The Proverbial Bull in a China Shop... (sabaceanbabe) wrote,
The Proverbial Bull in a China Shop...

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multifandom drabbles...

I'm not done with all the drabbles spawned by my boredom a few days ago, but I do have quite a few and, as the others are all going to be more difficult to get out, I've decided to post the ones that are finished, rather than waiting. :D

requested by inlovewithnight:

Helo had always hated doing laundry, ever since he was a kid and his mother had made him take over the chore from his older sister when she went away to college. Sometimes he thought that might have been what finally drove him to join the Fleet – if he was on a service ship, a battlestar or a cruiser, someone else would have to take care of washing his clothes. And he wouldn’t have to wash his mother’s or his sisters’ things.

Lace and satin belonged on girls and women, not sisters and mothers. And while he didn’t mind handling lace and satin, washing it wasn’t exactly what he had in mind…

requested by jebbypal:

“If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”

She was all monochrome, white and black and all the shades of gray in between. Even her clothes were gray. Jayne really didn’t think he’d be anything but shot down in flames, but a guy had to try, right? Because damn! She was definitely shu gu.

Black eyes sparkled as she looked him up and down and then said something in a language he’d never heard before. “I dunno what you said, niu, but since you didn’t throw that,” he nodded toward the blue liquid she swirled in her glass, “in my face, I’m gonna guess it weren’t too bad.”

She grinned and Jayne had the distinct feeling that she understood everything he said. She licked her lips and gestured toward the barstool beside her. His momma hadn’t raised no fools – Jayne sat and motioned for the bartender. “Whiskey and another frilly drink for the lady.” The little gray girl leaned in and whispered something in Jayne’s ear before she nipped at his lobe.

“Well, all right.” He smiled at her and winked. “The night’s pickin’ up considerable.”

requested by musicforcylons:

Music swirled around and over and through her and Sharon couldn’t stop her toes from tapping in time to the beat. She looked around the crowded room, searching, but found only strangers. Galen was late.

Sharon sipped at her drink and closed her eyes, let the music fill her. She was just itching to get out there and move. She wanted to forget for a while that she was a junior officer in the Colonial Fleet and pretend she was just a girl. She wanted to feel the billowy skirt she wore slide against her calves as she twirled on the dance floor. She wanted to show off her new sandals, little more than leather straps attached to high heels, but sexy as hell. If he doesn’t get here soon, I’m just going to hit the dance floor without him.

More time passed, several songs ended while others began, and she couldn’t prevent her eyes from drifting back and forth between the door and the dance floor. “Frak it.” She downed the last of her fruity drink and abandoned her glass along with the table as yet another song – one of her absolute favorites – began. Spotting a clear space on the floor, she made for it with single-minded determination.

Again, Sharon let the music fill her. She began to spin and slide to the driving beat, slipping alone between couples. A smile spread across her face and she abandoned herself to the strains of guitar and drum and piano.

And then he was there. She laughed aloud when she saw the bemused look on his face. “This is my new dance,” she told him playfully, “do you like it?”

requested by kate98:

“Oh, Nurse Chappel, don’t let him fool you. You wouldn’t know it to look at him now, but Spock was a very emotional little boy.” Amanda smiled fondly at her son as he lay in bed under the soft lights of the Enterprise’s sickbay. Sarek lay in another bed to Spock’s left, asleep, exhausted by the lengthy procedure. Spock, on the other hand, was very much awake and aware. And glaring at her, although to an unschooled eye he appeared impassive.

It was obvious to her that Christine Chappel had feelings for her son; she only hoped that he wouldn’t inadvertently hurt her. A mischievous lilt in her voice, Amanda continued for her rapt audience. “When Spock was only four or five years old…” Spock’s eyes closed, but he didn’t protest – that just wouldn’t be logical as he knew that she had no intention of not telling this story, one of her favorites.

“When Spock was four or five years old, he had a stuffed dog as a toy. He carried that dog around with him everywhere, wouldn’t let it out of his sight for more than a few minutes, and that grudgingly. He even slept with it.” Amanda’s smile turned wistful at the memory; her little boy was a man now, and would never be so innocent and carefree again.

“But one day it disappeared. We found it a few days later, by the side of the road. It had fallen unnoticed to the pavement, one morning when I took him away to school, and it had been damaged beyond repair. Spock was heartbroken; it was as though a close friend had died. He moped around the house for days.

“It was then that I lost my very human little boy to his very Vulcan father.” She looked over at the still-sleeping Sarek, pale but breathing easily. “He began to teach his son of logic.” Her eyes returned to Spock; he watched her, his expression unreadable. “But I know in my heart, Christine, that my emotional little boy is still in there, somewhere.”

Knowing how tired he was, she decided to have mercy on him. She turned to Christine. “Come.” With one hand at the small of the younger woman’s back, she guided her through the door into the office area. “I have some questions for you…”

requested by mitchy:

“All right, nuggets. Listen up, because I’m only going to give you your assignments once.” The CAG looked down at her roster and checked names off as she called them. Helo was pretty sure that he’d be one of the first called, if not the first – all things military had to be done in alphabetical order.

“Agathon, you’ll be flying with Ovidas. Birch, you’re wingman to Zalenko. Lanham, you’re with…” He tuned out the rest of what she said as it didn’t really concern him. Almost a month on the Belerophon and he was finally going to be allowed to fly something other than a simulator.

Ovidas was, he thought, a Raptor pilot, so if he was being assigned to him, then they’d decided on Raptors for Helo. Unlike most of his fellow nuggets, he was qualified in both Raptor and Viper, but the Belerophon was a new ship and so they hadn’t yet worked out all of her staffing issues. Didn’t matter to him, one way or the other. Helo just wanted to fly.

... reuniting after the Galactica finally comes back for the refugees on New Caprica.

requested by summer_smile:


Helo turned his head at the sound of his name and saw a blonde dynamo hurtling toward him. He braced for impact just before Kara Thrace – Kara Anders – threw herself into his arms. Helo held her close, held her as tightly as he could, and just breathed her in, a pungent but welcome mix of sweat and cordite and motor oil. “Gods, I missed you…”

She squeezed him harder and then shoved him away, followed up with jab to his chest. “Dammit, Karl, no more leaving me, got it?” Kara scowled and then pulled him in again, buried her face in his jacket. Men and women moving through the camp on business of their own stared, but clearly, Kara didn’t care. “You’re my best friend, you stupid bastard, I can’t lose you, too.” She laughed as she said it, but her voice was shaky with tears as much as with laughter.

He kissed the top of her head – “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Thrace, so don’t even try…” – rested his cheek in her hair and closed his eyes.

requested by kazbaby:

“Crap.” The watery blue glow of the wormhole abruptly disappeared as the module dropped into normal space. At least, John hoped it was normal space.

“Is something wrong?” Scorpius’ voice behind his left ear sounded more curious than concerned.

Eyes never straying from his displays, John maneuvered the Farscape One in a tight, gyroscopic arc – God, I hope Scorpy has a strong stomach; didn’t think to ask – looking for anything that might serve as a landmark in what was otherwise empty space.


“Your apprehension seems to have escalated,” his passenger observed, calm as ever.

“We’re not where we’re supposed to be.” John stared in disbelief through the main viewport. He didn’t know what exactly had happened to screw up his concentration, but while this looked to be some bizarre unrealized reality, it definitely wasn’t the one they’d been looking for.

“Those primitive dials tell you that?” Scorpy scoffed.

“No, my primitive eyes tell me that.” The ship that was between them and the blue-white planet above was green. Very large and very green; it looked like a frelling pickle, only less bumpy on the surface. Emblazoned on the side in ginormous letters was one word.


requested by lyssie:

“Are you sure you want to do this, Mr…. ah…” The lethal-looking firearm he aimed loosely in Gaius’ direction was steady. “What is your name?”

Gaius, whose own pistol described a drunken arc in the early morning air, said nothing. Are you going to answer him, Gaius? she prompted, shifting slightly to the left.

With a slight twitch, he responded, “I am Gaius Baltar, President of the Colonies.”

The taller of the two men across the small clearing from them raised one black brow. An interesting specimen; she was certain that he wasn’t human, but she didn’t know quite what he was. There was an odd greenish cast to his skin, but still, there was something about him that she found attractive. “Most peculiar, Captain. President? Of which colonies?”

“You, sir,” Gaius continued, his tone accusing, “whoever you are, have impugned both my honor and my integrity.”

The bright dawn sunlight glittered in the shorter man’s eyes. Streaks of pink and pale orange appeared in the sky above his head, staining the braid at the wrists of his gold tunic. “I am Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise,” he began. “I merely wondered… if you were either lying or insane.”

He’s a bit pompous, but no more so than you, she whispered into Gaius’ ear before nipping at it. Gaius waved an impatient hand, swiping at her as he would have a fly. She smiled.

The green man frowned slightly as Kirk continued, “That’s hardly reason enough for a challenge to pistols at dawn.”

Really, Gaius, do you think you can out-shoot this Captain Kirk? Gaius half-glanced at her before returning his attention to the other men. He seems more than competent… She reached out to steady the pistol in Gaius’ hand, her body firmly pressed against his side.


“What’s fascinating, Spock?”

The one called Spock looked back and forth between Kirk and Gaius before taking the necessary steps to cross the clearing, his black eyes on her the entire time. “Can you not see her, Captain?”

“See who, Spock?”

“Yes, indeed.” He spoke directly to her. “Most fascinating…”

requested by simplystars:

John watched in horror as the wormhole swallowed Moya like a great, hungry beast, then disappeared as though it had never been.

“You have got to be kidding me…”


“Blesma, Pilot! What’s happening?” Jool shouted as the Leviathan shimmied and shook around her. The old woman – who the frell was she, anyway? – muttered something unintelligible in a corner of Command.

“I don’t know! I believe that it’s one of Crichton’s wormholes.”

“Where is Crichton?”

“Still out there.”

“Wherever ‘there’ is…” Jool whispered.

Before she could say anything else, the main viewscreen began to flicker. “I’m receiving a transmission from inside the wormhole, Jool,” Pilot advised.

Suddenly the screen was filled by what appeared to be a rather large nose, flat and pink and a little bit moist. A strident voice, and loud, queried, “Is anyone there?” followed by the sound of a throat being cleared. “Ahem.” The proboscis receded and Jool saw a short, pink creature dressed in silver and pink, blond curls cascading over her (?) shoulders. “This is the S.S. Swinetrek, First Officer Moi speaking. Can anyone hear me?” The creature reached toward the imaging device and the image of what appeared to be the counterpart to Moya’s Command shook violently. “Bah. This thing never works.”

Another of the creatures, this one a little taller and not quite so… voluptuous, swaggered into view. “First Officer Piggy, what do we, ah, have?”

“I don’t know, Linky-poo, erm, Captain Hogthrob. This,” – bang – “stupid thing,” – bang, slam – “isn’t working!”

Jool closed her eyes and wished for Crichton. He’d know how to deal with these odd beings…

AU of the request by musicforcylons - I thought she requested Boomer figuring out she's a Cylon:

Yet another in a long stream of visitors left and Sharon wished that everyone else would just leave her alone. She didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to have to explain even one more time about her service pistol going off while she was cleaning it. It wasn’t like anyone believed that story, anyway…

Her jaw ached, in spite of the painkillers, and she let her eyes drift closed, blocking out the bright lights above. She couldn’t block out the memories, though, or worse, the distinct lack of memories where there should be something. She squeezed her eyes shut, but all that accomplished was to send a spike of pain through her jaw.

“I’m not a Cylon,” Sharon whispered to herself. “I’m not.”

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she was helpless to stop them, just as she’d been helpless when she’d pulled the trigger. Something inside her, the same something that blocked all recollection of stealing the G-4 detonators, the same something that had nearly prevented her from reporting the presence of water on that asteroid, something had forced her to pull her shot.

And so here she was, lying in sick bay under too-bright lights, hurting.

Oh, dear Gods, please. Please don’t let me hurt anyone. Please…

…don’t let me be a Cylon.

There will be a few more in the next few days...
Tags: drabbles, my fic

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