?

Log in

No account? Create an account
 
 
29 August 2005 @ 12:21 am
[fic] "Hold Fast 1/1" (BSG: Boomer/Tryol, teens and up)  
And I thought I'd never write BSG fic. Silly girl. There but for the grace of the muse go I...

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Not much to say here-- after watching "Home, Part 2", my muse started caterwalling for this to be written. Obviously, there are spoilers for said episode. I'm a little worried about the quality, but this was burning a whole in my hard drive. Who knew my muse was a Tyrol/Sharon fangirl? (Actually, I think The Chief is just a cute puppy of a person, and she likes to kick him. ^^;) This ties in with my previous fic All Your Dreams Dismantled, but you don't have to read that to understand this one. ^__^ Any and all feedback will cause me to adore you forever, and possibly sacrifice goats for your future wellbeing. ^_~


=========================
Hold Fast 1/1
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory
mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com
http://www.demando.net
=========================




Maybe it's because he was born and raised in the northern most city of Virgon, a place of murky twilights and achingly long winters, but Galen Tyrol has never had typical grasp of time.

(Be still and steady, soldier. Be silent.)
Each morning CPO Tyrol wakes to stare in the mirror and tell himself that time has not changed. A minute is a minute, an hour is an hour, though they weigh and drag endlessly for him. He shaves, eyes not on the movements of the blade, but on the brown orbs reflected back at him. The face, the shape of the jaw, the lopsided line of his nose. Broke the bridge playing pyramid ball, back in the days when he was all knees and elbows, jostling with the other players as students chatted, watched admiringly from the stands. He remembers how it felt, that sudden pain; how all the while he was going down, he was thinking. Mortified, terrified, embarrassed, blindly angered-- so many thoughts and emotions, like the intersecting lines of the court. Too many thoughts, for the mere five seconds it took for him to hit the pavement. He'd heard each of his heartbeats, then, with an immeasurable silence between them, becoming the markers not for moments or minutes, but for hours in which a larger teammate's form forced his own towards the ground.
It took so long, and then he woke in the hospital, his sister grinning over the bed rail and saying his face might actually have been improved.


He hasn't lost time, he's gained it, whether it's the hours of that fall, or the eons-- eternal snapshots-- that it took for her to step, so lithe and calm, out from behind that tree. He should be so much older, for the space he experienced then; his bones feel gnarled and changed under his still youthful face. It plays behind his eyes, all the time, how she seemed to come from the trees and the earth and the strange, heavy air of Kobol, stepping like one of the Lords from a shimmer of nothing and light. His hands had raised his gun, his voice had called to the Commander, but deep within his own mind he was still swimming towards reason, thwarted by the immeasurable cycles of moon and tide.
She's alive, he remembers thinking stupidly.
(Be silent, soldier. Hold fast, hold still.)
It's not until later that he questions his own wording, goes back over it like a schoolboy with his felt-tipped pen, wondering if he should have used the term 'alive'.
Did he watch Commander Adama pin her to forest floor? Take her graceful neck in two hands and squeeze? He must have. He'd wanted to step back so badly, to retreat, but the feeling at his back had been one of nothingness, as if he could step back and vanish, like the falling goddess for whose tomb they searched.
He thinks of Athena, down and down and down, her body one elegant arc, suggestive of flight. She falls, and he falls, and Sharon falls too-- down to the deck, perfect red circles in her stomach and chest. He holds her, watches the blood turn her uniform red, and he doesn't have the luxury of lengthened time before whatever passes for her heart shudders and lies still at last.


Going down, he thinks absently, and goes about discharging his duties-- organizing regular raptor checks, fixing the most difficult of malfunctions, delegating the rest. He's on top of his game; always is. Some technician said that, at the court-martial, looking at the military tribunal with that earnest face, so fresh he was green to the cut. On time for drills, on time for rotation, and he wonders if there's anyone holding faster than he. So tight that his whole body aches with it, that he wonders if he will ever be able to let go.
(Hold fast.)
And, because he was never one for an abundance of cards or drinks, he isn't much missed off duty.


Not a day has passed since their return that he hasn't been to see her, and he hates it as much as he once ardently loved the Sharon who is gone. Pieces now, he thinks, picked apart by doctors and scientists, in little jars with perfect labels. Precise lettering. He has daydreams, moments of distraction whilst eating or tidying his bunk, in which he is privy to these macabre remains. He'll see her heart, suspended in whatever unpronounceable fluid; he'll put his fingers against the glass and trace the shape, wondering if it is anything like his own.
He surfaces from these thoughts and, though he has no outward reaction, there is nothing he would like more than to be violently, repentantly ill.


"Am I a vengeful person, do you think?" he asks her, fingers laced through the bars. There's glass between them, as in his awful daymares, but she is whole and real, eyes deep and desolate as dark, forgotten moons.
(Her eyes were so wide, almost childlike, when he grabbed her rounded shoulders and shook her hard. He recalls his rage with some disbelief now-- it's largness seems mythic, but it was so real then. He struck her, the sound still echoes now, and afterward she curled up in the corner, hands shackled so tight she couldn't even sleep.
He's afraid to ask if she remembers that, too.)

"All humans are vengeful," Sharon says thoughtfully, cupping her hand over the receiver. Long-fingers, deep-palms, hands he knows but has never touched. Her manner gives him a sense of intimacy, the way she whispers across the line, forehead resting on the glass. As if they're sharing secrets. "It's the way you're built." A pause. He hates this, but he keeps coming to see her, can't stop burning himself on the hot glass, trying to touch the flame inside. "My heart is the same as your heart-- four chambers, left side. I have lungs, and bowels, and I even sweat. And," she smiles a little, the mere quirk of her mouth, "I don't think you're more particularly vengeful than any other human." He never meant to tell her these things-- about the pieces of her counterpart, or the way a single thought will pound into his head until he can't think around it anymore. She invites his speech somehow, though, with the air of a confessor who will not judge. There are days when she's open about having memories not her own, a strangely coy marionette, and others where she only seems to want to pick up where
(Don't' think it, soldier. Easy now.)
the other Sharon left off.


He just wanted to watch her. He'd stand behind the mirrored glass and observe avidly, waiting for the facade to drop. Any moment now, hold your breath. There would be some sign, he was sure, some gesture that was off, and it alone would shatter the memory of her arms loosely around him, so soft voice saying, "It's good to see you, Chief." He watched until he began to feel like some type of artist-connoisseur, examining a painting for flaws. Original, or reproduction? Memory didn't serve: did her lips tilt just like that, or a little more? Was her voice just that cadence, and would his hands rest as comfortably on her slim, almost boney hips?
(Be silent. Hold still.)
He wanted to weight her, measure her, and it made him feel sick.


He talks to her now-- he thinks now that she was waiting for it. He tests her, questions her endlessly, inventing things, changing things, waiting for her to slip up. She corrects him easily, reordering, elaborating, always making him feel as if he is the one being scrutinized. She's patient and obliging, she listens to his grisly descriptions with an attentiveness that is more than polite. Round and round they go-- she's still on firm ground, but he's lost his footing, he knows. He feels the answer, somewhere underneath her almond skin, and wonders why she is the only one who makes him feel there isn't enough time.


What he wants is a reaction, worry or anger or tears. What he wants is something other than the merely friendly, measured dialogues. He wants the intimacy suggested by her whisper and her stance-- he wants to cut her open, crawl inside and *know*. For Helo, she will cry, or stroke the glass as if to reassure. For Helo, her voice has some unknown variable, something he had to miss to understand. His own feelings veer like some crazy pendulum, they arc and sputter, sizzle and die.
(Steady on, then.)
He wonders if he should be jealous-- he thinks she might know.


He watches them; watches the guards avert their eyes, watches the way people look at Helo when his head is down or he turns his back. Every moment has a weight, the possibility of carrying on forever. Time has changed; times have changed. In her tiny cell, Sharon sits curled up on the bed, eyes closed, hand over her still questionable heart. Feeling beats, anticipating breaths.
"What are you waiting for?" he asks.
Sharon's smile is theta-- unmeasurable, unknown. Eons at her fingertips, moments in her eyes.
She just says, "It's almost time."

========================================




Why, yes, I am a feedback whore. What makes you ask? ^_~
 
 
Emotional Temperature: relievedrelieved
The Band Plays:: "Don't Stop Believin'"-- by Journey
 
 
 
Amsie: Do You Love None?shadowserenity on August 29th, 2005 09:21 am (UTC)
This is stunning, Meredith. I feel like this could slot into the show. Wow. Really, I wasn't planning to read it all until my nap but I just couldn't tear my eyes away.

Best paragraph:

What he wants is a reaction, worry or anger or tears. What he wants is something other than the merely friendly, measured dialogues. He wants the intimacy suggested by her whisper and her stance-- he wants to cut her open, crawl inside and *know*. For Helo, she will cry, or stroke the glass as if to reassure. For Helo, her voice has some unknown variable, something he had to miss to understand. His own feelings veer like some crazy pendulum, they arc and sputter, sizzle and die.

Wow, thank you so much for sharing. This is the best Tyrol piece I've ever read.

Definitely going to post this to hidden_elysium, right? :)
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: frozengarnettrees on August 29th, 2005 09:46 pm (UTC)
Wow-- thank you so much for the kind praise, Amsie. Getting the feel of the show was what I was going for, but I really felt that I'd fallen short, which was why I was hesitant to post. I'm so glad you enjoyed it, and that Sharon's characterization worked for you. Caprica!Sharon is harder to write than Galactica!Sharon, for some reason. ^^;

I did post at HE. Thank you for inviting me!
-Meredith
Amsie: Crashshadowserenity on August 29th, 2005 09:21 am (UTC)
Also, I loved Sharon's characterisation. Not too human or sympathetic.
I refuse to give up my obsession: So Cruelendlessdeep on August 29th, 2005 02:35 pm (UTC)
I found your stroy through shadowserenity. And wow, this was incredible. It gave me all that the actual TV show won't be able to get into I think. Wow, no words. :)
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: ayutwicegarnettrees on August 29th, 2005 09:47 pm (UTC)
You're far too kind! I can't thank you enough for the comment. It's gonna be hard to wait two weeks to see how everything plays out, ne?
-Meredith
I refuse to give up my obsession: overlordendlessdeep on August 30th, 2005 07:39 pm (UTC)
I know! Somethings gotta happen between Tyrol and Helo don't you think?
(Anonymous) on August 29th, 2005 03:49 pm (UTC)
Hi
Excellent story

I have posted in other places whether the chief would ever come to terms with his feeling for G-Sharon, this almost sounds like it could come from the show.

Imagine the chief trying to find a copy of the Sharon Cylon with the memories of G-Sharon

Weissman
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: jadegarnettrees on August 29th, 2005 09:49 pm (UTC)
Re: Hi
Thanks for the comment, Weissman. I don't think Tyrol will get over this so easily, either. In a way, his trust was broken more deeply than he could have imagined, and now he has this other Sharon around to remind him. You bring up a good point about a copy which might have G!Sharon's memories. We don't exactly know how the transfer works yet-- only that Cylon copies don't seem to fear death.
-Meredith
The Proverbial Bull in a China Shop...: Unforgettable - icon by shadowserenitysabaceanbabe on August 29th, 2005 04:17 pm (UTC)
Very nicely done. (I, too, came here on Amsie's recommendation.) Tyrol is just so confused right now and it's going to be very difficult for him to get over it. I wonder if he ever runs into Helo during his visits, or if he times it so that Helo won't generally be there?
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: katiegarnettrees on August 29th, 2005 09:51 pm (UTC)
Amsie is so kind to pimp me, isn't she? ^^; I'm so glad you enjoyed the story!

I wonder if he ever runs into Helo during his visits, or if he times it so that Helo won't generally be there?
I imagine he's walked in on them on accident once or twice, and now makes it his priority to know Helo's on duty before he goes to see Sharon. ^_^;;
-Meredith
adafrogadafrog on August 29th, 2005 04:27 pm (UTC)
Great story. I love how he realizes that he misses what he had, and knows that Helo has it.
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: lily2garnettrees on August 29th, 2005 09:52 pm (UTC)
Thanks so much! I'm glad Tyrol doesn't seem OOC or anything. ^__^
-Meredith
Mayhem Parva: Nevilleraincitygirl on August 29th, 2005 05:11 pm (UTC)
WOw, this is great. Poor woobie Tyrol.
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: togethergarnettrees on August 29th, 2005 09:53 pm (UTC)
*blush* Thanks. Tyrol is a very woobie character.
-Meredith
(Anonymous) on August 30th, 2005 02:06 pm (UTC)
Hi
It was stated that G-Sharon betrayed the Chief, however if the Chief new the truth, that G-Sharon was being control by prior conditioning/brainwashing would he have felt as betrayed or would he have wabted to help her even more. What will happen when he find out the truth.

weissman
poisontaster on August 30th, 2005 07:16 pm (UTC)
a place of murky twilights and achingly long winters, but Galen Tyrol has never had typical grasp of time.

Broke the bridge playing pyramid ball, back in the days when he was all knees and elbows

then he woke in the hospital, his sister grinning over the bed rail and saying his face might actually have been improved

He hasn't lost time, he's gained it, whether it's the hours of that fall, or the eons-- eternal snapshots-- that it took for her to step, so lithe and calm, out from behind that tree. He should be so much older, for the space he experienced then; his bones feel gnarled and changed under his still youthful face. It plays behind his eyes, all the time, how she seemed to come from the trees and the earth and the strange, heavy air of Kobol, stepping like one of the Lords from a shimmer of nothing and light.


Okay, I just took up an insane amount of the comment box to quote your own story back at you, but these passages... Wow.

What I really loved about this piece was how lyrical it is, while still retaining the essence of Tyrol's pragmatism and soldier mentality. It's a hard rope to walk, and I think you did it so terribly beautifully. *shakes head* This is just a gorgeous piece.


Meredith Bronwen Mallory: katiegarnettrees on August 31st, 2005 07:42 pm (UTC)
Okay, I just took up an insane amount of the comment box to quote your own story back at you, but these passages... Wow.
Don't worry about it! I love hearing which parts worked for people best, and have specific passages quotes always makes me blush. Thanks for taking the time to paste it all in! ^__^

I'm so glad you enjoyed the story, and that Tyrol's charactization seemed right. He's a tough one, but my muse can't seem to stay away from him. Go figure.
-Meredith
(Anonymous) on August 31st, 2005 02:40 pm (UTC)
beautiful. i feel so sorry for poor tyrol (but i think he's still an ass for that picture of him in flight of the phoenix clubbing helo w/ a wrench)

when i came to the end of the story, you made me want for more... a trait characteristic to good authors.

i look forward to reading more of your work,
evonne (sorry i dont subscribe to lj)
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: love2garnettrees on August 31st, 2005 07:45 pm (UTC)
(but i think he's still an ass for that picture of him in flight of the phoenix clubbing helo w/ a wrench)
You know, when I originally wrote this, I wondered if I hadn't given Tyrol a little too much of a violent undercurrent (talking bout Galactica Boomer's body parts and all). Then I saw that picture, and I thought-- okay, I really don't have to worry about it. ^^;; I'm withholding judgement until I view the ep and see who started that fight. ^_~

Thanks so much for commenting, even though you don't subscribe to LJ. I'm so glad you enjoyed the piece, and even more glad you took the time to tell me. ^__^
-Meredith
Meretmeret on August 31st, 2005 03:15 pm (UTC)
This is wonderful! Terrific tone and characterization I especially liked He'd wanted to step back so badly, to retreat, but the feeling at his back had been one of nothingness, as if he could step back and vanish, like the falling goddess for whose tomb they searched. :)
Meredith Bronwen Mallory: ayufuturegarnettrees on August 31st, 2005 07:46 pm (UTC)
Thanks so much for the kind comments, Meret! Your icon is very cute, btw. ^__^
-Meredith
you can call me george: all i have are these pictures of youvagablonde on September 2nd, 2005 12:10 pm (UTC)
This is just incredible. Tyrol is fast becoming my favoured character on the show and you've captured him just beautifully. This bit of coda is perfect and written perfectly in the voice of the show!
(Anonymous) on September 5th, 2005 02:18 pm (UTC)
Hi
I think as Tyrol finds out more about what happend, and that the G-Sharon wasn't in control of her actio, his out look on whether she actually betrayed him might change. Only that might nake him hate himself even more for abandoning her more than he does already. We will have to see..

What would happen if another sharon were to show up?
Jeff: Unforgettable - by shadowserenityrepr0b8 on September 5th, 2005 09:39 pm (UTC)
Just wanted to say I really enjoyed this. Totally love your style.