Seeking
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Pairing: Cally/Lee, Cally/Crashdown
Rating: PG
Word Count: 695
Spoilers: Colonial Day, blink and you’ll miss one for Final Cut
Summary: They shouldn’t be doing this.
She shouldn't be here, she knows that, she knows they shouldn't be doing this, he knows that too, but she is and they are.
She shouldn’t be here, in the fleet. She never wanted to be a soldier, never even wanted to be in the deck crew. She never wanted to see the line between life and death, know how perilously thin it is.
All she ever wanted to do was to go to dentist school.
But then the world ended and everything in her life got frakked up, and maybe that’s why she is where she is now, because for just a little while, everything seemed so normal.
Because it was Colonial Day, and people were downright light-hearted, carefree even. Light-hearted enough that even deck crew plebes like her got to go to the fancy party, even if they hugged the walls of the room, not really feeling like they belonged.
Cally doesn’t belong here, in this room. She knows that. She’s too plain, too ordinary, too young, a little girl playing dress-up in her big sister’s hand-me-downs. Which is almost true, because her dress is a needle-job, hastily appropriated from Racetrack and altered to nearly fit. It’s a little too long, and a little too tight in the bodice, and black really doesn’t do a thing for her complexion, and the way that all the guys looked at her when she walked through the room, she knew what they were thinking. That she looked like a fool.
Which was maybe why she had a little too much to drink, take the edge off and all that.
It didn’t though; it only sharpened her
edge. So she could see the way that Captain Adama was looking at Lieutenant
Cally noticed the look on his face when he missed her though, and it made her jealous, because what she wouldn’t give for him to look at her like that.
He never will though, because he’s the CAG and she’s a deck crew grunt, and he doesn’t even know she’s alive.
It doesn’t stop her wishing though.
It didn’t stop her wishing tonight either, and just as she was wishing for Captain Adama to notice she’s a woman, there was a voice at her elbow.
“Buy you a drink Cally?”
Crashdown’s not Apollo, not even close. But he was looking at her with a smile on his face that was kinda sweet, and he was talking to her like she was an actual person, not ignoring her, or treating her like she was some lower form of life like he sometimes did. They drank together, and he made her laugh, made her forget about Cylons and the end of the world, and he told her that he liked her dress, even if she could tell that he was lying. When he asked her to dance, it was only natural to say yes, and when he asked her if she wanted to get out of there, there was only one answer on her mind.
They both live in communal quarters, but covering for the Chief and Lieutenant Valerii means that Cally knows all the best places for a tryst, which is why she is where she is now, in one of the empty storage rooms that no-one ever goes into. Pieces of his uniform litter the floor, her dress didn’t even make it that far, and she should not be here, and they shouldn’t be doing this, but she is and they are.
Because even if all Crashdown wants is one night, and even if he’s not the man she wants to be there with, he is the man who’s there with her, holding her, making her forget her life, making her feel alive.
They shouldn’t be here, and she knows that.
But that doesn’t make it wrong.