy,” Helo says, his mouth twisting. “Right.”
Lee nods. “Take it easy. You’re back in the world, Lieutenant.”
“Look,” Doc Cottle prefaces the meeting with, “I’m not saying that the kid’s irreparably frakked up, but I’d give him a good, long look before I even thought about putting him into a combat situation any time soon. But I’m not a shrink, so don’t take my word for it.”
“Understood, Doctor,” Commander Adama says dryly. “But give us the rundown anyway.”
Cottle lights a cigarette and flips through his notes. “Physically Agathon’s all right – I pulled the records from his last check-up on Galactica, about two weeks before the attacks, for comparison. He’s down almost two stone – hasn’t been getting enough nutrition, told me he was mostly eating whatever tinned food they could scavenge, which doesn’t really cut it. He’s got some injuries, mostly minor, mostly healed up; worst of it’s shrapnel from the initial crash on Caprica, which healed up all right considering he patched it up himself. Nothing remaining in the wound, anyway. I know we were worried about radiation poisoning, but he’s a smart kid, he kept up with the anti-radiation shots; said he found some survivalist’s store to carry him over after the emergency kit ran out.”
“All right,” Lee says. “Well, he can make the weight back up and I’ll probably make him requalify on a Raptor, but what’s the bad news?”
“He’s a frakking basketcase, that’s what,” Cottle says, tapping ash into an ashtray. “Kid’s been running on fumes for months now, with only Sharon – the other Sharon,” he adds, shrugging a little, because it probably doesn’t make a difference one way or another to him, “for company, not eating enough and not sleeping enough, on a dead world, constantly on the run from the Cylons. How well would you be doing?”
“He seemed all right on the Astral Queen,” Lee says, a little defensive. “A little high-strung, maybe.”
“Someone slammed a door in the med bay and he was on the floor reaching for his weapon before you or I could say ‘go,’” Cottle says dryly. “I’d wait a few weeks before issuing him with a sidearm again unless you want someone to get shot.”
“The Cylons might not give us that luxury,” says the commander.
The doc shrugs. “Under ideal circumstances, I’d tell you to give him a week or so to reintroduce himself to Galactica, to being on a battlestar again, being around all these people. Well, under ideal circumstances I’d tell you to take him off duty for six months and have him talk to a shrink, but that’s not an option.”
“No.”
Lee looks at his father. “Well, rumor’s flying fast and furious right now, but only a few people know that Helo’s back from the dead. We can give him a few days while Starbuck breaks the news to everyone on Galactica.”
“I’ll ask the ugly question,” says Colonel Tigh, speaking up for the first time. “How do we know Agathon’s not a Cylon like his little girlfriend?”
“Not my area,” says Cottle, flicking more ash away.
“Starbuck vouches for him,” Lee says. “She and Helo go back to their first year at the Academy – that’s where I met him. She’s met his family, seen the house where he grew up on Tauron – you know, mother, father, two sisters, ex-wife. We don’t think the Cylons would be able to fake that; Sharon claimed that her entire family died at Troy, so we never had any background for her. Besides, it doesn’t make much sense that the Cylons would go to so much trouble to sneak another Cylon on Galactica – fooling him with another Sharon, a pregnancy, you know?” He looks at his father for support.
The commander nods once, slowly. “Helo’s a good kid,” he says. “I’ll talk to him, tell him it’s all right to lay low if he needs it. I assume you won’t be declaring him fit for duty, Doctor?”
“No. Someone will end up dead or injured. Might be him, might be someone else. Might be he takes out a Raptor while he’s doing it.”
Tigh’s mouth twists. “You’d better tell him to keep quiet about Caprica. Last thing we need is a bunch of Starbucks clamoring to go back to the Colonies and try to find survivors where there aren’t any. Agathon’s the exception, not the rule, and that’s only because he had a Cylon keeping him safe.”
Lee hesitates. “He and Starbuck both said that there were survivors on Caprica –”
“And she’d better keep quiet about that too, if she knows what’s good for her.”
“If there are survivors on Caprica, then there must be survivors on the other Colonies too,” Lee says. “Isn’t it our duty as Colonial officers to find them and bring them back to the Fleet?”
“It’s not our duty to commit suicide,” Tigh snaps.
“That’s a matter for the President to decide,” the commander intervenes swiftly. “Is there anything else, Doctor?”
Doc Cottle shakes his head and grinds out his cigarette. “He can come see me in a week, I’ll weigh him, check him out again, see how long it takes him to stop jumping at small noises.”
“After the time we had, we’re all jumping at small noises,” says Tigh. “What makes Agathon so special? Put him back in a Raptor if you can find someone who’ll fly with a Cylon-lover.”
Now that’s something Lee doesn’t really want to think about, but keeping Helo off the flight roster until he’s cleared for duty will hopefully take care of that problem – hopefully by the time he’s fit the rest of the pilots will be used to him again. Lee hasn’t served with Helo outside of training, but he’d been on Leonidas when Helo and Starbuck had been doing their term onboard during the Academy, and from what he remembers Helo had been a good ECO. Of course, he’d still been a cadet then, but Lee doubts he’s gotten any worse.
After the meeting’s over, he goes to find Helo. Not many places for him to be; Lee checks in with Kara in the weight room, who tells him that Helo’s with the Cylon. He probably should have looked there first, because ever since they got back to Galactica Helo’s spent more time standing outside that cell than he has anywhere else, except maybe his rack. Lee snaps his fingers to get Helo’s attention.
Helo nods at him, then finishes up his conversation with Sharon – with the Cylon – by saying, “I’m going to see if I can get Boomer’s books, okay? I love you too, baby. See you tomorrow.” He touches his fingers to the glass through the chain-link, smiling at the Cylon, then steps away.
“Boomer’s books?” Lee says, stepping back as the marine guard opens the hatch for them.
“Wouldn’t you be bored in there?” Helo says defensively. “I was thinking maybe we could read them together. Something to get her mind off –”
“Being a lying murdering toaster?”
Helo glares at him. “Something you wanted, sir?”
“Yeah, you’re not cleared for duty,” Lee says. “Doc Cottle says you’re suffering from severe post-traumatic stress disorder because of your time on Caprica.”
“I’m fine. I’m ready to return to duty. Put me in a Raptor and I’ll do my job.”
Lee shrugs. “You’ll have to convince him first. We’re going to slowly reintroduce you to Galactica, in case anyone gets the bright idea that your return from the dead means you’re a Cylon too.”
His mouth twists. “I’m not. That would be simpler, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, you and your girlfriend sure are complicating things.”
“Sharon saved my life!” Helo snaps, voice rising. “She saved your life on Kobol, more than once! You heard her, she’s not Boo – she’s not the other Sharon.”
“Yeah, no hidden protocols or programming, right?” Lee sneers. “We could have just gotten you a blow-up doll, less chance of you electrocuting yourself –”
Helo punches him in the face.
Lee hits him back on reflex before he remembers what Doc had said about Helo having hair-trigger reflexes after what he’d gone through on Caprica, but maybe Helo never came up against a skinjob he had to hit instead of a Centurion he had to shoot the frak out of, because he’s already backed off, staring at Lee like a puppy that’s been smacked on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.
“You all right, Apollo?” he says stiffly.
Lee rubs the sore spot on his jaw; yeah, that’ll be a lovely shade of black and blue tomorrow. Helo hits like a mule. “Little surprised.”
“I love her, all right?” Helo says. “I know it’s insane. I know I’m human and she’s a Cylon and neither of those two things is ever going to change. I don’t care. I still love her.”
“Point taken,” Lee says. “I wouldn’t say that where anyone else can hear you, though.”
Helo snorts. “Sorry about – so I guess this means I’m not going back on the flight roster any time soon.”
“Well, your first pilot’s dead and your other pilot’s in a high-security jail cell and everyone except me and Starbuck thinks you’re either dead or a Cylon conspirator, so – no. And you’re not fit for duty.”
“So I guess I’m not getting my sidearm back either.”
“First you have to convince Doc Cottle that you’re not going to start hallucinating Cylons,” Lee says, and slaps him on the shoulder.
Helo wrinkles up his nose, the same way Boomer used to. “I’m not crazy.”
“Tell that to Cottle, not me.”
“You’re the CAG. If you say you’re short an ECO –”
“I am. But you’re not cleared for duty yet,” Lee says, stepping back against the wall as Hotdog and Kat come running up the hallway, trading little verbal stabs at every other step. They slow a little to salute, looking at Helo curiously; they don’t know him because he predates them on Galactica.
“Hey, Kat, Hotodg,” he says, spur of the moment, and they stop. Hotdog leans over a little, panting; Kat flips her ponytail over her shoulder with one finger. “This is Lieutenant Agathon, Starbuck brought him back from Caprica. He’s a Galactica ECO.”
Helo gives him a curious look, head cocked a little to the side. “Hey,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”
Kat blinks once. “Helo, right? Boo – the Cylon used to talk about you sometimes.”
He nods. “Yeah, I am – I was her ECO.”
“Doc Cottle hasn’t cleared him for duty yet, but once he’s back to flight status he’ll start pulling his weight around here,” Lee says, and grins a little to take the edge off as Helo rolls his eyes.
“What was it like on Caprica?” Hotdog asks eagerly. “Were you, like –”
Lee shakes his head, warning, and Hotdog subsides. Costanza’s a good kid, a good natural pilot with instincts that’ll do him good if he stays alive long enough.
“It was quiet,” Helo says. “It was really quiet.”
Costanza and Katraine seem to get it after that. “Be seeing you around, sir,” Kat says, and dashes off a sloppy salute before she kicks Hotdog in the ankle and takes off again, leaving him swearing and chasing after her.
“You all right?” Lee asks again, touching the spot on his jaw where Helo had him.
“I wish people would stop frakking asking me that,” Helo mutters. “I was on Caprica, not a Cylon basestar. It was fine.”
“I’m sure you saw some stuff,” Lee says tentatively. “On Caprica –”
“Apollo,” Helo says, “Lee. I already said everything I’m going to say about Caprica in the debriefing. Look, I just want everything to go back to normal, okay? I just want Doc Cottle to check me out, I want to get back in a Raptor, hell, I’ll even settle for getting back in my rack like a normal officer, not stuck in an empty room because everyone on Galactica thinks I’m too crazy to stay in a room with the rest of you.”
“I’ll see about you getting back into senior officers’ quarters,” Lee allows. “We’ve got a spare bunk because of – we’ve got a spare bunk, anyway. I took yours, sorry. You’re going to have to requalify on a Raptor, though; I’ll find you a flight manual.”
Helo makes a face. “Whatever I have to do. Okay. Can I get Boomer’s things?”
Lee blinks at him. “What?”
“Can I get Boomer’s things?” Helo repeats. “They’re Sharon’s things too. I told her I’d try to get her some clothes, some books, that sort of thing.”
“You want Boomer’s things,” Lee repeats. “That Cylon’s –”
Helo raises his chin, jaw set stubbornly. “Yes. I want them.”
“I’ll – I’ll tell the commander,” Lee says. “Listen, Helo, just – just take it easy, all right? When you’re back on duty you won’t have a chance to, so – enjoy it while you can.” He reaches out to touch Helo, then thinks better of it and turns the gesture into readjusting his belt, not missing the way that Helo’s eyes track the movement. It doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself. He or Starbuck or any of the other pilots would do the same thing. Just tracking a target, that’s all. Only thing is, there’re no targets in here.
“Take it easy,” Helo says, his mouth twisting. “Right.”
Lee nods. “Take it easy. You’re back in the world, Lieutenant.”