swatkat

Title: there is no shield and no costume
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Character(s): Ellen Tigh (Ellen/Saul)
Rating: R
A/N: Title from Pablo Neruda's 'Waltz'. Written for

ariestess in

purimgifts, originally posted here. Many thanks to

roga for looking through this.

Summary: The stars are very bright on the night they take Saul away. Ellen Tigh in New Caprica.

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The Cylon's an easy frak.

All his wile falls away when you push him back on the couch and mount him, hand on his cock. You ride him hard, squeezing his mechanical balls and scraping your nails on his mechanical chest, drawing blood. He bucks and thrusts wildly, his face contorted in an ugly mask as he comes.

'Now,' you tell him. 'Tell me about Saul.'

The Cylon lies back on the bed and gasps like a fish.

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You follow the Brother Cavil in the marketplace, watching him terrorise harmless shopkeepers and scare away their customers.

You walk up to him and smile.

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On your way back from President Baltar's quarters you meet Sam Anders, who insists on walking back with you.

He has beautiful arms, you note distractedly. Arms of a Pyramid player.

When you were younger, Jimmy Lake, the Picon Panther, had this little crush on you. It's all as clear as yesterday: the warm Caprica evenings and Lake and his prettyboy smile, so charming.

You took him out one evening and you let him kiss you, running your hands over his chest, his arms.

Saul, of course, was jealous. That is, until you plied him with ambrosia and frakked him cross-eyed.

And the next time you went to a Panthers game, Lake smiled and waved at you. Bill Adama glared and Saul gripped your hand a little tighter, and you laughed. You were irresistible, every one of the twelve colonies at your feet. You laughed and laughed.

'Any news of your wife?' you ask Anders now, and his face falls. He crosses his beautiful arms and says, 'No. Not yet.'

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Gaius Baltar, when you finally meet him, is of no use whatsoever. He's certainly less handsome than you remember him being, and in desperate need of a bath and a shave.

'I assure you, Mrs. Tigh, it is just, ah, routine interrogation, nothing more,' he says. A Six glares at you from over his shoulder. One of the priests smirks at you from the couch. Baltar fumbles with his glasses and reaches for a cigar.

You let the tears fall once you're outside, and so you don't notice the Cylon hovering behind you until she grabs your wrist and drags you to a corner, hissing 'Shut up' just when you're about to scream. It's a Sharon, and her grip is like vice, her eyes like flint as she says, 'Your husband is alive. I've seen him. Baltar won't help you get to him.'

'Will you help me?' you ask.

'No,' she says. 'But I'll tell you who can. And if you mention this to anyone, I will kill your husband. Do you understand?'

+

Saul's people help you put up your tent again and put your and Saul's things in order. They drop by every now and then for a chat and accompany you to the marketplace. You learn their names: Galen, Cally, Jean.

At night you sit outside your tent and stare at the stars.

+

The first time you seek attendance with President Baltar, you're faced with his aide instead. 'I'm sorry, Mrs. Tigh,' he says, 'but the President is not meeting anyone at this moment.'

'I want to know where my husband is,' you say, doing your best to ignore the two giant toasters that take hold of your arms and lift you up in air. 'You worked for Adama, didn't you? I've seen you in Galactica,' you shriek. 'Tell me where my husband is!'

The toasters set you down at the threshold and glare menacingly, before turning around and clanking back to wherever it is that they came from.

You come back every day.

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The stars are very bright on the night they take Saul away.

You stand outside in the cool night air until you hear a familiar voice say, 'Here, come with me.' And then there are arms around you, dragging you away from the wreckage of what was supposed to be your new home, your measly little tent on this miserable planet.

You're shoved inside a tent and pushed onto a chair. Someone throws a blanket around you. Another person thrusts a glass of hooch in your hands. You're surrounded, you realise, by faces you know from Galactica, Private this and Sergeant that—inconsequential names you have never once cared to memorise.

'Where did they take Saul?' you ask Chief Deckhand (you are fairly certain he is the chief).

'Interrogation,' he says. 'Which could mean a number of things.'

Your husband is Saul Tigh, second-in-command to Admiral Adama, leader of the New Caprica resistance: you know what it means. You don't cry.

And you watch them file in one by one: more familiar faces. Sam Anders. And then, finally, Laura Roslin. She heads straight for you, her face pouring in sympathy. 'Ellen, I'm so sorry—'

'Can you get him out?' you interrupt.

'That will be our primary objective,' Roslin says, without even batting an eyelash.

And it would soothe most people, you're sure, but they've got your Saul and you've played this game enough—you're not going to play it anymore.

'Can you get him out?'

'Ellen—'

'We'll be trying our best, Mrs Tigh,' says the Chief, 'but the truth is that we have no idea.'

You do cry a little after that, not caring what Laura Roslin or anyone else might think. And as they huddle together, you excuse yourself, walking out into the clear night.

The New Caprica sky is cold and unfamiliar, painted with strange constellations with names you do not know. You have never really cared for the sky and the stars, save for the times Saul took you flying, a little ridiculous in his silly flightsuit.

He'll be fine, you think now. He'll have to be. And even if they don't figure a way out, even if Bill Adama never comes back for him, you'll not let it be otherwise.

You'll frak them all if you have to.

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