BSG/TSCC Fic: One-Winged Birds
Mar. 13th, 2009 12:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beccatoriaPeople. This is what happens when I'm bored, stressed, unemployed and unable to vid because I'm still re-ripping all my source. No, not macros this time, 1300 words of un-beta'd crossover fic because I just rewatched ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
charmax's vid and it's still awesome. Also I meant for there to be more Ellison. But it didn't happen. BOO.
Title: One-Winged Birds
Rating: PG?
Fandom: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, Battlestar Galactica
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just really damn bored.
Summary: Caprica and Starbuck crashland on Earth. Team Connor finds them. Also, birds are very fragile, and we're tool-builders, after all.
“You're not human.”
That's the first thing Cameron says to the tall blonde in the black halter top and four-inch stiletto heels.
That's all it takes; four guns are on her in an instant. She stumbles back a little, catching the edge of the crashed...space ship. At least this one's not made of circles. John glances over his shoulder, down the empty dirt track. No headlights, no sound.
He doesn't want to think it, but he can't help it. The longer they go without ZeiraCorp busting Ellison for playing both sides, the more likely it is the whole thing's a set up in the first place. Ellison's a triple agent. Or a pawn.
Metal would have killed them by now. This woman just stands, shell-shocked in the wrecked doorway. She fell back on a jagged edge, John notices. There is blood dripping from her palm all over the scorched hull.
“Who are you?” his mother demands.
Derek and Ellison say nothing. Derek, John knows, is a hair away from pulling the trigger. He doesn't know anything about Ellison, except that his mother trusts him and John doesn't understand why.
“I'm,” the woman says. “My name is Caprica.”
“Caprica,” Mom says. “Right. And you're, what? A tee one thousand? Trip eight? What's your game?”
“Please,” Caprica shakes her head, just this tiny amount. “My...friend. She's badly hurt. She's human. She's human, please help her.”
John sees Derek give his mother an incredulous look, and sees his mother ignore it. John lowers his gun. They've both killed people, by design and neglect, but neither of them have to like it. “I'll go,” he says.
“John.”
“I'll go, Mom. I'll be fine.”
Everyone is very still as he passes the blonde, Caprica, and climbs into the ship.
Inside, he sees a woman, collapsed across some kind of control console. He edges forward, gun still in hand, just in case. If she's dead, he knows he won't panic, but still, he takes a deep breath before he presses his fingers into her neck.
He's relieved when he feels how warm she is, when he feels a pulse.
She's unconscious. There's a lot of blood on her. On her face, on her battered tank top, across her arms; a tattoo of a one-winged bird. He sees a broken helmet and a shredded mess of green plastic that might once have been overalls or a space suit or something.
“What the hell were you running from?” he whispers to her.
Outside he can hear his mother, still grilling the...woman.
“Number Six,” she's saying. “That's my model number. I'm Cylon.”
“No record of that model,” Cameron answers, in that monotone that always sounds like she's numb from wonder. Every day, John reminds himself, that's not how she learns. It's just data. “The term Cylon is unfamiliar to me.”
As near as John can tell, not all of the blood belongs to the woman with the tattoo. It looks like she's been knocked out, but not seriously injured. Gently, he begins to move her from the chair and pick her up.
“Cylon,” he hears the one outside saying; breathless like information can save her from the muzzle of Derek's pistol. He's probably been stepping toward her one answer at a time. “Cybernetic life. We were made by humans, to make, to make life easier in the Twelve Colonies. We were... We were slaves. Did that happen here? Did it? Is this Earth?”
“This is Earth,” John says, stepping out of ship. The unconscious dead weight of a whole person, and the uneven, jagged edges of the ripped entrance make him stumble.
Caprica catches him without thinking. His uncle nearly shoots them both.
“You're strong,” John mutters.
“I'm not human,” she says. It's abrupt, and gentle, and reminds him uncomfortably of Cameron.
Cameron says, “You're Cylon. Cybernetic life. Are you her slave?”
The smile on Caprica's face is small, and sad. John has seen that smile on Derek, once or twice. It makes him think of a day at the beach and the end of everything all at the same time.
“No,” Caprica says. “I'm not her slave. Is she all right?”
“I think so. Just unconscious.”
The Cylon nods. John lays her friend on the ground and Caprica squats next to her. “Kara,” she says. “Kara? Starbuck, wake up. We made it. The music – you were right.”
Kara moans, her eyes flutter. “Joke,” she murmurs. “Life's just a joke.”
“I like her.”
That was Derek.
“We need to get out of here.”
That was Ellison.
They argue. About what to tell ZeiraCorp, about where to take these women, about whether the hell one of them even is a woman. His mother tries to referee. John pushes his fingers against his eyelids and tries to wipe them clean.
Caprica has a hand against Kara's cheek. She's whispering.
“Are you praying?” John asks.
“Yes.”
“Let me look at your hand. You cut it earlier, on the...the ship.”
Caprica nods, and holds out her palm. It's deep and ugly. “No metal,” John says. “You said you were cybernetic. Artificial life.”
“I never said I was artificial,” she snaps, offended. She pulls her hand away.
“I'm sorry. But Cameron – that's Cameron, the one who looks like she's about my age? - she's flesh over metal. You're, I mean, how much of you is biological? Are you a clone?”
“I'm a Cylon,” she says. Like that settles the matter. She'd been so uncertain when they found her. John isn't sure it's confidence, exactly, that's powering her now. Perhaps it's more like adrenaline and a conviction that life-threatening situations are no reason to forget the hell about etiquette.
John shuts up. His mom and Ellison and Derek are finalising plans to call in the crash to ZeiraCorp after stripping it of anything useful. Perhaps blowing the fuel tank to make it look like it exploded on impact. Still, there's no consensus about what to do with the people.
“They should stay with us,” Cameron announces. “We can bond.”
“Bond,” his mom echoes.
“Yes,” Cameron says. “Bond. When individuals become closer through shared experience. We have a lot in common. We're both slaves.”
“You're not a slave, Cameron,” John says.
“What am I?”
“You're... You help, okay. You help us.”
Caprica stands up. She looks absolutely terrified. “They're slaves? You made Cylons and you're using them as slaves?”
“No!” John says. “Well yes, but...not us. Not yet. We're trying to stop it.”
A tear slides down Caprica's cheek. “I really thought it would be different this time. But all of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again. They're going to turn against you. They'll kill you all.”
Derek grins. It's absolutely enormous. “Lady,” he says. “Tell us something we don't know.”
* * *
It's a five hour drive home. John gives up his room and sleeps on the couch. He wakes up, that not-really-awake-at-all waking up that happens when you're so deep asleep you're not even dreaming. He hears Cameron pacing. He hears someone open the refrigerator. He thinks he hears the new one, the robot who couldn't possibly be a robot. The one with no metal.
Maybe she doesn't sleep either.
He falls back to unconsciousness.
He dreams he hears them talking. About the children of humanity. About children. The blonde one, she's talking about her baby. He died. Or maybe, maybe she killed him. He dreams of slender fingers and a snapped neck. About the impossible idea of robot babies. Like that sneaking fear he has sometimes, that they're tool-builders, and the tools they build are as much their evolution as a billion years of one-off mutations. An idea so wrong, and impossible, it can't really exist in daylight.
He dreams of Caprica and her dead son and the son she killed.
Cameron says, “I kill birds. They're so fragile.”
Just a dream. He's fixed her. And only humans are allowed to be made of flesh.
charmax's vid and it's still awesome. Also I meant for there to be more Ellison. But it didn't happen. BOO. Title: One-Winged Birds
Rating: PG?
Fandom: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, Battlestar Galactica
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just really damn bored.
Summary: Caprica and Starbuck crashland on Earth. Team Connor finds them. Also, birds are very fragile, and we're tool-builders, after all.
“You're not human.”
That's the first thing Cameron says to the tall blonde in the black halter top and four-inch stiletto heels.
That's all it takes; four guns are on her in an instant. She stumbles back a little, catching the edge of the crashed...space ship. At least this one's not made of circles. John glances over his shoulder, down the empty dirt track. No headlights, no sound.
He doesn't want to think it, but he can't help it. The longer they go without ZeiraCorp busting Ellison for playing both sides, the more likely it is the whole thing's a set up in the first place. Ellison's a triple agent. Or a pawn.
Metal would have killed them by now. This woman just stands, shell-shocked in the wrecked doorway. She fell back on a jagged edge, John notices. There is blood dripping from her palm all over the scorched hull.
“Who are you?” his mother demands.
Derek and Ellison say nothing. Derek, John knows, is a hair away from pulling the trigger. He doesn't know anything about Ellison, except that his mother trusts him and John doesn't understand why.
“I'm,” the woman says. “My name is Caprica.”
“Caprica,” Mom says. “Right. And you're, what? A tee one thousand? Trip eight? What's your game?”
“Please,” Caprica shakes her head, just this tiny amount. “My...friend. She's badly hurt. She's human. She's human, please help her.”
John sees Derek give his mother an incredulous look, and sees his mother ignore it. John lowers his gun. They've both killed people, by design and neglect, but neither of them have to like it. “I'll go,” he says.
“John.”
“I'll go, Mom. I'll be fine.”
Everyone is very still as he passes the blonde, Caprica, and climbs into the ship.
Inside, he sees a woman, collapsed across some kind of control console. He edges forward, gun still in hand, just in case. If she's dead, he knows he won't panic, but still, he takes a deep breath before he presses his fingers into her neck.
He's relieved when he feels how warm she is, when he feels a pulse.
She's unconscious. There's a lot of blood on her. On her face, on her battered tank top, across her arms; a tattoo of a one-winged bird. He sees a broken helmet and a shredded mess of green plastic that might once have been overalls or a space suit or something.
“What the hell were you running from?” he whispers to her.
Outside he can hear his mother, still grilling the...woman.
“Number Six,” she's saying. “That's my model number. I'm Cylon.”
“No record of that model,” Cameron answers, in that monotone that always sounds like she's numb from wonder. Every day, John reminds himself, that's not how she learns. It's just data. “The term Cylon is unfamiliar to me.”
As near as John can tell, not all of the blood belongs to the woman with the tattoo. It looks like she's been knocked out, but not seriously injured. Gently, he begins to move her from the chair and pick her up.
“Cylon,” he hears the one outside saying; breathless like information can save her from the muzzle of Derek's pistol. He's probably been stepping toward her one answer at a time. “Cybernetic life. We were made by humans, to make, to make life easier in the Twelve Colonies. We were... We were slaves. Did that happen here? Did it? Is this Earth?”
“This is Earth,” John says, stepping out of ship. The unconscious dead weight of a whole person, and the uneven, jagged edges of the ripped entrance make him stumble.
Caprica catches him without thinking. His uncle nearly shoots them both.
“You're strong,” John mutters.
“I'm not human,” she says. It's abrupt, and gentle, and reminds him uncomfortably of Cameron.
Cameron says, “You're Cylon. Cybernetic life. Are you her slave?”
The smile on Caprica's face is small, and sad. John has seen that smile on Derek, once or twice. It makes him think of a day at the beach and the end of everything all at the same time.
“No,” Caprica says. “I'm not her slave. Is she all right?”
“I think so. Just unconscious.”
The Cylon nods. John lays her friend on the ground and Caprica squats next to her. “Kara,” she says. “Kara? Starbuck, wake up. We made it. The music – you were right.”
Kara moans, her eyes flutter. “Joke,” she murmurs. “Life's just a joke.”
“I like her.”
That was Derek.
“We need to get out of here.”
That was Ellison.
They argue. About what to tell ZeiraCorp, about where to take these women, about whether the hell one of them even is a woman. His mother tries to referee. John pushes his fingers against his eyelids and tries to wipe them clean.
Caprica has a hand against Kara's cheek. She's whispering.
“Are you praying?” John asks.
“Yes.”
“Let me look at your hand. You cut it earlier, on the...the ship.”
Caprica nods, and holds out her palm. It's deep and ugly. “No metal,” John says. “You said you were cybernetic. Artificial life.”
“I never said I was artificial,” she snaps, offended. She pulls her hand away.
“I'm sorry. But Cameron – that's Cameron, the one who looks like she's about my age? - she's flesh over metal. You're, I mean, how much of you is biological? Are you a clone?”
“I'm a Cylon,” she says. Like that settles the matter. She'd been so uncertain when they found her. John isn't sure it's confidence, exactly, that's powering her now. Perhaps it's more like adrenaline and a conviction that life-threatening situations are no reason to forget the hell about etiquette.
John shuts up. His mom and Ellison and Derek are finalising plans to call in the crash to ZeiraCorp after stripping it of anything useful. Perhaps blowing the fuel tank to make it look like it exploded on impact. Still, there's no consensus about what to do with the people.
“They should stay with us,” Cameron announces. “We can bond.”
“Bond,” his mom echoes.
“Yes,” Cameron says. “Bond. When individuals become closer through shared experience. We have a lot in common. We're both slaves.”
“You're not a slave, Cameron,” John says.
“What am I?”
“You're... You help, okay. You help us.”
Caprica stands up. She looks absolutely terrified. “They're slaves? You made Cylons and you're using them as slaves?”
“No!” John says. “Well yes, but...not us. Not yet. We're trying to stop it.”
A tear slides down Caprica's cheek. “I really thought it would be different this time. But all of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again. They're going to turn against you. They'll kill you all.”
Derek grins. It's absolutely enormous. “Lady,” he says. “Tell us something we don't know.”
* * *
It's a five hour drive home. John gives up his room and sleeps on the couch. He wakes up, that not-really-awake-at-all waking up that happens when you're so deep asleep you're not even dreaming. He hears Cameron pacing. He hears someone open the refrigerator. He thinks he hears the new one, the robot who couldn't possibly be a robot. The one with no metal.
Maybe she doesn't sleep either.
He falls back to unconsciousness.
He dreams he hears them talking. About the children of humanity. About children. The blonde one, she's talking about her baby. He died. Or maybe, maybe she killed him. He dreams of slender fingers and a snapped neck. About the impossible idea of robot babies. Like that sneaking fear he has sometimes, that they're tool-builders, and the tools they build are as much their evolution as a billion years of one-off mutations. An idea so wrong, and impossible, it can't really exist in daylight.
He dreams of Caprica and her dead son and the son she killed.
Cameron says, “I kill birds. They're so fragile.”
Just a dream. He's fixed her. And only humans are allowed to be made of flesh.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-03-13 01:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-13 10:03 am (UTC)And dude, like, my biggest hope for this season is that Ellison finally get to hang out with the Connors for more than half an episode. ::loves on Ellison::
no subject
Date: 2009-03-13 01:11 am (UTC)And do you have ANY IDEA how much I now want to see Ellison and Caprica have a conversation about God????
no subject
Date: 2009-03-13 10:06 am (UTC)And do you have ANY IDEA how much I now want to see Ellison and Caprica have a conversation about God????
PROBABLY ABOUT AS MUCH AS I DO.
I really wanted to fit it in here. It was totally my "justification" for wanting Ellison on Team Connor (you know, aside from the fact he NEEDS TO BE THERE ALREADY). But it wasn't working. So I had to drop the idea and just hope that the mention of religion would at least, I dunno, click for some people as something that both series have going on.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-13 03:06 am (UTC)Derek grins. It's absolutely enormous. “Lady,” he says. “Tell us something we don't know.”
Squeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!
no subject
Date: 2009-03-13 10:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-13 04:05 pm (UTC)“I like her.”
Ahaha. Yes, I think they would get along. And I would love to see what Cameron and Caprica would make of each other.
Perhaps it's more like adrenaline and a conviction that life-threatening situations are no reason to forget the hell about etiquette.
<3
“Yes,” Cameron says. “Bond. When individuals become closer through shared experience. We have a lot in common. We're both slaves.”
That is so Cameron.
I love it!
no subject
Date: 2009-03-13 08:51 pm (UTC)Kara and Derek would totally get along. In a bitter, I'm not going to say anything, let's get drunk and make oblique comments about the horrors we've seen kind of way. I bet it would be Derek's MOST HEALTHY relationship! HEE.
And I'm glad you think I got Cameron's characterisation down. She's...tough to nail, but a lot of fun to write.
Thanks for taking the time to leave feedback.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-20 11:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-03 06:36 pm (UTC)