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13 August 2005 @ 10:30 am
[fic]All Your Dreams Dismantled 1/1 (BSG: Boomer/Tyrol, PG-13)  
Carol is such a touch-and-go muse. For two months, nothing, and now? Two stories in almost as many days. Craziness. ^^; This one is for Battlestar Galactica, a fandom I was almost sure I'd never write in-- but here it is. Also, OMG it's het. Scarier still. X_X;;/^_~ I hope you enjoy it, and I'd love it if I could trouble you to comment!



=========================
All Your Dreams Dismantled 1/1
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory
mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com
http://www.demando.net
=========================



He's started dreaming about her again.
In the first few months after Adama ordered him to end the affair, Chief Petty Officer Tyrol dreamed of her almost nightly. Little things, broken images. Her hair, lacquered cherry against her neck and shoulders; the cadence of her voice murmuring, dulcet windchimes next to his ear; the tiny, lopsided tilt to her lips when she had a good hand at cards. He dreamt of these things and wanted, just as badly as he had ever longed for home, or for the faces eased so swiftly, wholesale, by the Cyclons. He wanted still, but it was an ache that had become accustomed to shivering, burrowing down somewhere in his ribs. Like an man resigned to arthritis and old age, he thought it should be more noteworthy if he woke one day to feel it not at all.


His dreams are not the dreams he once had-- no sense memory of his fingers against each knot of her spine, no touch of her full breasts against his back. He dreams her to places she's never been, to landscapes of his childhood, of his nightmares, where she stands stark and jewel-toned against the monochrome sky. He wakes in time to bite his tongue but, somewhere, in the back of his mind, his voice goes on shouting her name.
Sharon.


Boomer, they called her, though the intricacy of this odd baptism escaped him. In the first year of his career, he said the names constantly in his head, confused by this duality. Kara, Starbuck. Lee, Apollo. Roger, Crashdown. Which was more intimate-- which was veneer, and what did it hide? Was Captain Adama Apollo in the cockpit, and Lee outside? He didn't understand it, not until the day he caught the voice in his own head, describing himself as The Chief. It wasn't a switch that you could turn on or off; you were what you were, simultaneously, sometimes contradictorily, and people named you for the flashes they sometimes saw inside. Sharon called him Chief, Tyrol, even Galen, seemingly without rhyme or reason, without preference for one or the other. She could easily say "Come play cards, Tyrol" as she could "I missed you, Chief".
He seems to remember though that, at that single blinding moment, at the pinnacle, she would dig her small, moon shaped nails into his back and call him by his given name.


Galen was some sort of wizard, she said, in the stories. Not religion, not the scrolls-- just the stories, particular to each colony, evolving over time. She read that somewhere.
Where? he'd asked.
Just somewhere. She said she didn't remember. He remembers though-- remembers that she was perched on the locker room bench, shining her boots, and that the bright, uncompromising lights turned her dark hair the color of overripe berries. Her remembers that she frowned a little, scuffing at her boots, as if chasing that tiny, glowing fish of memory somewhere she could not follow.
When it's dayshift and he's sober, he's pretty sure he added that part in.


She grew up in an orphanage on Arilon, he knew that much. She didn't talk about her childhood, or tell him stories, though she seemed to genuinely enjoy his. Nothing particularly interesting or noteworthy seemed to happen to her until she started flight-school and university. She did extra studies in navigation-- she liked the stars, liked the hidden promise, the tiny lights, flaring in the darkness of space. Parents? She didn't remember. Siblings? None that lived.
Well, he'd tried, what did you do at the orphanage?
Slept. Ate. Learned not to be a burden on the system. She'd laughed at that last part, but he'd thought it wasn't a very good joke.
She had one memory from childhood-- one that she told him, anyway-- and he remembers it clearly because it was so rare. She wasn't one for deep conversations without prompting. Other guys complained-- "she makes me *talk*", "she won't shut up", their girlfriends always probing, trying to figure them out. The only person he knows more tightlipped than Sharon is Starbuck, and he's pretty sure it's not for the same reason.


They were laying in an empty med-lab bunk, back when Galactica was just a Battlestar about to be decommissioned, and the rules were pliable. Lose.
"I remember," she said, thin, competent fingers tracing strange patterns on his chest, "just a little something, about my mother." He'd rolled a little, so he could lean on his elbow and hold her-- he'd wanted to listen, to have every little crumb, to somehow puzzle her out. Red wire here, blue wire there; like the engines he worked on daily. Lords, the irony is fracking sickening, now. "Not her face," Sharon continued, "not her voice."
Just her hands, Sharon said, lying there beside him. It was sunset, the hills were green and gold with it, and she was sitting on a little swing next to the porch. Where? When? She doesn't remember-- just that she was very small, that she had to haul herself up into the seat, and that her bare feet dangled above the grass. Her mother had an apple, offered it to her in one dusty, graceful hand. Long fingers, square palm, painted nails. Amber, Sharon said, and smiled, far away. The apple was so ripe, red as blood. A perfect weight in her two small hands-- she held it, wiped it on her tiny sundress, and bit rapturously in.
Now, staring aimlessly up from his nondescript bunk, he clings to that image. Tiny Boomer, barefoot in the summer grass. Her hair in flyway, delicate wisps around her babyish face.


It was Sharon's hands that Tyrol noticed first. Long fingered, as she said her mother's were, but deep-palmed, as well. Her nails were trimmed just to regulation, no paint, but it was the movements that caught his eye. The little pat she gave her Raptor as she climbed down after a run. He remembers her juggling game chips-- it seems so inane now-- laughing at Apollo, saying the chips are down. The way she handled her weapon on the practice range, left and right moving in concert. Accidental weapons discharge? He could have laughed-- a sick and hollow sound-- when he saw her laying there, smooth cheek bandaged, gauze seeping red. Her dark eyes had been so strange, so full of things he could not grasp or name. Doe's eyes, and he'd stare at her when they made love-- couldn't help it. She actually blushed all the way through the first time; his scrutiny made her nervous, she said.


She was never a hotshot pilot, like Starbuck. She was never gifted, like Apollo. She was just *good*, like the concert pianist who can play anything you sit in front of them, but could never come up with notes on their own. She just landed heavy was all-- partly because she always followed the same formula, never seeming to realize that one sometimes had to factor in other things. But her maneuvers were flawless, her flight-checks angle perfect. Each figure, each turn like the other, without fail. Regulated, almost mechanical.
He wonders if he should read something into that, now.


He loved her. It used to be something he could say easily, coaxed effortlessly from his lips as he smoothed back her hair, kissed her shoulder. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to say it again-- not out loud. She was Sharon, Lieutenant Valleri, Boomer; she was warm and brave and strange and everything, anything but a machine.
Except she was.
He tried to tell himself this. His bones don't know it, his dreams don't know it-- that clenching lump of muscle in his chest doesn't know it.


In his dreams, she lies still on the autopsy table, battered, mutilated, and so unrelentingly beautiful it hurts him to look at her. Or she's standing somewhere, just behind his shoulder, dressed in the white funeral robes of The Time Before. She's sitting on his bed, when he's six and the worst storm in history blew over the city, and he laid there all night too afraid to sleep and too brash to admit he was afraid. In the maze of a deserted city, in the quiet of the Galactica walkways, in the heart of the next Cylon raider Adama shoots out of the sky-- she's there, she's there, and Tyrol is pretty sure he's going crazy.
I love you, she said, bleeding on the polished deck, slumped over in his arms.


Did you love her? Adama asked.
Of course, said his bones. Madly, said his dreams. Hopelessly, says his heart.
He hates the Cyclons with every jittering atom of his being. Hates their games, their artifice, *hates* until he remembers how he struck her, and it all came tumbling down.
There are others, other Sharons. 'Copies', Adama said. Somewhere, breathing, laughing, dreaming, shitting.
She's out there, unknown, undefined.
She just not... here.


Feed the muse, please? ^__^
-Meredith
 
 
Emotional Temperature: bouncybouncy
The Band Plays:: "Pretty Girl (The Way)"-- by Sugarcult
 
 
 
Selena: Galacticaselenak on August 13th, 2005 02:36 pm (UTC)
Heartbreaking and very good. (I also appreciated the tiny Crusade crossover.*g*) They are such a tragic couple, these two.
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: katiegarnettrees on August 13th, 2005 10:33 pm (UTC)
Thank you so much for the feedback, Selenak! I'm glad you enjoyed the piece, and that it wasn't too depressing. ^__^

(I also appreciated the tiny Crusade crossover.*g*)
*grins* I wondered if anyone would catch that.

They are tragic, aren't they? That attracts me like flies to honey. ^^
Thanks for taking the time to comment!
-Meredith
Ninjabear: coming for a stealth hug: Howl sleepdangermousie on August 13th, 2005 02:57 pm (UTC)
That was so poetic and dreamlike and I love it. There aren't many Boomer/Chief stories out there, but this more than makes up for it!
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: frozengarnettrees on August 13th, 2005 10:35 pm (UTC)
*grins* Thank you, sweetie. I'm glad it worked for you-- I was hesitant to write The Chief but, in the end, I couldn't resist.

I've had a weakness for Chief/Boomer since the reunion hug in the miniseries. ^_^;;
Thanks for the feedback!
-Meredith
Amsie: Destroyershadowserenity on August 13th, 2005 04:34 pm (UTC)
Meredith, nice to see you in this fandom! We actually know each other from SW. Do you remember the username Amidala_Skywalker or Amsie? I seem to see your stories *everywhere* over the net.

Down to the story, it's very touching :). I'm not a Sharon/Tyrol fan (yeah, I fall into the Helo/Boomer bracket... bordering on obsession ;)) but "Resistance" made me feel for them as I had in the mini.

Favourite line:

In the maze of a deserted city, in the quiet of the Galactica walkways, in the heart of the next Cylon raider Adama shoots out of the sky-- she's there, she's there, and Tyrol is pretty sure he's going crazy.

Your style has always been very lyrical.

Thanks for sharing! :)
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: lovesecretgarnettrees on August 13th, 2005 10:38 pm (UTC)
Time: 11:34 pmMeredith, nice to see you in this fandom! We actually know each other from SW. Do you remember the username Amidala_Skywalker or Amsie?
Hi, Ami! I do remember you-- it's a small internet, isn't it? ^_~

I seem to see your stories *everywhere* over the net.
I hope it's not annoying. I'm afraid I'm a multi-fandom whore. ^^

I adore Boomer in any context, so H/B and C/B both work for me. She's an awesome character(s?).

I'm so glad you enjoyed the story, even though it's not your otp. Thank you so much, as well, for the invite to post on your comm. I'm honored, and shall do so soon.

You're a real sweetie!
-Meredith
Amsie: Hate Loveshadowserenity on August 14th, 2005 05:52 am (UTC)
I hope it's not annoying. I'm afraid I'm a multi-fandom whore. ^^

Completely not annoying. It's wonderful to see a familiar face :).

I adore Boomer in any context, so H/B and C/B both work for me.

Couldn't agree more, Meredith!

Great to see you at HE, too. There aren't many H/B writers around at all, so when I see another, I'm completely thrilled. Can I interest you in our new "The Farm" challenge? ;)

Great to see you again! :)
Amsie: Dignity Queenshadowserenity on August 13th, 2005 04:38 pm (UTC)
Oh, btw, I'd love for you to post this in the Boomer comm (well, it's Helo and Boomer separately), hidden_elysium.
Mayhem Parva: Rain (hmwitzy)raincitygirl on August 13th, 2005 10:58 pm (UTC)
Wow. Gulp. Surreptitious sniffle.

Poor Chief. And boy oh boy is the shit ever going to hit the fan when a different copy of Boomer shows up eventually, one who doesn't love him back. He'll just get even more bruised by life.
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: ayufuturegarnettrees on August 14th, 2005 10:27 pm (UTC)
*grins* Thanks for taking the time to comment!

And boy oh boy is the shit ever going to hit the fan when a different copy of Boomer shows up eventually, one who doesn't love him back.
I must be a very sadistic, evil person, but I'm actually looking forward to that. ^^; Bad Meredith.

Glad you enjoyed!
-Meredith
Jeff: Elysium - Kissrepr0b8 on August 14th, 2005 12:45 am (UTC)
That was beautiful.

"Now, staring aimlessly up from his nondescript bunk, he clings to that image. Tiny Boomer, barefoot in the summer grass. Her hair in flyway, delicate wisps around her babyish face.

So sad and wonderful.

Thank you for sharing.



Meredith Bronwen Mallory: love1garnettrees on August 14th, 2005 10:29 pm (UTC)
Thank *you* for the feedback. I'm so glad the story worked for you. I was worried it would be too sad or depressing, but I couldn't resist...
-Meredith
Zen Like Hyde1fishscreaming on August 14th, 2005 02:54 am (UTC)
*flail* Oh, this was just wonderful and sad, and really good.
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: katiegarnettrees on August 14th, 2005 10:30 pm (UTC)
Thank you so much! *blushes*
-Meredith
Meretmeret on August 15th, 2005 04:44 pm (UTC)
This is wonderful! I love the melancholy, wistful tone you created.
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: ayutwicegarnettrees on August 17th, 2005 06:02 am (UTC)
*blushes* You are too kind. Thank you.
-Meredith
midnightsjane: BSG crewmidnightsjane on August 16th, 2005 07:24 am (UTC)
Found this on a rec from selenak, and I'm so glad I did. This is beautiful, and I shed a few tears reading it. I think you have found Tyrol's voice so well. The memories Sharon has of her childhood, her mother's hands are quite heart wrenching. It makes me wonder, too, how much of who we truly are depends on the memories we hold close. There may be many Sharon copies, but each one is different. The Boomer from Caprica is not the Boomer from the Galactica, even if Galactica Boomer's memories are downloaded into her. I wonder if the Chief will see that?
Lovely story.
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: ayufuturegarnettrees on August 17th, 2005 06:01 am (UTC)
Thank you so much for the feedback, midnightsjane! I'm so glad the story worked for you-- especially Tyrol's voice. We don't see as much of him as we do some of the other characters, so I worried about getting it right.

There may be many Sharon copies, but each one is different.
That's one of the reasons why I love this show so much-- they tackle so many interesting concepts. I can't wait until the 'shit hits the fan' and Chief is faced with another Boomer. Will be an interesting day, that. ^__^

Thanks again!
-Meredith
faroutgal on August 16th, 2005 01:26 pm (UTC)
Beautiful. I love the poetic quality of the piece and I completely believed that Tyrol's mind or inner voice would sound that way.
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: katiegarnettrees on August 17th, 2005 06:01 am (UTC)
Thank you so much for the kind words! Btw, I love your icon. *giggles*
-Meredith
you can call me george: all i have are these pictures of youvagablonde on September 3rd, 2005 02:35 am (UTC)
Now, staring aimlessly up from his nondescript bunk, he clings to that image. Tiny Boomer, barefoot in the summer grass. Her hair in flyway, delicate wisps around her babyish face.

That just broke my heart!!!! Very wonderful story!
Amberminttown1 on September 20th, 2005 12:12 pm (UTC)
This is so beautiful. It just feels very true to real emotion, that his feelings and thoughts would be like this. I love it.
The answer's always waiting at the liquor storeseveruslovesme on July 17th, 2006 04:22 am (UTC)
Hi there - I just came across this, I'm a new convert to Battlestar Galactica (have only seen the first two episodes and the miniseries, in fact) and I was immediately drawn to Boomer and the Chief, and came online to search for fics. I'm spoiled so I know that they have a tragic future ahead of them.

Your fic was everything I was hoping Chief/Boomer fics would be. It was beautiful and absolutely heartbreaking. I loved it, and I'm so glad that this was the first fic I read in this fandom!
the mapmaking sort of cartographer: Boomer Salutealmightychrissy on November 5th, 2006 03:54 pm (UTC)
Oh my God, it's Boomer/Tyrol fic, and it's perfect and beautiful and heartbreaking and I love it so so so very very much. I am so glad to have found this and thank you for writing it.
confidentiality spice: boomer/chief - kkkdanniisupernova on September 2nd, 2007 03:17 am (UTC)
*absolutely dies at the tragedy of it all*

OMG, you write Chief like I wish I could!
perr.pspawn on September 19th, 2012 02:45 am (UTC)
This is still poignant years after you've written it. Brilliant piece of writing. The tragedy of Chief and Boomer are so Shakespearan that it's sometimes hard to capture in fic, which is one of the reasons why I suspect there's so little out there.

But the aching longing, the woe of a man helplessly in love -You got it down pat.

/mems