On the process of Remixing, and translating the Hybrid babble. (DVD Commentary)
DVD-style commentary on "Endsong, End of Line (Sights of the Hybrid Sun Remix)" and talking about the remixing process. Because fandom is shiny, and I like explaining myself.
I was delighted when I got likeadeuce as my Remix assignment. She was a pinch-hit assignment for me in 2007, and I loved all of her stories then. (And we friended one another as a result!) So, two years later and now that I know her a lot better, I was thrilled.
But! I'm sure we matched on X-Men Movieverse, and though I really love her stories there, I wasn't really sure that was where I wanted to write. I like using Remix as an excuse to write in a new fandom. I thought about doing one of her BtVS/AtS fics again, but I did that last time and didn't want to repeat myself. So, when I saw that she had a solitary Battlestar Galactica fic, I was intrigued, because BSG is the newest of my shiny new fan-loves.
...But. Her story was Sam/Kara. And while I like them a lot, they're not characters I ever would have thought about writing. And her story was about basketball. I know nothing about sports.
(It's a terrific story, and I love it! It's just truly a story that I can look at and say, "I never could or would have written that.")
Then I read it again (and again), and I thought about it. I thought about likeadeuce's other fics I could remix--mostly stories about Scott and Jean. Then it hit me: I could remix/rewrite "Survive and Advance" as an X-Men story about Cyclops and Phoenix without changing a damn thing.
There are so many parallels! Centurion visors with their red eye slits are like Scott's visor. Kara dies (in a fiery crash!) and is sort-of reborn. Sam and Scott both have head injuries that mess with their abilities. Sam loves sports/physics/math, and Scott has a gift for spatial awareness. Sam and Kara both appear human but are something more, something different, hated and feared by humanity. Jean loves Scott and Logan; Kara loves Sam and Lee. Sam has a line in "Survive and Advance" about the importance of following the rules, and of course Scott is the resident X-Men Boy Scout. The list goes on...
So, I figured I could cover the song, but use different instruments. Bring in other melodies, but not change the main one.
And that's what I wanted to do, with this remix: to see if I could keep her story almost entirely intact (without changing its tone or adding [much] dialog to suit my purposes) and still get the point across, somehow, that "this has all happened before, and it will all happen again" means that someday Sam Anders and Kara Thrace will be Scott Summers and Jean Grey and this, sort of, will all happen again. As an added bonus, I wanted it to stand on its own as a BSG story, without needing knowledge of X-Men, and that BSG story would simply be about Sam and Kara, using "Survive and Advance" as a happier-times contrast to what is to come, with Sam becoming the hybrid and both of them dying.
...The Springsteen came next, when I was looking for a funky remix subtitle. I'm not very familiar with his music, so, I was searching randomly for Springsteen songs that had to do with burning/light/fire. I found "Blinded by the Light" and thought that fit with Sam flying into the sun. Then I realized it was where likeadeuce's username came from, and the lyrics could apply fairly well to the X-Men. (There's a character named Scott!) So, of course I had to figure out how to put as much of "Blinded by the Light" as possible into Sam's hybrid-speak.
Endsong, End of Line. (Sights of the Hybrid Sun remix)"
All this has happened before, and all of this will happen again.
I started with this because it's so central to BSG, to the Cylons, and because I wanted to establish early on that this--Sam and Kara--will happen again, as Scott and Jean.
Sphere.
Circles are a repeated motive because I wanted to emphasize rebirth, meaning the Phoenix. But this particular sphere is also the basketball.
Arc through the carbon and oxygen molecules, calculate the distance, the angle, and thrust. Pivot. One. Nine. Eight. Nothing.
1980, the year the Dark Phoenix saga was published.
Increase atmospheric oxygen by 0.07%. Pressure stable. Burn cycle complete. Resume function.
Burn cycle, then resume. It's all about the Phoenix.
End of line.
Cast on and weave the net, under and through, survive and advance. Solitary elimination, extinction and quenched ashes. Survive again. Advance. Circle and hoop, infinite circumference and finite boundaries.
Basketball net, and basketball babble ("single elimination tournament" and also, a solitary elimination could mean one person's death). The "quenched ashes" were yet more Phoenix. I loved using the phrase "survive and advance" because it works so well with the circular theme of this fic. Survive, survive again...
Status: fugue. Round and a round again.
Referring both to a fugue state, like Sam was in, and also a musical fugue/round. "A round again," with the space, was not a typo.
This has all happened before. The quadrilateral garden of the mad sons, scarlet Taurus, metal center by the lake. The duke's jesters, cerulean demons,
Madison Square Garden, the Chicago Bulls, Staples Center where the Lakers play, Duke Blue Devils.
madmen drummers. Final four. Jump. Shot. Canon fodder, around and a round again. End of line.
Final four is a basketball term; also used here to refer to the Cylons, before the Fifth was revealed. Jump shot is a basketball term, but Sam was also literally shot. "Canon fodder" was again not a typo--in music, a canon is also a round. Sam is both fodder for the canon (this will happen again) and for the cannon, destined for death.
***
This section doesn't need a lot of explanation. I traded past tense for present, mostly for the sake of changing something, but I kept almost everything else the same. Sam seemed to be a stickler for the rules here, and I thought that established him pretty well as the Scott of this fic!
"Foul!"
Anders blows the whistle and, of the six bodies on the court, five stop in their tracks. The last, a tall, slender girl of twelve, scoops up the ball in one smooth motion and sprints back to half court. "Foul!" Anders repeats, unable to keep a note of exasperation out of his tone. "Number six, gold!"
Number six pivots, jumps, and throws. Anders' eyes follow the ball to the rim, where it circles twice before teetering sideways and crashing to the floor. It bounces back, a near miss, and the shooter grabs for it. Still, there's no question; Niobe Cutler is a natural athlete with a beautiful stroke.
"Niobe!" Anders says as he steps over the tape line he meticulously laid out on the floor. It took an hour just to measure the lines and angles, another two to apply the tape and set up the makeshift goals.
I did elaborate on how he meticulously laid the tape out, though. I thought Scott!Sam's perfectionist streak should be illustrated here.
“Did you not hear me call a foul on you?"
She puts the ball behind her back, giving him a shrug. "Yeah, but I didn't do it. Artemis ran into me."
"No," Anders says, and holds out a hand for the ball. "You were moving. It's like we talked about. You need to establish your position, or the foul's on you."
Niobe raises an eyebrow and plants her feet, the way she should've been doing when she was guarding Artemis. "Why?"
He rubs the back of his neck, trying to suppress a sigh. Shouldn't it be obvious? "Because it's the rule, and playing by the rules is important."
"It's a rule you made up."
"It's a Pyramid rule."
She slams the ball to the floor, the motion making her long blond bangs fall over her eyes, and glares at him through them accusingly. "You said this isn't Pyramid."
Anders palms the ball when it bounces, the slap of rubber against metal loud in the sudden silence, and cradles it to his chest. "My game. My rules."
"My ball!" Niobe cocks her head and puts her hands on her hips. "You wouldn’t have anything to play with if I didn’t give it to you. No ball - no game."
Frak. Less than a week into this gig and he's managed to get into a power struggle with a godsdamned 12-year old. And she has a point. There isn't a decent Pyramid ball on the Ariadne; for the moment, they're making do with this oversized child's toy. Anders has been forced to improvise what he can with that, and now, apparently, he has to write out a frakking rulebook.
"Listen - Niobe -" And then he makes a mistake; he lets his gaze flick to the side of the court, where the girl's mother is perched on an old shipping crate. Hermia's eyebrows go up -- oh, no, don't look at me -- while her daughter lets out a disdainful sniff and mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like, "frakking stupid."
I gave Niobe a bit more attitude, too. I'm not sure why.
Anders takes a deep breath and turns back to Niobe. "Look. The defenders need to keep their feet in place, all right? Otherwise they have an advantage."
Artemis - the red team girl Niobe fouled, who ought to be thanking him-- instead tosses her jet-black braid over her shoulder and juts out her chin. "Isn't having an advantage the point?"
"Not according to the rules," Anders replies, measuring his words. "It’s a game. It isn't combat." Which isn't a distinction he would have thought to make, back in his playing days. But these are just kids. "The rules make it as even as possible, offense and defense. The advantage comes from being a good player. Mastering the skills. Then when you win, you know you were really better." The two girls eye each other, nodding. Sensing he has them, Anders risks a smile. "Or, that you're luckier."
"Hmm," Niobe replies, with a practiced eyeroll, "why didn't you just say that?"
"Because I was blowing the whistle.” Niobe holds out her hands, but Anders steps around her, pointedly offering the ball to Artemis. "And the foul was on your team."
"All right," Niobe says, managing to sound as if she's humoring him. But she goes back into formation with her teammates, and, when Anders blows the whistle again, play resumes without a hitch.
Anders rakes his fingers through his hair as he joins the girl's mother. "Why didn't I just say that?"
"Believe it or not, I think you handled her just right." Hermia Cutler has to be several years older than Anders but doesn't look it, with sparkling green eyes and a soft smile, skin too pale from years spent under artificial light. She gives him an appraising, approving look. "I was about to say you must have girls of your own, but there's no way you're old enough."
"Actually," he says, before he has fully teased out the thought, "she reminds me of my wife."
Hermia's hand claps over her mouth. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think."
It takes him a moment to process her meaning - what could she know about him and Kara, and how? When she lowers her hand and starts playing with her own wedding band, however, he understands. The fleet is full of half-marriages.
"No," he begins, awkward, "I'm sorry - when I said 'reminds' all I meant -- "
It's almost as if the thought called her voice up in his mind, and, for a moment, he's not sure it's real. "This is the most frakked-up excuse for a pyramid court I have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on."
"Excuse me." Hermia turns, any softness suddenly replaced with sharp, parental steel. "There are children here. Who do you think you are?"
“Captain Thrace,” Kara replies, arching an eyebrow, and Anders notes the restored insignia on her fleet-issue shirt. Her hair is close-cropped again; a golden cap that won't get in the way beneath a viper helmet. “You might remember me from saving your sorry civilian ass more times than I can count.”
"Mrs. Cutler -" Anders sighs, and nods at Kara. "This is my wife."
***
Infinite possibilities of action, reaction and finite positions; prepare for combat but follow the rules. Be prepared to hark the song of war; be fair because the advantage comes only when both sides are evenly matched, set boundaries and play by the rules.
"Hark the song of war" was a reference to another Phoenix arc called Phoenix: Warsong. And the stuff about following the rules is to further point out that Sam (/Scott) is a boy scout.
Abort all functions on the lower decks. Relay order to all personnel, to the abyss. Advance and be prepared. Be prepared. End of line.
"Be prepared," the Boy Scout motto.
Spins and turns, angles and arc, burn, a perfect thought.
I really liked the rhythm of that line. More circles, more fire. Rebirth and Phoenix, in as many ways as I could think of to say it! "A perfect thought" is a quote from Sam when he becomes the Hybrid.
Perfect nothing but woven nylon fibers and hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen. One point nine eight pass.
"Nothing but..." is a way of saying "nothing but net." And, again, 1980.
Three point. Slingshot finally found a tender spot; optic sensory input offline; but he will survive with his primary functions within acceptable parameters.
Enter the Springsteen! "Slingshot finally found a tender spot" is the line of the song that has Scott in it. The rest is a mangled way of saying, "blinded by the light, but he'll make it all right."
Ivory and etude, she too crashed to the ground. All-hot half-shot relentlessly unendingly driven to the hot spot where she, she, she was also blinded by its brilliance and yet will advance from out the embers. Three hundred sixty degrees. End of line.
Kara as the Piano, and the rest is Springsteen, garbled. "She was blinded by the light, but she'll make it alright." Advance from the embers = yet more Phoenix.
***
Control. Gotta be a way to get under control.
"Gotta be some way out of here..."
She closes her eyes and exhales hard, fingers clenched around the handle of the knife. They ache fiercely, whether annoyed at her or just twinging sympathy for her frakked-up life, she's not sure, but the hard anchor in her palm helps, some. So does pulling what's left of her godsdamned hair taut enough to hurt. Control. Gotta get under control, or else she's likely to shatter the mirror and she really doesn't want to have to explain that.
Like young!Jean in fanon, trying to keep her powers under control. I think my Fred voice in the other remix I wrote from likeadeuce's fic was oddly similar: "...She had to get it together or else she was liable to puke all over Wesley's leather interior. And that'd be so embarrassing."
Metal taste still in her mouth, and she's not sure if that's from the blade or still being just this side of the edge of drunk.
I liked that line a lot, too.
Her tongue runs over the backs of her teeth, and she grimaces. Saws harder. Strands slip out of her grip, down her tanks, over her shoulders and biceps to float down, becoming just that much of a blond mess on the floor.
Kara breathes out hard, again, staring at herself, a little too wild-eyed, in the mirror, watching the already-cut side of her hair swing forward, just below her ear. She doesn't think about the weight remaining in her hand, yanks harder, does not think of Sam's fingers tangling in it, laughing as he tugs her head back gently to kiss her neck-- Frak.
She saws harder, faster. Not who she is, anyway. She's not--
("You're malcontented, and a cancer. And I won't have you on my ship.")
Gods. She's not--
("No guts? You don't got a pair? You're both frakking cowards.")
She's not like--
("You've already done that, Saul. Both of you.")
She's not like Tigh, or so she wants to believe. She's like Adama. Just like Jean wants to believe she's more like Xavier than Magneto...
Her fingers shake as the blade rips through the last strands. The knife clatters to the floor, which seems to buck beneath her feet as she makes her way to the wastebin and throws the hank of hair as if it singes her palm. Maybe it does.
("You were like a daughter to me once. No more.")
Kara retrieves the knife and sheathes it; grips the edge of the sink and stares at her reflection with hot, dry eyes for a minute before she makes herself puke, booze and bile burning the back of her throat.
She swishes, spits, and heads for the shower, standing beneath the scalding spray until her skin turns pink and the steam clears her head. Not quite human, not quite herself, but closer than she's been in a damn long time.
Getting properly dressed helps. And combing her hair. Her hand's almost steady when she knocks on the Admiral's door. He's bent over his ship, big hands strong and sure with a tiny brush and pot of adhesive, and he glances at her only briefly before turning back to it.
The ship's going to splinter someday, just like she is now.
Kara steps up beside him, quietly, hands clasped loose behind her back. The thing needs a masthead. Waits until he's pressed the piece into place before she clears her throat, which still feels gritty. "I figured it out, sir."
He turns and stares at her for a moment, all hardass business. Then he snorts and claps a hand on her shoulder. "No, you didn't. Not yet. But it's a start."
She swallows. "I'm s--"
His grip tightens, and he shakes his head. "Just do your job, Captain," he says, and his voice is graveled, too. ("Pick up that weapon and shoot me.") Gods. "That'll be all."
Her salute has never been sharper, or more grateful. "Yes, sir."
***
New command. Resume function. Sublime moments shine lit beacons when one realizes innate potential. Patterns and repetitions, last gleaming milliseconds, midnight marathons.
Midnight marathons = "Another runner in the night."
Optic sensors offline, under and taut, increase probability of eventual regeneration by 24.5%.
"Blinded by the light, she got down but she never got tight, but she'll make it all right."
Sulfurous baritone prophets cry out half-blindly
This is meant to be Tigh. "Some brimstone baritone anti-cyclone rolling stone preacher from the East."
and I, I am what was, what is, what will be.
That's a slightly-mangled quote from Phoenix.
Cogitate. You are secure in the awareness of self, events yet to unfold. You have yet to begin.
And that was just fun, a nod to the fact that I remixed Deuce's Buffyverse story before. "You think you know what you are, what is to come. You haven't even begun."
End of line.
New paragraph. Not cavernous wombs but desired seeds, genesis sires and the agony of wanting that which she cannot have.
This entire paragraph is my fanon about Jean: that she idolizes Xavier and wants to be like him, and he's the father she wants. But as I see it, Phoenix is much more like Magneto, just as Kara is more like Tigh.
Grasp and begin again. Resume function. Condemned eternally to idolize one and echo another; there's a hole in the bucket, a drop in the bucket,
"a hole in the bucket, dear Liza" is another quote from Sam-as-hybrid in the series.
prophet tattooed veins and patch.
Tigh as Magneto. I set him up as the prophet before. Tattooed veins = Magneto's concentration camp tattoo. Patch is Tigh's eye patch.
Seven thousand, six hundred and forty-two pinpricks, neuron bright nebulas, wooden masthead spokes circling, circling.
...And Bill as Xavier. Neuron nebulas = the people looking like stars in Cerebro. Wooden masthead spokes circling is both the ship and the wheelchair.
The spirit is infinite but the flesh is weak, and there are two, always two, light and shadow, beloved and feared. Leap, expel saliva into the stratosphere, and fall, condemned to darkness.
"Well, I jumped up, turned around, spit in the air, fell on the ground" ...Blinded by the light, of course.
***
Sometime during the writing process...
Tigh: *shows up*
Me: Uh, Colonel? You're so not in this fic. It's about Sam and Kara.
Tigh: Frak that! Thought you said I was yer favorite character.
Me: Yes, but--
Tigh: *crosses his arms, weaving a little, and glares* Am I the Magneto in this story or not?
Me: Well, yes. But--
Tigh: *glares more* You want me to exterminate humanity? I could, y'know!
Me: *headdesk* In the fic, but drunk and unconscious work for you?
Tigh: You got yourself a deal.
She's in front of the XO's quarters and doesn't know why, except--
("You're on your own in this life. Each and every one of us.")
But she wasn't, that morning. Her wedding day, head pounding, bright sun and sand, Tigh sprawled with Ellen snoring softly beside him. He laughed at her, made her laugh, shared a drink she didn't need and listened, which she did. He put his arm around her like he'd never touched a woman before unless he was hitting her or frakking her or both.
And Kara doesn't touch unless she's hitting or frakking. Or both.
But Kara wasn't good at that, either, and he smelled ripe and pressed the bottle into her hand, and it was all right.
She pushes the door open, and he's sprawled on his back on the floor, the air sharp with the reek of booze and sweat. The gauze over his eye socket is facing her, grimy at the edges, and his tanks are soaked and stained beneath his pits. The bottle's on its side, empty, beside him, and his mouth is slack, and the burn of her own drunken vomit is still clawing at the back of her throat.
Kara stumbles back, disgust and pity and something like a flicker of fear warring in her chest. She should pour him into bed, at least turn him over so he won't choke if he pukes. "Frak-up," she whispers instead, and leaves without a backwards glance.
And of course she's not talking about herself...
***
Touch the face of perfection, a joy, a rapture beyond comprehension.
The beginning of that line refers to a quote from Sam-as-hybrid that is repeated in a moment: "Perfect face, perfect grace." The latter part is a mangled quote from Dark Phoenix in Uncanny X-Men #136: "I...hunger, Scott--for a joy, a rapture. Beyond all comprehension. That need is a part of me, too."
Perfect shot. She is fire and life incarnate, perfect face, perfect grace.
And this line is a Phoenix quote followed by the Sam quote, to make things nice and symmetrical/circular.
Tied into a lover's knot and crashed to the ground
"Tied into a lover's knot" is a direct quote from "Blinded by the Light," and "crashed to the ground" refers to the Scott in the song throwing his lover to the sand.
but will always come back to you. Part of me always infinitely will be with you.
More Dark Phoenix quoting: "I love you, Scott. A part of me will always be with you," from Uncanny X-Men #137.
Weave the net, under and through, all of this has happened before. Survive again. Crash to the hot spot and rise from the ash.
***
I chose Kara's POV here mainly so that I would legitimately be changing something from the original, because I was worried, at this point, that my remix was failing as a remix!
Kara bounces the ball off the floor and catches it with both hands. The slap of rubber echoes in the cavernous room, now empty of everyone but the two of them. "She sure cleared out of here in a hurry."
Sam folds his arms, leans back against the bulkhead, and gives her what must be his Stern Coach Look. "Between the profanity and the insults, I can't imagine why."
She laughs. "This sure is one frakked-up pyramid court."
"It's not Pyramid."
He makes a grab for the ball, but she yanks it away and, struck by a sudden memory, twirls it on the tip of one finger, giving it momentum with her other hand. "Look!" she cries, grinning. "I used to have one of these -- when I was, like, eight." She spins the ball again, watching the brightly-colored pattern blur. "Did you ever learn to do this?"
"What, an Anders man? Play with toys? My dad used to brag how he put a Pyramid ball in my crib."
"And what, now that you're a grown-up, you finally get to play with other kids?" The ball teeters, and she lets it fall, bouncing it idly against the floor. "So. What's the object of your game?" she asks, nodding at the court and trying to hide a smile. The taped lines are perfectly straight, the tape itself smoothed to within an inch of its life. Leave it to Sam Anders, the only man she's ever frakked who has to get up afterwards, before going to sleep, in order to fold his clothes. She gets a kick out of moving his boots, making 'em so they're not lined up just so.
I added this part to emphasize, again, that Anal Sam Anders is a lot like Anal Scott Summers.
As if reading her thought, his hand darts out and smacks the ball away from her, and he moves backwards, bouncing the ball along with his steps.
"Hey!" half-laughing, she lunges for him, but he pivots, steps around her, and then raises his hands, sending the ball flying over his head. They both watch as it arcs toward the goal, teeters on the rim, and finally falls in.
"Yes!" He grins at her, pumping his arm in victory. "He shoots, he scores!"
"You scored?" Kara repeats. "Because you got the girly ball in the --" Realizing just what the goal is, she steps closer, peering upwards incredulously. "What is that, a fruit basket you've got nailed to the wall?" She can't repress a smirk. "What are you calling it? Basketball?"
"You know, I like that," he says, mouth twitching. "It's descriptive. Simple."
"Uh-huh," she replies, stepping closer, teasing him. "There's just one problem, Sammy boy. How do you get your ball down?"
In answer, he reaches for the broomstick leaning against the wall. "Still working out some of the kinks," he explains, poking through the bottom of the basket until the ball pops out and goes bouncing across the floor. "Look," he continues, "we're working with what we've got. Which isn't much. We could fit four pyramid courts in here, but we don't have enough equipment. Besides, the idea is to get these kids active, and they can't all play pyramid at once. Meanwhile --" He points up. "We've got all this vertical space. May as well use it."
"Oh, yes." She nods, mock-seriously. "Good plan. Great use for your tactical skills."
"Isn't it?" He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm not a soldier, Kara. Not by choice. I have a graduate degree in recreation management, for frak's sake. Meanwhile, all these kids in the fleet are going stir-crazy. I could show you studies --"
"You hate kids."
"I don't -- I never said --"
Best to nip this conversation in the bud, she thinks, holding up her hands. "Forget I said anything. You're obviously enjoying your little atonement gig, though gods know what you think you did --" And then it hits her. "A net."
"Huh?"
"Net." She points to the basket. "Replace that with a metal rim --" She makes a circle with her fingers, then spreads her hands out. "Just a little wider than the ball. Then we get some nylon cord and weave a net that catches the ball -- just enough to slow it down for a few seconds -- then lets it go. You don't have to stop the whole game every time someone scores."
"Captain Thrace," he says, "I believe you just offered to sew for me."
"Frak you, Anders. In your dreams."
He steps closer and puts his hands over hers. His palms are cooler than hers, softer than hers, and his breath brushes her forehead when he leans to speak against her skin. "That's exactly what I've been dreaming about."
I enjoyed changing the last couple of lines. Originally, she said, "In your dreams," and he said, "That's not exactly what I've been dreaming about." I liked how adding three words and subtracting one could make this part have exactly the same meaning. And making his palms cooler was intentional--she's burning like the Phoenix.
***
All this will happen again. Blackbird flying in the dead of night, built piecemeal and hidden.
A Beatles nod: "Blackbird singing in the dead of night..." and a reference to both the Blackbird on BSG (built piecemeal) and the one in X-Men Movieverse (hidden beneath the basketball court).
Four and twenty, and the bird began to sing, escape route must be a certainty. The jester and the pickpocket opened the pie, all is opaque, respite is impossible given the finite programmed boundaries of our infinite souls.
I was really proud of the segue between "blackbird" and the nursery rhyme and "All Along the Watchtower"/Cylon stuff, especially the fact that "opened the pie" is both from the rhyme and could mean that they were talking (pie as in "piehole"). :D This is a garbled version of, "There's gotta be some way out of here/ Said the joker to the thief / There's too much confusion / and I can't get no relief."
Reserve the ammunition and turn up the band.
"Save the buckshot and turn up the band," from Blinded by the Light.
All-seeing watchtower
Just in case you didn't get the line above...
watches futures unfold, past and present and infinite omniscent. All this will--all this will--all of this--
The repetition is, of course, intentional.
***
In all honesty, I think this is the weakest section of the fic, but I needed to parallel Sam and Kara's goodbye on Caprica with Jean telling Scott that she will come back to him and will always be with him.
Kara Thrace does not cry. Not now, not ever. Not feeling like she has to hold what is left of her guts in, like she's split in two, warm sunlight on Caprica and his warm hands on her breasts, and now the only thing out there is blackness and they're four jumps away, and--
Gods.
Samuel T. Anders. With his mouth and his hair, gods, he has a good face.
Jean tells Scott he has a good face in Uncanny X-Men #131.
The tilt of his head and the way he just looked at her. The way he frakked her like she was burning. Like he was.
More burning...
Like she was something he needed. More than that, the way he looked at her.
Her hand falters up to her neck, like she left a part of herself down there with him.
("You said you were gonna come back, remember? I'm going to hold you to it.")
He learned to be a soldier from the movies, like he's some kind of hero, and he talks about Pyramid rules like they're Scripture and fraks like maybe she is, too.
This was another line I was really pleased with.
He's got the only part of her worth having on a chain around his neck, warmed against his skin.
Samuel T. Anders. Gods.
("I'm coming back. I said it; I meant it.")
***
This is the section where I tried to make it obvious--but not too heavy-handed!--that this story is about (/a parallel to) the X-Men. In retrospect, I think I erred too far on the side of obscurity.
All this has happened before, and all of this will happen again.
Five.
Both "Final Five" and "Original Five."
Crimson beams in a steel slit mask. Ocular sensors read as red, red, and time. Stops. Spin a ball, rotation, equation; speak the language of lines, angles, digits, parallel and precise parallel slingshot. Resume function. The orphan captain leader scout, captain o my captain receives neural damage, red but he will carry on within set parameters.
I tried to say "Sam Anders is Scott Summers!" as clearly as possible in this paragraph. Especially "orphan captain leader scout."
New paragraph. The obstinate toy soldier becomes pliant, chained and contained unknowing depths of infinite possible forevers; burn; survive and advance. 15.68 degrees, set course. She crashed down and rose again. She's something more. Shed your skin.
And this is talking about Kara as Jean/Phoenix. Especially "chained and contained unknowing depths," referring to Phoenix being trapped inside Jean, and "crashed down and rose again."
Skin. Unending multitudes of sin beneath the surface skin; despise and fear that which is like, yet unlike, yet silent and-- Rise along the X-axis and burn for a relative value of X. End of line.
A mangled version of "protecting those who hate and fear us," trying to get the point across that the skin jobs look like humans (just like some mutants do), and the X-stuff was just flogging the idea harder.
Unstable along the watchtower, unsafe to venture outdoors. Upstairs, the man traded his wings for a business suit; he wants to keep his hands immaculate and do the right thing.
Lee as Warren.
Downstairs, a curly head is bent over wires and a wrench and he builds what he dreams, precise calculations, vectors and grease.
And Chief is Hank. It was accidental, but I was particularly pleased to discover that "vectors" is both an aviation term and a biological one. I tried to think of a Bobby!parallel but failed.
Not what they seem, despised and feared, madmen drummers and teenage diplomats.
This was all more "These Guys Are X-Men!" stuff. "Hated and feared," again, and I thought "teenage diplomats" was very fitting for a group of teens who try to save humanity repeatedly. "Madmen drummers" and "teenage diplomats" are also from "Blinded by the Light."
Verily, look upon the five who shall protect multitudes
More X-Men stuff, referring to the Original Five.
and crash to the ground. Trip the merry-go-round and turn up the band.
And more Springsteen.
Increase volume level by sixteen decibels. Reduce atmospheric oxygen by a relative value of X, survive, advance, aim, and--and--and--
fire.
Ocular receptor malfunction due to sensory overload.
Ocular sensors offline.
Ocular sensors offline.
Sort-of-quoting the end of "Blinded by the Light."
("See you on the other side.")
Sam's last words.
End of line.
...Because how could I not end this fic with that?
I was delighted when I got likeadeuce as my Remix assignment. She was a pinch-hit assignment for me in 2007, and I loved all of her stories then. (And we friended one another as a result!) So, two years later and now that I know her a lot better, I was thrilled.
But! I'm sure we matched on X-Men Movieverse, and though I really love her stories there, I wasn't really sure that was where I wanted to write. I like using Remix as an excuse to write in a new fandom. I thought about doing one of her BtVS/AtS fics again, but I did that last time and didn't want to repeat myself. So, when I saw that she had a solitary Battlestar Galactica fic, I was intrigued, because BSG is the newest of my shiny new fan-loves.
...But. Her story was Sam/Kara. And while I like them a lot, they're not characters I ever would have thought about writing. And her story was about basketball. I know nothing about sports.
(It's a terrific story, and I love it! It's just truly a story that I can look at and say, "I never could or would have written that.")
Then I read it again (and again), and I thought about it. I thought about likeadeuce's other fics I could remix--mostly stories about Scott and Jean. Then it hit me: I could remix/rewrite "Survive and Advance" as an X-Men story about Cyclops and Phoenix without changing a damn thing.
There are so many parallels! Centurion visors with their red eye slits are like Scott's visor. Kara dies (in a fiery crash!) and is sort-of reborn. Sam and Scott both have head injuries that mess with their abilities. Sam loves sports/physics/math, and Scott has a gift for spatial awareness. Sam and Kara both appear human but are something more, something different, hated and feared by humanity. Jean loves Scott and Logan; Kara loves Sam and Lee. Sam has a line in "Survive and Advance" about the importance of following the rules, and of course Scott is the resident X-Men Boy Scout. The list goes on...
So, I figured I could cover the song, but use different instruments. Bring in other melodies, but not change the main one.
And that's what I wanted to do, with this remix: to see if I could keep her story almost entirely intact (without changing its tone or adding [much] dialog to suit my purposes) and still get the point across, somehow, that "this has all happened before, and it will all happen again" means that someday Sam Anders and Kara Thrace will be Scott Summers and Jean Grey and this, sort of, will all happen again. As an added bonus, I wanted it to stand on its own as a BSG story, without needing knowledge of X-Men, and that BSG story would simply be about Sam and Kara, using "Survive and Advance" as a happier-times contrast to what is to come, with Sam becoming the hybrid and both of them dying.
...The Springsteen came next, when I was looking for a funky remix subtitle. I'm not very familiar with his music, so, I was searching randomly for Springsteen songs that had to do with burning/light/fire. I found "Blinded by the Light" and thought that fit with Sam flying into the sun. Then I realized it was where likeadeuce's username came from, and the lyrics could apply fairly well to the X-Men. (There's a character named Scott!) So, of course I had to figure out how to put as much of "Blinded by the Light" as possible into Sam's hybrid-speak.
Endsong, End of Line. (Sights of the Hybrid Sun remix)"
All this has happened before, and all of this will happen again.
I started with this because it's so central to BSG, to the Cylons, and because I wanted to establish early on that this--Sam and Kara--will happen again, as Scott and Jean.
Sphere.
Circles are a repeated motive because I wanted to emphasize rebirth, meaning the Phoenix. But this particular sphere is also the basketball.
Arc through the carbon and oxygen molecules, calculate the distance, the angle, and thrust. Pivot. One. Nine. Eight. Nothing.
1980, the year the Dark Phoenix saga was published.
Increase atmospheric oxygen by 0.07%. Pressure stable. Burn cycle complete. Resume function.
Burn cycle, then resume. It's all about the Phoenix.
End of line.
Cast on and weave the net, under and through, survive and advance. Solitary elimination, extinction and quenched ashes. Survive again. Advance. Circle and hoop, infinite circumference and finite boundaries.
Basketball net, and basketball babble ("single elimination tournament" and also, a solitary elimination could mean one person's death). The "quenched ashes" were yet more Phoenix. I loved using the phrase "survive and advance" because it works so well with the circular theme of this fic. Survive, survive again...
Status: fugue. Round and a round again.
Referring both to a fugue state, like Sam was in, and also a musical fugue/round. "A round again," with the space, was not a typo.
This has all happened before. The quadrilateral garden of the mad sons, scarlet Taurus, metal center by the lake. The duke's jesters, cerulean demons,
Madison Square Garden, the Chicago Bulls, Staples Center where the Lakers play, Duke Blue Devils.
madmen drummers. Final four. Jump. Shot. Canon fodder, around and a round again. End of line.
Final four is a basketball term; also used here to refer to the Cylons, before the Fifth was revealed. Jump shot is a basketball term, but Sam was also literally shot. "Canon fodder" was again not a typo--in music, a canon is also a round. Sam is both fodder for the canon (this will happen again) and for the cannon, destined for death.
***
This section doesn't need a lot of explanation. I traded past tense for present, mostly for the sake of changing something, but I kept almost everything else the same. Sam seemed to be a stickler for the rules here, and I thought that established him pretty well as the Scott of this fic!
"Foul!"
Anders blows the whistle and, of the six bodies on the court, five stop in their tracks. The last, a tall, slender girl of twelve, scoops up the ball in one smooth motion and sprints back to half court. "Foul!" Anders repeats, unable to keep a note of exasperation out of his tone. "Number six, gold!"
Number six pivots, jumps, and throws. Anders' eyes follow the ball to the rim, where it circles twice before teetering sideways and crashing to the floor. It bounces back, a near miss, and the shooter grabs for it. Still, there's no question; Niobe Cutler is a natural athlete with a beautiful stroke.
"Niobe!" Anders says as he steps over the tape line he meticulously laid out on the floor. It took an hour just to measure the lines and angles, another two to apply the tape and set up the makeshift goals.
I did elaborate on how he meticulously laid the tape out, though. I thought Scott!Sam's perfectionist streak should be illustrated here.
“Did you not hear me call a foul on you?"
She puts the ball behind her back, giving him a shrug. "Yeah, but I didn't do it. Artemis ran into me."
"No," Anders says, and holds out a hand for the ball. "You were moving. It's like we talked about. You need to establish your position, or the foul's on you."
Niobe raises an eyebrow and plants her feet, the way she should've been doing when she was guarding Artemis. "Why?"
He rubs the back of his neck, trying to suppress a sigh. Shouldn't it be obvious? "Because it's the rule, and playing by the rules is important."
"It's a rule you made up."
"It's a Pyramid rule."
She slams the ball to the floor, the motion making her long blond bangs fall over her eyes, and glares at him through them accusingly. "You said this isn't Pyramid."
Anders palms the ball when it bounces, the slap of rubber against metal loud in the sudden silence, and cradles it to his chest. "My game. My rules."
"My ball!" Niobe cocks her head and puts her hands on her hips. "You wouldn’t have anything to play with if I didn’t give it to you. No ball - no game."
Frak. Less than a week into this gig and he's managed to get into a power struggle with a godsdamned 12-year old. And she has a point. There isn't a decent Pyramid ball on the Ariadne; for the moment, they're making do with this oversized child's toy. Anders has been forced to improvise what he can with that, and now, apparently, he has to write out a frakking rulebook.
"Listen - Niobe -" And then he makes a mistake; he lets his gaze flick to the side of the court, where the girl's mother is perched on an old shipping crate. Hermia's eyebrows go up -- oh, no, don't look at me -- while her daughter lets out a disdainful sniff and mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like, "frakking stupid."
I gave Niobe a bit more attitude, too. I'm not sure why.
Anders takes a deep breath and turns back to Niobe. "Look. The defenders need to keep their feet in place, all right? Otherwise they have an advantage."
Artemis - the red team girl Niobe fouled, who ought to be thanking him-- instead tosses her jet-black braid over her shoulder and juts out her chin. "Isn't having an advantage the point?"
"Not according to the rules," Anders replies, measuring his words. "It’s a game. It isn't combat." Which isn't a distinction he would have thought to make, back in his playing days. But these are just kids. "The rules make it as even as possible, offense and defense. The advantage comes from being a good player. Mastering the skills. Then when you win, you know you were really better." The two girls eye each other, nodding. Sensing he has them, Anders risks a smile. "Or, that you're luckier."
"Hmm," Niobe replies, with a practiced eyeroll, "why didn't you just say that?"
"Because I was blowing the whistle.” Niobe holds out her hands, but Anders steps around her, pointedly offering the ball to Artemis. "And the foul was on your team."
"All right," Niobe says, managing to sound as if she's humoring him. But she goes back into formation with her teammates, and, when Anders blows the whistle again, play resumes without a hitch.
Anders rakes his fingers through his hair as he joins the girl's mother. "Why didn't I just say that?"
"Believe it or not, I think you handled her just right." Hermia Cutler has to be several years older than Anders but doesn't look it, with sparkling green eyes and a soft smile, skin too pale from years spent under artificial light. She gives him an appraising, approving look. "I was about to say you must have girls of your own, but there's no way you're old enough."
"Actually," he says, before he has fully teased out the thought, "she reminds me of my wife."
Hermia's hand claps over her mouth. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think."
It takes him a moment to process her meaning - what could she know about him and Kara, and how? When she lowers her hand and starts playing with her own wedding band, however, he understands. The fleet is full of half-marriages.
"No," he begins, awkward, "I'm sorry - when I said 'reminds' all I meant -- "
It's almost as if the thought called her voice up in his mind, and, for a moment, he's not sure it's real. "This is the most frakked-up excuse for a pyramid court I have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on."
"Excuse me." Hermia turns, any softness suddenly replaced with sharp, parental steel. "There are children here. Who do you think you are?"
“Captain Thrace,” Kara replies, arching an eyebrow, and Anders notes the restored insignia on her fleet-issue shirt. Her hair is close-cropped again; a golden cap that won't get in the way beneath a viper helmet. “You might remember me from saving your sorry civilian ass more times than I can count.”
"Mrs. Cutler -" Anders sighs, and nods at Kara. "This is my wife."
***
Infinite possibilities of action, reaction and finite positions; prepare for combat but follow the rules. Be prepared to hark the song of war; be fair because the advantage comes only when both sides are evenly matched, set boundaries and play by the rules.
"Hark the song of war" was a reference to another Phoenix arc called Phoenix: Warsong. And the stuff about following the rules is to further point out that Sam (/Scott) is a boy scout.
Abort all functions on the lower decks. Relay order to all personnel, to the abyss. Advance and be prepared. Be prepared. End of line.
"Be prepared," the Boy Scout motto.
Spins and turns, angles and arc, burn, a perfect thought.
I really liked the rhythm of that line. More circles, more fire. Rebirth and Phoenix, in as many ways as I could think of to say it! "A perfect thought" is a quote from Sam when he becomes the Hybrid.
Perfect nothing but woven nylon fibers and hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen. One point nine eight pass.
"Nothing but..." is a way of saying "nothing but net." And, again, 1980.
Three point. Slingshot finally found a tender spot; optic sensory input offline; but he will survive with his primary functions within acceptable parameters.
Enter the Springsteen! "Slingshot finally found a tender spot" is the line of the song that has Scott in it. The rest is a mangled way of saying, "blinded by the light, but he'll make it all right."
Ivory and etude, she too crashed to the ground. All-hot half-shot relentlessly unendingly driven to the hot spot where she, she, she was also blinded by its brilliance and yet will advance from out the embers. Three hundred sixty degrees. End of line.
Kara as the Piano, and the rest is Springsteen, garbled. "She was blinded by the light, but she'll make it alright." Advance from the embers = yet more Phoenix.
***
Control. Gotta be a way to get under control.
"Gotta be some way out of here..."
She closes her eyes and exhales hard, fingers clenched around the handle of the knife. They ache fiercely, whether annoyed at her or just twinging sympathy for her frakked-up life, she's not sure, but the hard anchor in her palm helps, some. So does pulling what's left of her godsdamned hair taut enough to hurt. Control. Gotta get under control, or else she's likely to shatter the mirror and she really doesn't want to have to explain that.
Like young!Jean in fanon, trying to keep her powers under control. I think my Fred voice in the other remix I wrote from likeadeuce's fic was oddly similar: "...She had to get it together or else she was liable to puke all over Wesley's leather interior. And that'd be so embarrassing."
Metal taste still in her mouth, and she's not sure if that's from the blade or still being just this side of the edge of drunk.
I liked that line a lot, too.
Her tongue runs over the backs of her teeth, and she grimaces. Saws harder. Strands slip out of her grip, down her tanks, over her shoulders and biceps to float down, becoming just that much of a blond mess on the floor.
Kara breathes out hard, again, staring at herself, a little too wild-eyed, in the mirror, watching the already-cut side of her hair swing forward, just below her ear. She doesn't think about the weight remaining in her hand, yanks harder, does not think of Sam's fingers tangling in it, laughing as he tugs her head back gently to kiss her neck-- Frak.
She saws harder, faster. Not who she is, anyway. She's not--
("You're malcontented, and a cancer. And I won't have you on my ship.")
Gods. She's not--
("No guts? You don't got a pair? You're both frakking cowards.")
She's not like--
("You've already done that, Saul. Both of you.")
She's not like Tigh, or so she wants to believe. She's like Adama. Just like Jean wants to believe she's more like Xavier than Magneto...
Her fingers shake as the blade rips through the last strands. The knife clatters to the floor, which seems to buck beneath her feet as she makes her way to the wastebin and throws the hank of hair as if it singes her palm. Maybe it does.
("You were like a daughter to me once. No more.")
Kara retrieves the knife and sheathes it; grips the edge of the sink and stares at her reflection with hot, dry eyes for a minute before she makes herself puke, booze and bile burning the back of her throat.
She swishes, spits, and heads for the shower, standing beneath the scalding spray until her skin turns pink and the steam clears her head. Not quite human, not quite herself, but closer than she's been in a damn long time.
Getting properly dressed helps. And combing her hair. Her hand's almost steady when she knocks on the Admiral's door. He's bent over his ship, big hands strong and sure with a tiny brush and pot of adhesive, and he glances at her only briefly before turning back to it.
The ship's going to splinter someday, just like she is now.
Kara steps up beside him, quietly, hands clasped loose behind her back. The thing needs a masthead. Waits until he's pressed the piece into place before she clears her throat, which still feels gritty. "I figured it out, sir."
He turns and stares at her for a moment, all hardass business. Then he snorts and claps a hand on her shoulder. "No, you didn't. Not yet. But it's a start."
She swallows. "I'm s--"
His grip tightens, and he shakes his head. "Just do your job, Captain," he says, and his voice is graveled, too. ("Pick up that weapon and shoot me.") Gods. "That'll be all."
Her salute has never been sharper, or more grateful. "Yes, sir."
***
New command. Resume function. Sublime moments shine lit beacons when one realizes innate potential. Patterns and repetitions, last gleaming milliseconds, midnight marathons.
Midnight marathons = "Another runner in the night."
Optic sensors offline, under and taut, increase probability of eventual regeneration by 24.5%.
"Blinded by the light, she got down but she never got tight, but she'll make it all right."
Sulfurous baritone prophets cry out half-blindly
This is meant to be Tigh. "Some brimstone baritone anti-cyclone rolling stone preacher from the East."
and I, I am what was, what is, what will be.
That's a slightly-mangled quote from Phoenix.
Cogitate. You are secure in the awareness of self, events yet to unfold. You have yet to begin.
And that was just fun, a nod to the fact that I remixed Deuce's Buffyverse story before. "You think you know what you are, what is to come. You haven't even begun."
End of line.
New paragraph. Not cavernous wombs but desired seeds, genesis sires and the agony of wanting that which she cannot have.
This entire paragraph is my fanon about Jean: that she idolizes Xavier and wants to be like him, and he's the father she wants. But as I see it, Phoenix is much more like Magneto, just as Kara is more like Tigh.
Grasp and begin again. Resume function. Condemned eternally to idolize one and echo another; there's a hole in the bucket, a drop in the bucket,
"a hole in the bucket, dear Liza" is another quote from Sam-as-hybrid in the series.
prophet tattooed veins and patch.
Tigh as Magneto. I set him up as the prophet before. Tattooed veins = Magneto's concentration camp tattoo. Patch is Tigh's eye patch.
Seven thousand, six hundred and forty-two pinpricks, neuron bright nebulas, wooden masthead spokes circling, circling.
...And Bill as Xavier. Neuron nebulas = the people looking like stars in Cerebro. Wooden masthead spokes circling is both the ship and the wheelchair.
The spirit is infinite but the flesh is weak, and there are two, always two, light and shadow, beloved and feared. Leap, expel saliva into the stratosphere, and fall, condemned to darkness.
"Well, I jumped up, turned around, spit in the air, fell on the ground" ...Blinded by the light, of course.
***
Sometime during the writing process...
Tigh: *shows up*
Me: Uh, Colonel? You're so not in this fic. It's about Sam and Kara.
Tigh: Frak that! Thought you said I was yer favorite character.
Me: Yes, but--
Tigh: *crosses his arms, weaving a little, and glares* Am I the Magneto in this story or not?
Me: Well, yes. But--
Tigh: *glares more* You want me to exterminate humanity? I could, y'know!
Me: *headdesk* In the fic, but drunk and unconscious work for you?
Tigh: You got yourself a deal.
She's in front of the XO's quarters and doesn't know why, except--
("You're on your own in this life. Each and every one of us.")
But she wasn't, that morning. Her wedding day, head pounding, bright sun and sand, Tigh sprawled with Ellen snoring softly beside him. He laughed at her, made her laugh, shared a drink she didn't need and listened, which she did. He put his arm around her like he'd never touched a woman before unless he was hitting her or frakking her or both.
And Kara doesn't touch unless she's hitting or frakking. Or both.
But Kara wasn't good at that, either, and he smelled ripe and pressed the bottle into her hand, and it was all right.
She pushes the door open, and he's sprawled on his back on the floor, the air sharp with the reek of booze and sweat. The gauze over his eye socket is facing her, grimy at the edges, and his tanks are soaked and stained beneath his pits. The bottle's on its side, empty, beside him, and his mouth is slack, and the burn of her own drunken vomit is still clawing at the back of her throat.
Kara stumbles back, disgust and pity and something like a flicker of fear warring in her chest. She should pour him into bed, at least turn him over so he won't choke if he pukes. "Frak-up," she whispers instead, and leaves without a backwards glance.
And of course she's not talking about herself...
***
Touch the face of perfection, a joy, a rapture beyond comprehension.
The beginning of that line refers to a quote from Sam-as-hybrid that is repeated in a moment: "Perfect face, perfect grace." The latter part is a mangled quote from Dark Phoenix in Uncanny X-Men #136: "I...hunger, Scott--for a joy, a rapture. Beyond all comprehension. That need is a part of me, too."
Perfect shot. She is fire and life incarnate, perfect face, perfect grace.
And this line is a Phoenix quote followed by the Sam quote, to make things nice and symmetrical/circular.
Tied into a lover's knot and crashed to the ground
"Tied into a lover's knot" is a direct quote from "Blinded by the Light," and "crashed to the ground" refers to the Scott in the song throwing his lover to the sand.
but will always come back to you. Part of me always infinitely will be with you.
More Dark Phoenix quoting: "I love you, Scott. A part of me will always be with you," from Uncanny X-Men #137.
Weave the net, under and through, all of this has happened before. Survive again. Crash to the hot spot and rise from the ash.
***
I chose Kara's POV here mainly so that I would legitimately be changing something from the original, because I was worried, at this point, that my remix was failing as a remix!
Kara bounces the ball off the floor and catches it with both hands. The slap of rubber echoes in the cavernous room, now empty of everyone but the two of them. "She sure cleared out of here in a hurry."
Sam folds his arms, leans back against the bulkhead, and gives her what must be his Stern Coach Look. "Between the profanity and the insults, I can't imagine why."
She laughs. "This sure is one frakked-up pyramid court."
"It's not Pyramid."
He makes a grab for the ball, but she yanks it away and, struck by a sudden memory, twirls it on the tip of one finger, giving it momentum with her other hand. "Look!" she cries, grinning. "I used to have one of these -- when I was, like, eight." She spins the ball again, watching the brightly-colored pattern blur. "Did you ever learn to do this?"
"What, an Anders man? Play with toys? My dad used to brag how he put a Pyramid ball in my crib."
"And what, now that you're a grown-up, you finally get to play with other kids?" The ball teeters, and she lets it fall, bouncing it idly against the floor. "So. What's the object of your game?" she asks, nodding at the court and trying to hide a smile. The taped lines are perfectly straight, the tape itself smoothed to within an inch of its life. Leave it to Sam Anders, the only man she's ever frakked who has to get up afterwards, before going to sleep, in order to fold his clothes. She gets a kick out of moving his boots, making 'em so they're not lined up just so.
I added this part to emphasize, again, that Anal Sam Anders is a lot like Anal Scott Summers.
As if reading her thought, his hand darts out and smacks the ball away from her, and he moves backwards, bouncing the ball along with his steps.
"Hey!" half-laughing, she lunges for him, but he pivots, steps around her, and then raises his hands, sending the ball flying over his head. They both watch as it arcs toward the goal, teeters on the rim, and finally falls in.
"Yes!" He grins at her, pumping his arm in victory. "He shoots, he scores!"
"You scored?" Kara repeats. "Because you got the girly ball in the --" Realizing just what the goal is, she steps closer, peering upwards incredulously. "What is that, a fruit basket you've got nailed to the wall?" She can't repress a smirk. "What are you calling it? Basketball?"
"You know, I like that," he says, mouth twitching. "It's descriptive. Simple."
"Uh-huh," she replies, stepping closer, teasing him. "There's just one problem, Sammy boy. How do you get your ball down?"
In answer, he reaches for the broomstick leaning against the wall. "Still working out some of the kinks," he explains, poking through the bottom of the basket until the ball pops out and goes bouncing across the floor. "Look," he continues, "we're working with what we've got. Which isn't much. We could fit four pyramid courts in here, but we don't have enough equipment. Besides, the idea is to get these kids active, and they can't all play pyramid at once. Meanwhile --" He points up. "We've got all this vertical space. May as well use it."
"Oh, yes." She nods, mock-seriously. "Good plan. Great use for your tactical skills."
"Isn't it?" He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm not a soldier, Kara. Not by choice. I have a graduate degree in recreation management, for frak's sake. Meanwhile, all these kids in the fleet are going stir-crazy. I could show you studies --"
"You hate kids."
"I don't -- I never said --"
Best to nip this conversation in the bud, she thinks, holding up her hands. "Forget I said anything. You're obviously enjoying your little atonement gig, though gods know what you think you did --" And then it hits her. "A net."
"Huh?"
"Net." She points to the basket. "Replace that with a metal rim --" She makes a circle with her fingers, then spreads her hands out. "Just a little wider than the ball. Then we get some nylon cord and weave a net that catches the ball -- just enough to slow it down for a few seconds -- then lets it go. You don't have to stop the whole game every time someone scores."
"Captain Thrace," he says, "I believe you just offered to sew for me."
"Frak you, Anders. In your dreams."
He steps closer and puts his hands over hers. His palms are cooler than hers, softer than hers, and his breath brushes her forehead when he leans to speak against her skin. "That's exactly what I've been dreaming about."
I enjoyed changing the last couple of lines. Originally, she said, "In your dreams," and he said, "That's not exactly what I've been dreaming about." I liked how adding three words and subtracting one could make this part have exactly the same meaning. And making his palms cooler was intentional--she's burning like the Phoenix.
***
All this will happen again. Blackbird flying in the dead of night, built piecemeal and hidden.
A Beatles nod: "Blackbird singing in the dead of night..." and a reference to both the Blackbird on BSG (built piecemeal) and the one in X-Men Movieverse (hidden beneath the basketball court).
Four and twenty, and the bird began to sing, escape route must be a certainty. The jester and the pickpocket opened the pie, all is opaque, respite is impossible given the finite programmed boundaries of our infinite souls.
I was really proud of the segue between "blackbird" and the nursery rhyme and "All Along the Watchtower"/Cylon stuff, especially the fact that "opened the pie" is both from the rhyme and could mean that they were talking (pie as in "piehole"). :D This is a garbled version of, "There's gotta be some way out of here/ Said the joker to the thief / There's too much confusion / and I can't get no relief."
Reserve the ammunition and turn up the band.
"Save the buckshot and turn up the band," from Blinded by the Light.
All-seeing watchtower
Just in case you didn't get the line above...
watches futures unfold, past and present and infinite omniscent. All this will--all this will--all of this--
The repetition is, of course, intentional.
***
In all honesty, I think this is the weakest section of the fic, but I needed to parallel Sam and Kara's goodbye on Caprica with Jean telling Scott that she will come back to him and will always be with him.
Kara Thrace does not cry. Not now, not ever. Not feeling like she has to hold what is left of her guts in, like she's split in two, warm sunlight on Caprica and his warm hands on her breasts, and now the only thing out there is blackness and they're four jumps away, and--
Gods.
Samuel T. Anders. With his mouth and his hair, gods, he has a good face.
Jean tells Scott he has a good face in Uncanny X-Men #131.
The tilt of his head and the way he just looked at her. The way he frakked her like she was burning. Like he was.
More burning...
Like she was something he needed. More than that, the way he looked at her.
Her hand falters up to her neck, like she left a part of herself down there with him.
("You said you were gonna come back, remember? I'm going to hold you to it.")
He learned to be a soldier from the movies, like he's some kind of hero, and he talks about Pyramid rules like they're Scripture and fraks like maybe she is, too.
This was another line I was really pleased with.
He's got the only part of her worth having on a chain around his neck, warmed against his skin.
Samuel T. Anders. Gods.
("I'm coming back. I said it; I meant it.")
***
This is the section where I tried to make it obvious--but not too heavy-handed!--that this story is about (/a parallel to) the X-Men. In retrospect, I think I erred too far on the side of obscurity.
All this has happened before, and all of this will happen again.
Five.
Both "Final Five" and "Original Five."
Crimson beams in a steel slit mask. Ocular sensors read as red, red, and time. Stops. Spin a ball, rotation, equation; speak the language of lines, angles, digits, parallel and precise parallel slingshot. Resume function. The orphan captain leader scout, captain o my captain receives neural damage, red but he will carry on within set parameters.
I tried to say "Sam Anders is Scott Summers!" as clearly as possible in this paragraph. Especially "orphan captain leader scout."
New paragraph. The obstinate toy soldier becomes pliant, chained and contained unknowing depths of infinite possible forevers; burn; survive and advance. 15.68 degrees, set course. She crashed down and rose again. She's something more. Shed your skin.
And this is talking about Kara as Jean/Phoenix. Especially "chained and contained unknowing depths," referring to Phoenix being trapped inside Jean, and "crashed down and rose again."
Skin. Unending multitudes of sin beneath the surface skin; despise and fear that which is like, yet unlike, yet silent and-- Rise along the X-axis and burn for a relative value of X. End of line.
A mangled version of "protecting those who hate and fear us," trying to get the point across that the skin jobs look like humans (just like some mutants do), and the X-stuff was just flogging the idea harder.
Unstable along the watchtower, unsafe to venture outdoors. Upstairs, the man traded his wings for a business suit; he wants to keep his hands immaculate and do the right thing.
Lee as Warren.
Downstairs, a curly head is bent over wires and a wrench and he builds what he dreams, precise calculations, vectors and grease.
And Chief is Hank. It was accidental, but I was particularly pleased to discover that "vectors" is both an aviation term and a biological one. I tried to think of a Bobby!parallel but failed.
Not what they seem, despised and feared, madmen drummers and teenage diplomats.
This was all more "These Guys Are X-Men!" stuff. "Hated and feared," again, and I thought "teenage diplomats" was very fitting for a group of teens who try to save humanity repeatedly. "Madmen drummers" and "teenage diplomats" are also from "Blinded by the Light."
Verily, look upon the five who shall protect multitudes
More X-Men stuff, referring to the Original Five.
and crash to the ground. Trip the merry-go-round and turn up the band.
And more Springsteen.
Increase volume level by sixteen decibels. Reduce atmospheric oxygen by a relative value of X, survive, advance, aim, and--and--and--
fire.
Ocular receptor malfunction due to sensory overload.
Ocular sensors offline.
Ocular sensors offline.
Sort-of-quoting the end of "Blinded by the Light."
("See you on the other side.")
Sam's last words.
End of line.
...Because how could I not end this fic with that?