Title: Vampire Routine
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica 2003
Pairing: Saul Tigh/ Bill Adama
Rating: R-ish
Summary: “Bill’s a rare one, and he hangs out with
Saul, which makes him rarer still.”
Author’s Notes: For Leea - until
the men in white take her away. Title from “Alpha Rat’s Nest” by the Mountain
Goats.
*
Bill spends over an hour in the Commander’s office and the
rumour’s fly: Bill’s a cowboy and he’s getting transferred, Bill’s a saint and
he’s getting promoted, the Commander’s gay and he likes watching Bill’s ass
when he bends over. The last one is just as possible as the others. No one
knows what the Commander gets up to in his down-time.
Bill lost his wing-man on the last mission. It was a routine
inspection of a mining operation on one of the Gemini moons. Terrorists
activity had stepped up in the area and the mine was designated a potential
target. The wing balance on Bill’s Vyper was acting up so he took it for a
free-fall spin, gave the guys in the watchtower something to gawk at.
It was impressive flying but you don’t desert your wing-man;
first rule of combat. The CAG exploded, of course, but a transfer would be
unceremonious, unlikely to require the intervention of the Commander, which
leaves options two and three.
Saul waits in the bar, nursing whisky neat. There’s a
drinking game in the corner but everyone knows Saul can drink the entire squad
under the table so no one asks him to join. He keeps to himself mostly. He’s
not sociable. He doesn’t do esprit de corps the way the career officers do. And
he’s not like Bill either who manages to frak authority and win respect at the
same time. Bill’s a rare one. And he hangs out with Saul which makes him rarer
still.
Saul’s on his third when Bill appears. The drinking game
stops and the bar goes quiet as everyone turns to Bill expectantly. Bill hovers
in the doorway, looking uncomfortable.
Pepper is the first to speak. She’s nearest the door,
nearest Bill. She raises her eyebrows. “Well?”
“Looks like I’ll be conducting your flight reviews next
week.”
There’s a general chorus of groans and complaints and one or
two well-intentioned insults. Someone throws a napkin at Bill and he dodges it
effortlessly, like he’s half-man, half-vyper.
“Wait a minute,” Pepper says. “They wouldn’t make a Lieutenant
conduct flight reviews…?”
Bill scratches his nose, looks at the floor. “And I – ah -
got promoted.” He holds out his hand, opens his fist to reveal Captain’s pips.
The room erupts with applause. There’s backslapping and handshakes and one or
two enthusiastic hugs.
When it all dies down, Bill joins Saul at the bar.
“You should have blasted the frakker out of the sky,” Saul
says. “You might have made CAG.”
“Tyler’s a good wing-man,” Bill says. He orders a beer.“Hard
to replace.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts.” Saul motions for the bartender to
refill his glass. “Everyone hates reviews. You’ll be unpopular for a week or
two – depending on how many pass.”
“Can’t be everyone’s best friend all the time.” Bill looks
at this beer thoughtfully. “What about you?” he says. “Are you ready for this?”
What Bill really wants to know, is if Saul’s ready for Bill
to be responsible for his future. “Sure,” Saul says. He trusts Bill. Saul’s not
sure he trust himself. “Piece of frakking cake.”
*
Saul reads his flight review. There’s a hastily scrawled
“satisfactory” next to every criteria. In some cases it’s warranted and he
shouldn’t complain because it’s a passing mark, and without a passing mark or
he’s spending his down-time in re-training back at the Academy and he’d die
rather than go back to Caprica. Still, he’s not an even keel kind of guy. There
are some aspects of his job he performs in a less than satisfactory manner.
There are aspects of the job in which he is absolutely frakking amazing.
He shows it to Bill. “What the frak is this?”
Bill is fresh out of the showers. Wearing pants only, towel
over his shoulders. He glances at Saul’s review. “Congratulation,” he says.
“You passed.”
“I frakked the emergency docking procedure,” Saul says. “I
nearly took out your wing.”
“You’ve made emergency landings before,” Bill says. He hangs
his towel across the end of the bunk, sorts through his laundry for an
undershirt and socks. “I’m not failing you on a procedure you can do with your
eyes closed.”
“I missed my long range target.”
Bill snorts. “You did that on purpose,” he says. “You were
testing me.”
“With good reason,” Saul says. “You can’t play favourites,
Bill. People notice.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Bill says. He dresses
in his uniform. No flights today but there’ll be review fallout to deal with.
Eleven pilots failed. Someone will be explaining that figure to the Commander.
“Being sent back to flight school doesn’t bother you but people figuring out
our relationship does.”
“Yeah, it bothers me,” Saul says. “It should bother you too.
You’re not made of ducks feathers. Not everything slides off your back.”
“Concentrate on your flying,” Bill says. “I’ll worry about
my back.”
Bill has a broad back, all shifting muscle and jutting angles.
Saul’s seen it many times. He has a unique perspective on Bill’s back. “You’re
a self-righteous ass sometimes,” Saul says. “Don’t expect me to be grateful for
your concession if we get thrown out of the fleet.”
“For gods’ sakes.” Bill throws up his hands.” If you get
thrown out of the fleet it will be because you’re too much of a coward to make
a go of this.” Bill touches Saul’s shoulder, thumb brushing Saul’s collarbone.
“Pull yourself together, Saul. You’re better than this.”
Saul pulls himself away. ”Frak you,” he says.
“Yeah,” Bill says. “You do.” He sinks onto the bunk,
contemplates his bare feet for a moment before reaching for his boots. “And
until now I’ve not heard you complain.”
Saul fraks Bill in dark corners of the ship, presses him
against a bulkhead and covers Bill’s hands with his own while he grinds his
hips against Bill’s ass. It’s fast and it’s crude and it’s
He’s not grateful. He never asked for this and he’d stop if
he could. He can’t, of course. Bill’s right. He’s a coward.
“You could go places, you know,” Saul says. “Captain today,
CAG tomorrow. You’ll be a Commander before you know it.”
“You’re coming with me, Saul. Wherever I go, you go.”
Bill makes good speeches. He’s a good pilot, he’s a cowboy and a show-off and a
pain in the ass to anyone who doesn’t measure up, but his words are poetry and
everyone listens when he speaks.
Saul was never good with words. He sits on the bunk next to
Bill, puts his hand on Bill’s shoulder. Bill turns his head so that they’re
nose to nose. “In that case,” Saul says slowly. “We’re frakked.”
”Maybe we are,” Bill says. “But we’re frakked together.” The words hang between
them until Bill leans down, goes back to lacing his boots. When he’s finished
he stands up, straightens his uniform jacket. “I’ll see you when I’m done?” he
says.
Saul breathes out, like a part of him is escaping. “Got
nowhere else to go,” he says.
End.