In this post I promised a ficlet to anyone who correctly guessed the song from the lyrics listed in this post. leksa was the first to jump in. She requested Battlestar Galactica - Adama/ Tigh. Yes, she's quite possibly certifiable. But the point of the exercise was to write something I wouldn't ordinarily write - and BOY would I not ordinarily write Adama/ Tigh - so I made the boys twenty years younger and tried not to turn Bill into Lee (wasn't entirely successful...).

The story is based on the line "we do our best vampire routine" which leksa correctly guessed was from "Alpha Rat's Nest" by the Mountain Goats. If you can't make the connection, let's just say the story evolved somewhat as I wrote it.

And it appears I don't do 'ficlets'- this story clocks in at 1200 words.

Title: Vampire Routine
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Pairing: Saul Tigh/ Bill Adama
Rating: Oh I don’t know – Rish…?
Summary: “Bill’s a rare one, and he hangs out with Saul, which makes him rarer still.”
Author’s Notes: For leksa - 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 downtime and he wouldn’t be the first Commander caught frakking the crew.

Bill left his wingman behind on the last mission: a routine inspection of a mining operation on one of the Gemini moons. Terrorist activity is rampant in the area and the mine is a strategic target. Bill said his viper’s wing balance was off and he was taking it for a test in free fall. He tipped the nose and performed a swan dive past the mine’s watchtower, gave the guards something to gawk at. The Chief insisted the balance was fine and Bill was just showing off, which was probably true. Bill gets bored sometimes.

It was impressive flying and Bill’s wingman wasn’t in danger, but you don’t desert your back-up, routine mission or not. The CAG exploded, of course, but transfers are unceremonious and don’t usually require intervention from the Commander, which leaves options two and three.

Saul waits in the bar, nursing straight whisky. There’s a drinking game in the corner but everyone knows Saul can drink the squad under the table so no one asks him to join. Which is fine by him; he’s not sociable, doesn’t do ‘esprit de corps’ the way the career officers do. And he’s not like Bill either who manages to frak the powers that be and earn their 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. Heads turn toward 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?”

Bills smiles sheepishly. “Looks like I’ll be conducting your flight evaluations next week.”

There’s a chorus of groans and whines and one or two well-intentioned insults. Someone throws a napkin at Bill and he dodges it effortlessly, still running on instinct.

“Wait a minute,” Pepper says. “They wouldn’t make a Lieutenant do flight evals…?”

Bill scratches his nose, looks at the floor. “And I – ah - got promoted.” He holds out his hand, fist open 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 evals. You’ll be unpopular for a week – or more, 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. “You ready for evals?”

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. He doesn’t trust himself. “Piece of frakking cake.”

*

Saul reads his flight evaluation. 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 he’s spending his downtime re-training on Caprica. Still, he’s not an even keel kind of guy. His job performance is less than satisfactory at times and absolutely frakking amazing at other times.

He shows his evaluation 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 evaluation. “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 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 eval 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 when we’re 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 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 over before anything is said.

Saul doesn’t remember how it started. Or when. Bill’s married and Saul fraks women when he gets the opportunity. It doesn’t make sense and Saul would stop if he thought he could survive without the feel of Bill’s skin underneath his hands, the smell of him which Saul can’t shake, no matter how many times he showers. He can’t, of course. Bill’s right. Saul’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 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, lets the tension escape. Sometimes he forgets to breathe. “Got nowhere else to go,” he says.

End