Then and Now
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to Litmus for specifics.
Word Count: 966
Notes: For the LiveJournal BSG1000 “mealtimes” challenge.
Back before the end of the world, mealtimes used to be Cally’s favourite time of the day.
Mealtimes were the times when they would sit all sit together, the four of them: her, Prosna, Socinus and Chief Tyrol. The routine didn’t change much from meal to meal, day to day, and to be honest, she’d liked it like that, found the familiarity comforting. They would complain about the food served upon the Galactica, dream about fresh fruit and vegetables, their own particular favourite dishes from home, with Socinus in particular waxing lyrical about his mother’s cooking. Their mouths would be watering by the time they’d finished, and there were times, near the end of the meal, when Cally would almost swear that she wasn’t eating Galactica slop at all, but whatever delicacies they’d just been dreaming about.
They’d talk about events that day on the flight deck, complaining about whatever pilot had been throwing their weight around, calling them every name under the sun, making fun of some of them, but never too loud. Once, Prosna had been a little too vociferous in his annoyance with Starbuck, and while being caught by the woman herself had been bad enough, seeing Colonel Tigh glaring at her side had been even worse. Prosna had turned roughly the same colour as his flight uniform, and they’d never let him forget about it.
They’d spent a lot of time teasing one another during those mealtimes, and being the only girl at the table didn’t mean that Cally didn’t get her fair share of it, on the contrary in fact. Prosna and Socinus used to tease her unmercifully, about crushes real and imagined, and they teased her that bit more whenever Chief Tyrol wasn’t at the table. Which was usually when she turned the same shade as her flight uniform, because those jokes were a little too close to the bone, especially when he was her boss, especially when he was involved with Lieutenant Valeri.
Especially when they were true.
She misses those meals with Prosna and Socinus, but she misses the Chief most of all, and not for the reasons that most people would think. It’s nothing to do with her crush on him – well, she admits, maybe a little – but mostly, she just liked sitting there, listening to him talk, looking at those brown eyes dancing with devilment as he laughed at some joke they were telling. Mostly though, she liked it when he would come over and sit down beside her, look at the amount of food that was on her plate, and come out with some quip about the amount of food on her plate, wonder where a skinny little thing like her put it all. She would blush, and the others would pretend not to notice, but the Chief would be smiling at her, and just for a moment, she could let herself pretend.
They would linger over the meal, just sit around for as long as they could get away with, talking about nothing of any real importance, but that was the whole point. Because during those meals, even more so than on the deck, they were equal, no one member more important than the other, no one member better than the other, even the Chief.
During those mealtimes, they were a team.
More than that. During those mealtimes, they were a family, and it’s not like she had that much to begin with, valued that new family that she’d found.
But then the world ended, and Cally doesn’t like mealtimes any more, and not just because they’re on emergency rations that make even her pitiful attempts at cooking look like haute cuisine, not just because there’s never enough to go around.
She hates mealtimes because now she has to eat alone.
Prosna is dead, killed on the deck fire during one of the first attacks. She tries not to think about that often, tries not to think about how easily it could have been her, tries not to remember all the time that they spent together, on Galactica, in basic training, tries not to think about how much she misses him.
She doesn’t succeed that often.
Socinus is in the brig, there because they’d all been trying to protect the Chief and he was the one who took the fall. She’s honest enough to admit, to herself if to no-one else, that there’s the tiniest, tiniest part of her that’s angry at the Chief for that, because dammit, she’s lost enough of her family, real and otherwise, in the attacks; did she have to lose more because he was sneaking around with Lieutenant Valeri and they’d been too stupid to work out their cover stories? But then again, there are times when she’s not sure who she’s angriest with, the Chief or herself and the others, because they really should have known better.
The Chief is still there, still around, but he doesn’t smile as much any more, doesn’t tease her as much as he used to. Nor does he go to the mess hall with her, brushes off her invites with a wave of his hand and a “Cally, I’m not hungry, but you go on ahead.” She can’t even remember the last time that she saw him eat anything, and despite his repeated assurances that he’s not hungry, she doesn’t believe him.
Not when she sees him looking after Lieutenant Valeri with more hunger in his gaze than she’s ever seen.
Cally used to love mealtimes, but that was then, and this is now.
Now, they’re just something to be endured until things get better, return to normal.
At least she hopes that’s going to happen. Because the thought of a lifetime of mealtimes like this is almost too much to bear.