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Fic! Secondary Character Ficathon (SO VERY LATE, BAD ME)
Assignment
For: sentraaquila
Character: Hotdog
Up to two things you want to see in the fic: a moment of peace, Hotdog's backstory
Up to two things you don't want to see in the fic: fluff, pining for Starbuck
Disclaimer: not mine. Rating: eh, 13.
Setting: S2, post-Ressurrection Ship. Mild spoilers.
Thanks for beta-ing go to the fabulous![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sebaceanbabe and lovely grav_ity
Note: This took longer than planned, as I had to fight off certain urges. Especially as people kept saying "Hot Dog is the Sam Guthrie of Galactica". *mutters*
Summary: A day in the life of a pilot who isn't a mama's boy, despite missing her. And his siblings.
January
by ALC Punk!
Everyone goes to the hall, sooner or later. Some of the pilots think of it as a hall of mourning, a monument built for the people who have died. For Brendan Constanza, it's like touching the past.
Seeing the pictures and images, the pieces of lives stored gave him a sense of family.
When he was young, his mother ran the family--she had to, with his father always off at work at the factory. She was barely tall enough to fly a viper, and she ran them all with an iron hand. Five children, all loud and obnoxious, didn't phase Anna Constanza. She simply took it all in stride, keeping them afloat, baking cookies, bandaging cuts, mediating arguments... Every kid in the neighborhood knew who to go to when there were scraped knees.
His father died in an accident, leaving him in charge. He'd been thirteen and the burden had seemed oddly fitting.
When other kids had been out, running around, he'd been holding down a part-time job. Once his sister was old enough, she joined him, working as a waitress. Paige--Paige had been so bright and cheerful she'd made enough in tips to send him to the academy.
Washing out had just been a fluke--he'd been told he was trying to make up for lost time as an irresponsible teen. He'd been a stupid brat, high on the freedom and when it was too late, he went back to working on transports until he'd started learning to fly.
And it was everything he'd ever dreamed of.
Some days, he wished he'd taken his leave two days early. He would have been home, chattering with his family.
-=-
He liked to think his mother, his sisters, would be proud. Because that would mean him surviving meant something.
When he came back from his first CAP, and the CAG nodded at him, Brendan felt like a pilot. He'd been out there before--hell, they'd all been out there before--but this was his first flight without his instructor along, or watching from the deck. And he felt he'd earned the wings Apollo had given him.
-=-
Brendan's sister used to tease him about being a daredevil. She'd mock him for hours on a variety of subjects. From girls to his dislike of ambrosia, to the way he combed his hair. Claiming it was something she was supposed to do, because all sisters were supposed to be obnoxious.
Paige was just dedicated to the art of being a brat.
Their mother told him one night that it wasn't because she hated him. It was because she wanted him to be the best, so she could follow in his footsteps.
He didn't believe that then, and he certainly didn't believe it now.
Still, he wished he'd had a chance to know his sister as more than the obnoxious brat with the fly-away hair and the utter certainty that she was a God, and he was a peon.
-=-
Sometimes, he prayed when he was in the hall. Prayed for the people who were lost, who would never know about the unending war against the cylons, the attrition that whittled them down and wore them to shreds. Often, he prayed for himself and the rest of the pilots.
Dear Lords of Kobol, hear my prayer...
Other times, he prayed for those who were left. His friends, the people he ate, slept, flew, showered, frakked and lived with.
-=-
The first time he thought about what his mother would say to Commander Adama, he found himself almost giggling. The old man would not have appreciated Anna Constanza upbraiding him for getting her son almost killed.
-=-
When the Pegasus arrived, he thought everything would change.
-=-
His mother would have sent Admiral Cain to sit in a corner, and probably to bed without supper.
-=-
He found one of the new recruits in the hall, one day. One of the kids from Pegasus. She was walking up and down, occasionally stopping to look closer, to touch a picture, finger a candle, trace a name.
Brendan wasn't trying to spy on her. He was just curious. So when she turned suddenly and pinned him with her gaze, he found himself without a thing to say, and then blurted, "Does Pegasus have one?"
"No."
Trying not to offend her, Brendan awkwardly ran a hand through his hair. "Why not?"
"Admiral Cain," the pilot stiffened a little more, "Believed that any remembrance of those who had died would merely hinder us in our mission."
"What mission?"
"To destroy the Cylons, sir." There was something that might have been hero-worship in the young woman's eyes. "Admiral Cain was leading us to victory."
"Uh, yeah." He waved a hand at the pictures and artifacts, "But you still came here."
"I was merely curious."
She reminded him of his sister, suddenly Paige, caught reading one of his flight manuals. All innocent and wistful with the need to understand. Brendan reached out and touched her shoulder. "Who did you leave behind?"
When she didn't hit him for touching her, he took it as a good sign.
But she simply stared at him for a moment, then backed away. "Sir." She nodded and turned, slipping back down the hall and out into the hallway that would eventually lead her to her quarters.
Brendan dropped his arm and shoved his hands in his pockets before following her.
His only picture of his family was taped inside his locker. He wasn't quite ready to turn them into a monument yet.
-f-
Assignment
For: poisontaster
Character: Gaeta and/or Dualla
Up to two things you want to see in the fic: Gaeta getting some (smutty is good). Insomnia.
Up to two things you don't want to see in the fic: No slash. No character bashing/hate.
Disclaimer: not mine. Rating: 13+, language, adult themes
Set: er, middish season two? Possibly vague spoilers through, er, Flight of the Phoenix, I guess.
Pairing (since one must always warn): Racetrack/Gaeta
Notes: I couldn't quite manage the smut. sorry.
MUCH thanks go to my lovely betas:ebneter, audioboy, katcorvi, and my Sparky pusher, musicforcylons.
Summary: Some days, it's not worth chewing through the restraints. Mostly.
To All Intents And Purposes
by ALC Punk!
When he was fifteen, Felix blew himself up.
His parents were irritated, although his mother was at least slightly amused that he was so impetuous as to mix up the chemical reactions for the small student-made vid he was special effects coordinator for. Felix blamed it on his nervousness, never letting on that it was his fellow techie geek that had distracted him.
That was okay, though.
Manda called him Sparky, asked him out, and then kissed him on their second date.
Now, of course, Manda is dead, as is his entire class, the vault containing the very bad student film, and everyone who had ever called him Sparky.
Sitting in the cafeteria, noodles in front of him, Felix kind of wishes he weren't still around. At least then he wouldn't be stuck with Galactica's food, long hours, double shifts, and an XO who drinks until he has the energy to attempt an incompetent command.
Not that Gaeta would ever voice this sort of thing. For the career fleet officer, it's simply not done.
But he can think it as he stirs the noodles.
"Hey." The word is accompanied by a sigh and Dualla dropping onto the bench across from him, her own tray of noodles and bad coffee landing on the table.
"The coffee's sludge."
"I know." A frown of distaste fills her lips, then disappears when she looks at his half-eaten noodles. "Do I even want to bother?"
"Do you need the protein?" He offers, since that's really the only reason to eat Galactica rations.
"Yeah."
"There you go, then."
Dee makes another face, but takes a bite of her noodles. The face continues, "Gods. You weren't lying."
"I never lie."
"Really."
Felix can feel the blush that wants to come out, but ignores it. He's Gaeta, he's calm and collected, and ain't no one going to see him blush. Least of all Petty Officer Dualla. Besides, she doesn't know how often or when he's lied. But he knows when she has. "How's Billy?"
As a distraction, it works. A smile appears on her lips, one that's careful. "He's nice. I think. Good. It's... difficult."
"With his boss on the run and all."
She shrugs, takes another bite of noodles, turns the conversation back on him, "And how's your sex life?"
"That's 'how's your sex life, sir?'" he corrects.
"Whatever." Rolling her eyes, she grabs the mug of coffee and takes a long drink. "So?" she asks when he hasn't answered.
It's not that Felix doesn't have a sex life. He just doesn't think it's her concern. "I'm afraid that's none of your business, Dualla."
"Oh?" Her eyebrows lift. "Does this mean Racetrack is no longer warming your rack?"
Damn. Either way he answers, he knows the rumor mill will churn out something wildly wrong. He should have known better than to let Dualla sit down opposite him. The girl is sweet and kind, and the best gossip the fleet has. Even Ellen Tigh would give her an award, if that drunken floozy ever got sober. Of course, Ellen Tigh sober might confirm the suspicion that she's a Cylon.
"Sir?" Gentle prodding from the innocent look across the table.
"I'm afraid my relationship with Margaret is not open for discussion, Dualla." Damn. Why'd he have to go and call her Margaret?
A smirk touches Dee's lips, and she gets up, her coffee in one hand. "That's good to know, sir."
Damn. Felix refrains from dropping his head to the table in mortification and irritation at himself. Well. There was nothing he could do.
-=-
He's predictable. If there's one thing you can do, you can set your watch to Felix Gaeta's nightly perambulations around the decks of Galactica. It's not that he doesn't want to sleep, it's that he can't. If he were a more philosophically-inclined man (or Dr. Baltar), he might consider it a guilty conscience.
Instead, he lays it at the door of too much work, and too little downtime, and inevitably finds himself near the pilots' quarters just as Racetrack is returning from her CAP.
"Hey." She nods the others on and stops to talk to him.
If Felix were the nervous type, he'd have his hands in his pockets. But he's suave and confident, and he blew himself up at a very early age. "Everything good?"
"Yeah." Margaret glances at the door to the quarters she shares with twelve other pilots and then licks her lips, "Look, I need to go back and make sure I checked all of the boxes on the maintenance checklist."
"I'll come with you." Of course he would.
And of course it's an excuse she's making up. But he knew she'd do it, just as he knows he'll make a little giggly noise when she nibbles the side of his neck after the sex is over.
Just as he also knew that he might blow himself up at the age of fifteen. But he'll never tell anyone.
-f-
For: sentraaquila
Character: Hotdog
Up to two things you want to see in the fic: a moment of peace, Hotdog's backstory
Up to two things you don't want to see in the fic: fluff, pining for Starbuck
Disclaimer: not mine. Rating: eh, 13.
Setting: S2, post-Ressurrection Ship. Mild spoilers.
Thanks for beta-ing go to the fabulous
sebaceanbabe and lovely grav_ityNote: This took longer than planned, as I had to fight off certain urges. Especially as people kept saying "Hot Dog is the Sam Guthrie of Galactica". *mutters*
Summary: A day in the life of a pilot who isn't a mama's boy, despite missing her. And his siblings.
January
by ALC Punk!
Everyone goes to the hall, sooner or later. Some of the pilots think of it as a hall of mourning, a monument built for the people who have died. For Brendan Constanza, it's like touching the past.
Seeing the pictures and images, the pieces of lives stored gave him a sense of family.
When he was young, his mother ran the family--she had to, with his father always off at work at the factory. She was barely tall enough to fly a viper, and she ran them all with an iron hand. Five children, all loud and obnoxious, didn't phase Anna Constanza. She simply took it all in stride, keeping them afloat, baking cookies, bandaging cuts, mediating arguments... Every kid in the neighborhood knew who to go to when there were scraped knees.
His father died in an accident, leaving him in charge. He'd been thirteen and the burden had seemed oddly fitting.
When other kids had been out, running around, he'd been holding down a part-time job. Once his sister was old enough, she joined him, working as a waitress. Paige--Paige had been so bright and cheerful she'd made enough in tips to send him to the academy.
Washing out had just been a fluke--he'd been told he was trying to make up for lost time as an irresponsible teen. He'd been a stupid brat, high on the freedom and when it was too late, he went back to working on transports until he'd started learning to fly.
And it was everything he'd ever dreamed of.
Some days, he wished he'd taken his leave two days early. He would have been home, chattering with his family.
-=-
He liked to think his mother, his sisters, would be proud. Because that would mean him surviving meant something.
When he came back from his first CAP, and the CAG nodded at him, Brendan felt like a pilot. He'd been out there before--hell, they'd all been out there before--but this was his first flight without his instructor along, or watching from the deck. And he felt he'd earned the wings Apollo had given him.
-=-
Brendan's sister used to tease him about being a daredevil. She'd mock him for hours on a variety of subjects. From girls to his dislike of ambrosia, to the way he combed his hair. Claiming it was something she was supposed to do, because all sisters were supposed to be obnoxious.
Paige was just dedicated to the art of being a brat.
Their mother told him one night that it wasn't because she hated him. It was because she wanted him to be the best, so she could follow in his footsteps.
He didn't believe that then, and he certainly didn't believe it now.
Still, he wished he'd had a chance to know his sister as more than the obnoxious brat with the fly-away hair and the utter certainty that she was a God, and he was a peon.
-=-
Sometimes, he prayed when he was in the hall. Prayed for the people who were lost, who would never know about the unending war against the cylons, the attrition that whittled them down and wore them to shreds. Often, he prayed for himself and the rest of the pilots.
Dear Lords of Kobol, hear my prayer...
Other times, he prayed for those who were left. His friends, the people he ate, slept, flew, showered, frakked and lived with.
-=-
The first time he thought about what his mother would say to Commander Adama, he found himself almost giggling. The old man would not have appreciated Anna Constanza upbraiding him for getting her son almost killed.
-=-
When the Pegasus arrived, he thought everything would change.
-=-
His mother would have sent Admiral Cain to sit in a corner, and probably to bed without supper.
-=-
He found one of the new recruits in the hall, one day. One of the kids from Pegasus. She was walking up and down, occasionally stopping to look closer, to touch a picture, finger a candle, trace a name.
Brendan wasn't trying to spy on her. He was just curious. So when she turned suddenly and pinned him with her gaze, he found himself without a thing to say, and then blurted, "Does Pegasus have one?"
"No."
Trying not to offend her, Brendan awkwardly ran a hand through his hair. "Why not?"
"Admiral Cain," the pilot stiffened a little more, "Believed that any remembrance of those who had died would merely hinder us in our mission."
"What mission?"
"To destroy the Cylons, sir." There was something that might have been hero-worship in the young woman's eyes. "Admiral Cain was leading us to victory."
"Uh, yeah." He waved a hand at the pictures and artifacts, "But you still came here."
"I was merely curious."
She reminded him of his sister, suddenly Paige, caught reading one of his flight manuals. All innocent and wistful with the need to understand. Brendan reached out and touched her shoulder. "Who did you leave behind?"
When she didn't hit him for touching her, he took it as a good sign.
But she simply stared at him for a moment, then backed away. "Sir." She nodded and turned, slipping back down the hall and out into the hallway that would eventually lead her to her quarters.
Brendan dropped his arm and shoved his hands in his pockets before following her.
His only picture of his family was taped inside his locker. He wasn't quite ready to turn them into a monument yet.
-f-
Assignment
For: poisontaster
Character: Gaeta and/or Dualla
Up to two things you want to see in the fic: Gaeta getting some (smutty is good). Insomnia.
Up to two things you don't want to see in the fic: No slash. No character bashing/hate.
Disclaimer: not mine. Rating: 13+, language, adult themes
Set: er, middish season two? Possibly vague spoilers through, er, Flight of the Phoenix, I guess.
Pairing (since one must always warn): Racetrack/Gaeta
Notes: I couldn't quite manage the smut. sorry.
MUCH thanks go to my lovely betas:
ebneter, audioboy, katcorvi, and my Sparky pusher, musicforcylons.Summary: Some days, it's not worth chewing through the restraints. Mostly.
To All Intents And Purposes
by ALC Punk!
When he was fifteen, Felix blew himself up.
His parents were irritated, although his mother was at least slightly amused that he was so impetuous as to mix up the chemical reactions for the small student-made vid he was special effects coordinator for. Felix blamed it on his nervousness, never letting on that it was his fellow techie geek that had distracted him.
That was okay, though.
Manda called him Sparky, asked him out, and then kissed him on their second date.
Now, of course, Manda is dead, as is his entire class, the vault containing the very bad student film, and everyone who had ever called him Sparky.
Sitting in the cafeteria, noodles in front of him, Felix kind of wishes he weren't still around. At least then he wouldn't be stuck with Galactica's food, long hours, double shifts, and an XO who drinks until he has the energy to attempt an incompetent command.
Not that Gaeta would ever voice this sort of thing. For the career fleet officer, it's simply not done.
But he can think it as he stirs the noodles.
"Hey." The word is accompanied by a sigh and Dualla dropping onto the bench across from him, her own tray of noodles and bad coffee landing on the table.
"The coffee's sludge."
"I know." A frown of distaste fills her lips, then disappears when she looks at his half-eaten noodles. "Do I even want to bother?"
"Do you need the protein?" He offers, since that's really the only reason to eat Galactica rations.
"Yeah."
"There you go, then."
Dee makes another face, but takes a bite of her noodles. The face continues, "Gods. You weren't lying."
"I never lie."
"Really."
Felix can feel the blush that wants to come out, but ignores it. He's Gaeta, he's calm and collected, and ain't no one going to see him blush. Least of all Petty Officer Dualla. Besides, she doesn't know how often or when he's lied. But he knows when she has. "How's Billy?"
As a distraction, it works. A smile appears on her lips, one that's careful. "He's nice. I think. Good. It's... difficult."
"With his boss on the run and all."
She shrugs, takes another bite of noodles, turns the conversation back on him, "And how's your sex life?"
"That's 'how's your sex life, sir?'" he corrects.
"Whatever." Rolling her eyes, she grabs the mug of coffee and takes a long drink. "So?" she asks when he hasn't answered.
It's not that Felix doesn't have a sex life. He just doesn't think it's her concern. "I'm afraid that's none of your business, Dualla."
"Oh?" Her eyebrows lift. "Does this mean Racetrack is no longer warming your rack?"
Damn. Either way he answers, he knows the rumor mill will churn out something wildly wrong. He should have known better than to let Dualla sit down opposite him. The girl is sweet and kind, and the best gossip the fleet has. Even Ellen Tigh would give her an award, if that drunken floozy ever got sober. Of course, Ellen Tigh sober might confirm the suspicion that she's a Cylon.
"Sir?" Gentle prodding from the innocent look across the table.
"I'm afraid my relationship with Margaret is not open for discussion, Dualla." Damn. Why'd he have to go and call her Margaret?
A smirk touches Dee's lips, and she gets up, her coffee in one hand. "That's good to know, sir."
Damn. Felix refrains from dropping his head to the table in mortification and irritation at himself. Well. There was nothing he could do.
-=-
He's predictable. If there's one thing you can do, you can set your watch to Felix Gaeta's nightly perambulations around the decks of Galactica. It's not that he doesn't want to sleep, it's that he can't. If he were a more philosophically-inclined man (or Dr. Baltar), he might consider it a guilty conscience.
Instead, he lays it at the door of too much work, and too little downtime, and inevitably finds himself near the pilots' quarters just as Racetrack is returning from her CAP.
"Hey." She nods the others on and stops to talk to him.
If Felix were the nervous type, he'd have his hands in his pockets. But he's suave and confident, and he blew himself up at a very early age. "Everything good?"
"Yeah." Margaret glances at the door to the quarters she shares with twelve other pilots and then licks her lips, "Look, I need to go back and make sure I checked all of the boxes on the maintenance checklist."
"I'll come with you." Of course he would.
And of course it's an excuse she's making up. But he knew she'd do it, just as he knows he'll make a little giggly noise when she nibbles the side of his neck after the sex is over.
Just as he also knew that he might blow himself up at the age of fifteen. But he'll never tell anyone.
-f-
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*HUGS*
(And ha! I read the Felix one before! *loves*)
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Best personal title, ever. *adds to lj interests*
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Of course you read the Felix before as I asked for betas. *silly*
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