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Entry tags:
bsg fic: No Easy Answers, PG, Ellen Tigh, Laura Roslin
disclaimer: not mine
rating: PG? Language, kissing
characters: Ellen Tigh, Laura Roslin, ref: Bill Adama, Saul Tigh; Ellen/Saul, Laura/Bill, Ellen/Laura (briefly)
set: during the Cylon Occupation on New Caprica.
length: 1300
notes: This was, I think, started for one of the BSG porn battles, the prompt was for Ellen/Laura, but they didn't want to have sex and I ended up with this. Which is mostly talking and vaguely biting comments and alcohol.
summary: Ellen Tigh brings Laura Roslin some alcohol on New Caprica. Drunkenness happens.
No Easy Answers
by ALC Punk!
"At the President's pleasure," Ellen said, following her mocking statement with a bark of laughter.
The President was sitting in a worn tent on a mud ball of a planet, and she looked less than thrilled to see Ellen. That was fine with Ellen, she wasn't thrilled to be there.
"Oh, I'm sorry," added Ellen, "It's ex-President, isn't it."
Laura Roslin's mouth tightened, but she didn't hurl insults, and her voice was mild when she replied, "What do you want, Mrs. Tigh?"
"Oh, call me Ellen." Plopping down in the other chair in the tent, Ellen gave the little place the once-over and smiled at Laura, "Since we're going to be such good friends. With you being in the resistance with my husband and all." Her gaiety was suddenly gone, her eyes angry.
"There is no resistance, Ellen." Roslin's voice was almost delicate, and her posture relaxed a little.
Obviously, she was used to telling this lie. Ellen snorted, "Don't give me that crap, Laura. My husband was in the Colonial Fleet longer than you were shacking up with the president of the colonies--a man with a very small penis, by the way."
"And you would know," Laura returned smoothly before standing. "Ellen, I'm so glad we had this chat, but I'm not sure what you want."
Not willing to be swept out that swiftly, Ellen pulled a bottle from her bag, "Oh, Laura, I thought we could share some giggles and fruity drinks and get to know each other. After all, you are going to be ordering my husband to do exceedingly dangerous things. I should get some sort of compensation."
Ellen set the bottle down with a thunk, her voice serious as she looked Laura in the eye, "But all I have is ambrosia, so you'll have to settle for promising me he won't die."
"Your husband isn't a schoolboy I can send to detention, Ellen," Laura pointed out, her calm unruffled.
"I suppose not." Dropping her head back, Ellen rotated her shoulders, then grabbed for the bottle, "Do you have any glasses around, or are they only to be used for pure things, in case your precious infant gets poisoned?"
Roslin eyed her for a moment, then seemed to accept she wouldn't leave until she'd had a drink, and moved to pull two glasses from a shelf. She set them on the table and dropped back into her chair, watching Ellen. "Do you get tired of being a drunk, Ellen?"
A giggle escaped Ellen and she poured out two generous splashes of green, grabbing for hers almost before she'd set the bottle straight again. "I never," she began, smirking at Roslin, "Kissed Bill Adama."
Narrowing her eyes, Roslin drank, then looked surprised when Ellen drank as well. "I never," the schoolteacher said, "kissed Saul Tigh."
It was a challenge, then, coming up with things Laura had done, but that Ellen had done as well. She wanted to get drunk as fast as possible, blot out the awful weather and her worry that Saul would be gone when she returned home. That the centurions would have gotten too curious over his secretive activities and had swept him up as a possible agitator or even worse, had killed him out-right.
By the time the bottle was empty, Ellen was slurring and Laura was tipping slightly. Only noticeable if one had been watching her sit ramrod straight all evening.
"I never kissed teacher." Ellen announced, giggling into her nearly-empty cup.
Laura snorted, then almost dissolved into giggles, restraining herself with a sharp cough. She stood and came around the table, pulling Ellen to her feet. "Come on. Time for bed--"
Kissing her was probably stupid, but Ellen did it anyway, curious to know what the woman who'd snagged Bill Adama was like. There was still power in Laura Roslin, still a fire that threatened to burn anyone that got too close. And Ellen had always liked playing with fire.
"Ellen."
"I'm just kissing teacher," Murmured Ellen, leaning in again.
Laura's hand on her shoulder tightened, shaking her a little and getting her to back off. "You're drunk, Ellen. Go home."
"I'm drunk? Laura, you can't even stand straight." Giggling, Ellen patted Laura's arm, "You're just saying that so I won't kiss you again." She leaned closer, "It scares you, doesn't it? Getting close to someone who might walk away from you again?"
The reminder of Bill Adama and his magical-disappearing-fleet made Laura's mouth purse a little. "Ellen."
Ignoring the warning tone, Ellen continued, "He didn't want you enough to leave his ship, Laura. You know that as well as I do--couldn't let his poor spaceship live alone while you toiled down here, waiting and waiting, all for Bill Adama's cock!"
Laura slapped her.
Hand on her cheek, Ellen smiled, "Nice to see you have some emotions after all." She wasn't sober, but the haze and slurring were gone, leaving her more aware of her surroundings.
"Get out, Ellen." Laura said, sounding suddenly exhausted. "Just get out."
"I was already on my way." Just like that, Ellen turned away, walking mostly straight and steady. There was no way to effectively slam a tent flap, but Ellen managed it.
Sitting back down again, Laura reached up and rubbed her temples. This occupation was going to be a long, exhausting struggle.
-=-
Two weeks later, Saul Tigh was taken as a suspected dissident.
Ellen Tigh waited for nightfall, then walked into Laura's tent. "I warned you."
"There's nothing we can do."
A bottle thudded onto the table, and Ellen laughed, the sound harsh. "That's a lie, but it's all right. You need me. I don't need you, but at least you're an interesting drinking companion."
Laura took the first shot in silence. It was worth it to keep Ellen from working against her and the still-nascent resistance. As Ellen poured the second, Laura leaned forward, "What are you planning to do?"
"The question," Ellen replied, "is what are your plans for getting my husband out."
Eyebrows raised, Laura took her cup and stared into it, thinking of the little white lies she'd heard Bill Adama tell over the last year. It was necessary...
"Let me guess," continued Ellen smoothly, though the glass slammed against Laura's makeshift table with a harsh sound, "You don't have a plan. In fact, you won't have a plan. It would upset the image that this little resistance doesn't exist."
One man wasn't worth the whole of the resistance. Just as one woman wasn't. Laura already had Sam Anders and his crusade to find his wife, she didn't need Ellen Tigh as well. "I can't give you what you want."
There was another silence, as though Ellen had no answer to Laura's practicality. The bottle wasn't ambrosia this time, and Laura felt her throat ache from the roughness of the rotgut. She drank regardless, enjoying the burn as though it were a self-immolation in some way.
If she hadn't given in to Bill Adama's plea to her humanity. If she hadn't started the resistance. If she hadn't taken a baby from its mother... she wondered which of her many sins was Ellen Tigh's to expiate.
Ellen laughed suddenly, the sound raucous. "Of course you can't, Laura." She burped inelegantly and waved her glass, sloshing alcohol over her hand and making a sound of sadness before she licked it clean.
"The logistics--"
"No penis, for one thing."
Crudity shouldn't have shocked her, but Laura felt as though she'd been wrapped in cotton wool over the last months, surrounded by Isis and the children. She breathed in through her mouth, suddenly wanting to match Ellen word for word, to rant and rage over the absurdity of their existence, to fall to her knees and pray to Gods who would allow occupations and torture.
"Have another," Ellen suggested, pouring out another round.
Laura drained her glass and coughed, feeling the burn down to her toes. She closed her eyes, wondering what Ellen might do to save her husband.
But she couldn't ask her. Not without offering an alternative that Laura didn't have.
"I never," Ellen said, raising her glass high and giving it a reckless wiggle, "Kissed a Cylon."
They both drank.
-f-
rating: PG? Language, kissing
characters: Ellen Tigh, Laura Roslin, ref: Bill Adama, Saul Tigh; Ellen/Saul, Laura/Bill, Ellen/Laura (briefly)
set: during the Cylon Occupation on New Caprica.
length: 1300
notes: This was, I think, started for one of the BSG porn battles, the prompt was for Ellen/Laura, but they didn't want to have sex and I ended up with this. Which is mostly talking and vaguely biting comments and alcohol.
summary: Ellen Tigh brings Laura Roslin some alcohol on New Caprica. Drunkenness happens.
No Easy Answers
by ALC Punk!
"At the President's pleasure," Ellen said, following her mocking statement with a bark of laughter.
The President was sitting in a worn tent on a mud ball of a planet, and she looked less than thrilled to see Ellen. That was fine with Ellen, she wasn't thrilled to be there.
"Oh, I'm sorry," added Ellen, "It's ex-President, isn't it."
Laura Roslin's mouth tightened, but she didn't hurl insults, and her voice was mild when she replied, "What do you want, Mrs. Tigh?"
"Oh, call me Ellen." Plopping down in the other chair in the tent, Ellen gave the little place the once-over and smiled at Laura, "Since we're going to be such good friends. With you being in the resistance with my husband and all." Her gaiety was suddenly gone, her eyes angry.
"There is no resistance, Ellen." Roslin's voice was almost delicate, and her posture relaxed a little.
Obviously, she was used to telling this lie. Ellen snorted, "Don't give me that crap, Laura. My husband was in the Colonial Fleet longer than you were shacking up with the president of the colonies--a man with a very small penis, by the way."
"And you would know," Laura returned smoothly before standing. "Ellen, I'm so glad we had this chat, but I'm not sure what you want."
Not willing to be swept out that swiftly, Ellen pulled a bottle from her bag, "Oh, Laura, I thought we could share some giggles and fruity drinks and get to know each other. After all, you are going to be ordering my husband to do exceedingly dangerous things. I should get some sort of compensation."
Ellen set the bottle down with a thunk, her voice serious as she looked Laura in the eye, "But all I have is ambrosia, so you'll have to settle for promising me he won't die."
"Your husband isn't a schoolboy I can send to detention, Ellen," Laura pointed out, her calm unruffled.
"I suppose not." Dropping her head back, Ellen rotated her shoulders, then grabbed for the bottle, "Do you have any glasses around, or are they only to be used for pure things, in case your precious infant gets poisoned?"
Roslin eyed her for a moment, then seemed to accept she wouldn't leave until she'd had a drink, and moved to pull two glasses from a shelf. She set them on the table and dropped back into her chair, watching Ellen. "Do you get tired of being a drunk, Ellen?"
A giggle escaped Ellen and she poured out two generous splashes of green, grabbing for hers almost before she'd set the bottle straight again. "I never," she began, smirking at Roslin, "Kissed Bill Adama."
Narrowing her eyes, Roslin drank, then looked surprised when Ellen drank as well. "I never," the schoolteacher said, "kissed Saul Tigh."
It was a challenge, then, coming up with things Laura had done, but that Ellen had done as well. She wanted to get drunk as fast as possible, blot out the awful weather and her worry that Saul would be gone when she returned home. That the centurions would have gotten too curious over his secretive activities and had swept him up as a possible agitator or even worse, had killed him out-right.
By the time the bottle was empty, Ellen was slurring and Laura was tipping slightly. Only noticeable if one had been watching her sit ramrod straight all evening.
"I never kissed teacher." Ellen announced, giggling into her nearly-empty cup.
Laura snorted, then almost dissolved into giggles, restraining herself with a sharp cough. She stood and came around the table, pulling Ellen to her feet. "Come on. Time for bed--"
Kissing her was probably stupid, but Ellen did it anyway, curious to know what the woman who'd snagged Bill Adama was like. There was still power in Laura Roslin, still a fire that threatened to burn anyone that got too close. And Ellen had always liked playing with fire.
"Ellen."
"I'm just kissing teacher," Murmured Ellen, leaning in again.
Laura's hand on her shoulder tightened, shaking her a little and getting her to back off. "You're drunk, Ellen. Go home."
"I'm drunk? Laura, you can't even stand straight." Giggling, Ellen patted Laura's arm, "You're just saying that so I won't kiss you again." She leaned closer, "It scares you, doesn't it? Getting close to someone who might walk away from you again?"
The reminder of Bill Adama and his magical-disappearing-fleet made Laura's mouth purse a little. "Ellen."
Ignoring the warning tone, Ellen continued, "He didn't want you enough to leave his ship, Laura. You know that as well as I do--couldn't let his poor spaceship live alone while you toiled down here, waiting and waiting, all for Bill Adama's cock!"
Laura slapped her.
Hand on her cheek, Ellen smiled, "Nice to see you have some emotions after all." She wasn't sober, but the haze and slurring were gone, leaving her more aware of her surroundings.
"Get out, Ellen." Laura said, sounding suddenly exhausted. "Just get out."
"I was already on my way." Just like that, Ellen turned away, walking mostly straight and steady. There was no way to effectively slam a tent flap, but Ellen managed it.
Sitting back down again, Laura reached up and rubbed her temples. This occupation was going to be a long, exhausting struggle.
-=-
Two weeks later, Saul Tigh was taken as a suspected dissident.
Ellen Tigh waited for nightfall, then walked into Laura's tent. "I warned you."
"There's nothing we can do."
A bottle thudded onto the table, and Ellen laughed, the sound harsh. "That's a lie, but it's all right. You need me. I don't need you, but at least you're an interesting drinking companion."
Laura took the first shot in silence. It was worth it to keep Ellen from working against her and the still-nascent resistance. As Ellen poured the second, Laura leaned forward, "What are you planning to do?"
"The question," Ellen replied, "is what are your plans for getting my husband out."
Eyebrows raised, Laura took her cup and stared into it, thinking of the little white lies she'd heard Bill Adama tell over the last year. It was necessary...
"Let me guess," continued Ellen smoothly, though the glass slammed against Laura's makeshift table with a harsh sound, "You don't have a plan. In fact, you won't have a plan. It would upset the image that this little resistance doesn't exist."
One man wasn't worth the whole of the resistance. Just as one woman wasn't. Laura already had Sam Anders and his crusade to find his wife, she didn't need Ellen Tigh as well. "I can't give you what you want."
There was another silence, as though Ellen had no answer to Laura's practicality. The bottle wasn't ambrosia this time, and Laura felt her throat ache from the roughness of the rotgut. She drank regardless, enjoying the burn as though it were a self-immolation in some way.
If she hadn't given in to Bill Adama's plea to her humanity. If she hadn't started the resistance. If she hadn't taken a baby from its mother... she wondered which of her many sins was Ellen Tigh's to expiate.
Ellen laughed suddenly, the sound raucous. "Of course you can't, Laura." She burped inelegantly and waved her glass, sloshing alcohol over her hand and making a sound of sadness before she licked it clean.
"The logistics--"
"No penis, for one thing."
Crudity shouldn't have shocked her, but Laura felt as though she'd been wrapped in cotton wool over the last months, surrounded by Isis and the children. She breathed in through her mouth, suddenly wanting to match Ellen word for word, to rant and rage over the absurdity of their existence, to fall to her knees and pray to Gods who would allow occupations and torture.
"Have another," Ellen suggested, pouring out another round.
Laura drained her glass and coughed, feeling the burn down to her toes. She closed her eyes, wondering what Ellen might do to save her husband.
But she couldn't ask her. Not without offering an alternative that Laura didn't have.
"I never," Ellen said, raising her glass high and giving it a reckless wiggle, "Kissed a Cylon."
They both drank.
-f-