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random crossover: Meggan goes to BSG
disclaimer: not mine
fandoms: Marvel's Excalibur/Captain Britain and MI-13/Battlestar Galactica
character: Meggan
rating: G?
genre: au, random, gen
set: er, late season three BSG, mid-run of CB&MI13
notes: my thoughts went something like "it occurs to me that if you appear on a ship not the big G or Colonial One, no one will notice you. And even then..."
Finding Your Way Back...
by ALC Punk!
Meggan opened her eyes and blinked. She was in some sort of cargo hold, by the sounds and the feel of it. Pushing her awareness outwards, she tasted the air. Stale. Recycled. Was she on a submarine? In space? Either were possible, and the 'feel' of things reminded her of traveling across the dimensions in a train that had faulty atmosphere scrubbers, sometimes.
So, space. Probably.
"I was trying for something else," she mumbled to herself as she stood up and stretched.
Finding herself on a spaceship wasn't the disaster it could have been, and Meggan found herself blending in easily with the refugees she found herself amongst. It was partially her own abilities and partially their lack of interest in anyone outside of their own little worlds.
It was sort of depressing to walk the decks and feel the emotions. There was so little hope left, now, and Meggan heard enough of the rumors to form a picture of what had happened. A massacre, something so devestating that people felt hollow when they talked of it. An enemy, something implacable and evil and robotic--so foreign to the warm humanity that she warmed herself amongst as they shared food or drink (tasteless mush and stale water). Flight. They were searching for a place they didn't believe they would find.
Hard to have hope... The Cylons won't stop... never stop... Baby's sick again... Dwindling supplies... Words filled her waking hours and emotions and memories she couldn't claim filled her dreams, leaving her spent come morning, and wondering if the nightmare would end.
Sometimes, Meggan could tell when members of the Colonial Fleet uppity bastards get the best of everything flew by the Persus on their routine patrols. If she made her way closer to the hull, pressed her hands to the bulkheads, she could feel the rest of the ships, the rest of the people. Their despair could swamp her, though, drag her down someplace so ugly she would never return.
There were bright spots. Smiles from children, grateful murmurs when she watched them or sang, her voice echoiing with a strange cadence that none of them would question. Being left alone to be herself. That was something she could treasure, curled into the tiny alcove she'd carved amongst so many that the smell sometimes choked her.
No one questioned who she was, the atmosphere of paranoia having long since mellowed to something less painful. New Caprica, or so she heard, had changed things. They knew what the Cylons bastard, evil creatures looked like now. There was no need to wonder if your neighbor was one. Meggan wondered if that were true, but there weren't any Cylons to question, nothing but humanity to drown herself in.
It became easy to lose track of the days, to let them blend into one long, dull grey existence peppered by dreams that she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy. Those always brought her back to reality, and she had to count the days, the nights, decipher how long she'd been there. If only for her own sanity.
When the call came out for recruits from the military, she wondered if she should join. What could she tell them, that she'd lost her memory? Or were they more ad hoc than that now, forms in triplicate long since used up and word of mouth the only reliable source of a person's past? It was almost ludicrous to think of becoming a mechanic, of changing herself to be like Brian, with his brilliance and technical skill. But she had the knowledge, and she couldn't stand to live as just another faceless person any longer.
In the end, she stepped out of the shuttle onto the deck of Galactica, and wondered at the way it felt as though she were coming home. So many people bustling around, carrying things, fixing things, shouting and talking, joking in a way that was louder than the civillians she was used to. Perhaps they were boisterous to fill the space of the hangar deck with its high ceiling and distant walls. Perhaps it was a learned behavior, some way of keeping the madness of their lives at bay.
There was a buzz in the air, an excitement, a sense of purpose, of duty. Meggan reached out to shake the hand of Lt. Dualla, their introductory guide, and found that she might actually like it here. At least it would be a better distraction from the nightmares.
Once upon a time, she might have been upset at getting her hands dirty. But she'd lived through too much ridiculous hell to let grease under her nails bother her. Besides, there was a quiet joy in seeing a viper or raptor fixed and sent back out to hold the line. Meggan found it easier to keep hold of herself, here, where there were so many stronger personalities. As though they were a better mirror than the civilians who had no hope or life outside of their grey walls.
You're good at this, Cally would tell her, a big beaming smile on her face. Cally was married to the Chief of the deck, a big hulking many that reminded Meggan of Piotr Rasputin. Cally herself was a strangely naive combination of Kitty Pryde and Douglock, with Rahne's earthiness and fortitude underlying it all. Meggan found that she liked Cally.
She liked all of the deck gang and found herself shifting into being one of them, and in some ways, it was like Excalibur in the old days. With the light house and the W.H.O. crises every other week and Dai Thomas muttering at them all over his tea and cigars.
It was comfortable, and Meggan had always thrived in comfort.
But there were... eddies, currents that she couldn't quite follow (though sometimes, she watched the Chief and Sam Anders, Saul Tigh and Tory Foster, and she almost knew something, but didn't want to think it). There were loyalties that felt too intricate for something as simple as a war ship in space.
Athena caused tensions among almost everyone, except Cally, who wore her anger on her sleeve, but underneath almost seemed to admire Athena (or was it jealousy? Meggan didn't want to know for certain, that was an ugly emotion to brush against at the best of times). There was Seelix, unused to being a higher rank than the rest of them, half the time, Seelix seemed to think she was still wearing the hideous orange coveralls.
Drinking was a problem, so Meggan was careful with her intake, watching every drop until she could pretend to be drunker than she was. Excusing herself, dumping liquid under the table, spilling her glass--liquor would shatter her control, and she didn't need that.
But she'd watched Brian enough to know how to act, how to over-react to every movement as she giggled and stumbled away from Joe's or a small gathering of the deck crew, or the rec room, with the sound of pilots and officers getting rowdier as more and more lost articles of clothing during the strip Triad games.
Sitting cross-legged on her rack, she could think clearly about some things. The fleet was trying to find Earth. Meggan knew that somewhere in her past, she was from Earth. But knowing that and knowing the way were two separate things. Brian would have wanted to tell them, would have tried and possibly gotten himself airlocked as a Cylon or locked in the brig under suspicion, or for half a dozen other reasons. No one would have believed him.
And no one would believe her, either.
But Earth was out there, Meggan couldn't feel it, not like she could feel the pilots having sex (usually with their hands), or the stress in the CIC crew, or the lack of hope from the fleet as a whole. Yet a part of her wondered if she could find it. If she just had a direction, or a whiff of the scent.
Then one day, Kara Thrace came back from the dead.
-f-
fandoms: Marvel's Excalibur/Captain Britain and MI-13/Battlestar Galactica
character: Meggan
rating: G?
genre: au, random, gen
set: er, late season three BSG, mid-run of CB&MI13
notes: my thoughts went something like "it occurs to me that if you appear on a ship not the big G or Colonial One, no one will notice you. And even then..."
Finding Your Way Back...
by ALC Punk!
Meggan opened her eyes and blinked. She was in some sort of cargo hold, by the sounds and the feel of it. Pushing her awareness outwards, she tasted the air. Stale. Recycled. Was she on a submarine? In space? Either were possible, and the 'feel' of things reminded her of traveling across the dimensions in a train that had faulty atmosphere scrubbers, sometimes.
So, space. Probably.
"I was trying for something else," she mumbled to herself as she stood up and stretched.
Finding herself on a spaceship wasn't the disaster it could have been, and Meggan found herself blending in easily with the refugees she found herself amongst. It was partially her own abilities and partially their lack of interest in anyone outside of their own little worlds.
It was sort of depressing to walk the decks and feel the emotions. There was so little hope left, now, and Meggan heard enough of the rumors to form a picture of what had happened. A massacre, something so devestating that people felt hollow when they talked of it. An enemy, something implacable and evil and robotic--so foreign to the warm humanity that she warmed herself amongst as they shared food or drink (tasteless mush and stale water). Flight. They were searching for a place they didn't believe they would find.
Hard to have hope... The Cylons won't stop... never stop... Baby's sick again... Dwindling supplies... Words filled her waking hours and emotions and memories she couldn't claim filled her dreams, leaving her spent come morning, and wondering if the nightmare would end.
Sometimes, Meggan could tell when members of the Colonial Fleet uppity bastards get the best of everything flew by the Persus on their routine patrols. If she made her way closer to the hull, pressed her hands to the bulkheads, she could feel the rest of the ships, the rest of the people. Their despair could swamp her, though, drag her down someplace so ugly she would never return.
There were bright spots. Smiles from children, grateful murmurs when she watched them or sang, her voice echoiing with a strange cadence that none of them would question. Being left alone to be herself. That was something she could treasure, curled into the tiny alcove she'd carved amongst so many that the smell sometimes choked her.
No one questioned who she was, the atmosphere of paranoia having long since mellowed to something less painful. New Caprica, or so she heard, had changed things. They knew what the Cylons bastard, evil creatures looked like now. There was no need to wonder if your neighbor was one. Meggan wondered if that were true, but there weren't any Cylons to question, nothing but humanity to drown herself in.
It became easy to lose track of the days, to let them blend into one long, dull grey existence peppered by dreams that she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy. Those always brought her back to reality, and she had to count the days, the nights, decipher how long she'd been there. If only for her own sanity.
When the call came out for recruits from the military, she wondered if she should join. What could she tell them, that she'd lost her memory? Or were they more ad hoc than that now, forms in triplicate long since used up and word of mouth the only reliable source of a person's past? It was almost ludicrous to think of becoming a mechanic, of changing herself to be like Brian, with his brilliance and technical skill. But she had the knowledge, and she couldn't stand to live as just another faceless person any longer.
In the end, she stepped out of the shuttle onto the deck of Galactica, and wondered at the way it felt as though she were coming home. So many people bustling around, carrying things, fixing things, shouting and talking, joking in a way that was louder than the civillians she was used to. Perhaps they were boisterous to fill the space of the hangar deck with its high ceiling and distant walls. Perhaps it was a learned behavior, some way of keeping the madness of their lives at bay.
There was a buzz in the air, an excitement, a sense of purpose, of duty. Meggan reached out to shake the hand of Lt. Dualla, their introductory guide, and found that she might actually like it here. At least it would be a better distraction from the nightmares.
Once upon a time, she might have been upset at getting her hands dirty. But she'd lived through too much ridiculous hell to let grease under her nails bother her. Besides, there was a quiet joy in seeing a viper or raptor fixed and sent back out to hold the line. Meggan found it easier to keep hold of herself, here, where there were so many stronger personalities. As though they were a better mirror than the civilians who had no hope or life outside of their grey walls.
You're good at this, Cally would tell her, a big beaming smile on her face. Cally was married to the Chief of the deck, a big hulking many that reminded Meggan of Piotr Rasputin. Cally herself was a strangely naive combination of Kitty Pryde and Douglock, with Rahne's earthiness and fortitude underlying it all. Meggan found that she liked Cally.
She liked all of the deck gang and found herself shifting into being one of them, and in some ways, it was like Excalibur in the old days. With the light house and the W.H.O. crises every other week and Dai Thomas muttering at them all over his tea and cigars.
It was comfortable, and Meggan had always thrived in comfort.
But there were... eddies, currents that she couldn't quite follow (though sometimes, she watched the Chief and Sam Anders, Saul Tigh and Tory Foster, and she almost knew something, but didn't want to think it). There were loyalties that felt too intricate for something as simple as a war ship in space.
Athena caused tensions among almost everyone, except Cally, who wore her anger on her sleeve, but underneath almost seemed to admire Athena (or was it jealousy? Meggan didn't want to know for certain, that was an ugly emotion to brush against at the best of times). There was Seelix, unused to being a higher rank than the rest of them, half the time, Seelix seemed to think she was still wearing the hideous orange coveralls.
Drinking was a problem, so Meggan was careful with her intake, watching every drop until she could pretend to be drunker than she was. Excusing herself, dumping liquid under the table, spilling her glass--liquor would shatter her control, and she didn't need that.
But she'd watched Brian enough to know how to act, how to over-react to every movement as she giggled and stumbled away from Joe's or a small gathering of the deck crew, or the rec room, with the sound of pilots and officers getting rowdier as more and more lost articles of clothing during the strip Triad games.
Sitting cross-legged on her rack, she could think clearly about some things. The fleet was trying to find Earth. Meggan knew that somewhere in her past, she was from Earth. But knowing that and knowing the way were two separate things. Brian would have wanted to tell them, would have tried and possibly gotten himself airlocked as a Cylon or locked in the brig under suspicion, or for half a dozen other reasons. No one would have believed him.
And no one would believe her, either.
But Earth was out there, Meggan couldn't feel it, not like she could feel the pilots having sex (usually with their hands), or the stress in the CIC crew, or the lack of hope from the fleet as a whole. Yet a part of her wondered if she could find it. If she just had a direction, or a whiff of the scent.
Then one day, Kara Thrace came back from the dead.
-f-