Pairings (referenced): Dualla/Lee, Kara/Lee Genre: episode insert (Rapture), action Spoilers: Rapture Notes: Written at work, edited at home. I figured someone had to write it. kicks the title I've written too much fic, I'm really tired of having to find good titles.
Logic Dictates by ALC Punk!
Anastasia Dualla was raised to be a good girl. Raised to put others before herself, and raised to believe that things would work out right in the end. The cylons, however, had other ideas. Of course, she'd had different ideas, too. She'd joined the military, tried to do something good with her life. The irony was, she wasn't sure anymore what that 'good' could be. Her marriage? If her instincts were right, her husband was contemplating divorce. Her career? Well, when there's only one battlestar left, there's no point in trying to impress the upper echelons. And she'd been XO, for a short time. Now she wasn't. The demotion hurt less than she'd thought it would.
The one thing she was not raised to be was a guerilla. They'd covered basic combat in her classes at the academy, but nothing like the sort of thing she needed for sneaking around a sniper. And that was what she was going to have to do--if she was to accomplish her objective.
Logic told her there was only one thing to do: take the sniper out. Logic was annoying that way.
With Fischer's blood still in her nostrils, she moved through cover as best she could--if someone had told her she'd be flat on her belly, with twigs digging into her skin two years after enlisting, she would have told them to lay off the ambrosia.
The cover was barely adequate.
She'd been hiding for ten minutes before she finally spotted the tiny movement up on the cliff above her. It was barely a movement, almost more as though the waiting sniper were letting out a breath. Which didn't make sense. If it was a toaster, there'd be no point in breathing. Hell, Dee was impressed the damned thing moved at all.
But it was enough to tell her where it was.
Not that she had any frakking clue how to get up to it. Or rather, she did, she just didn't think the climbing lessons she'd had were still in her muscles.
Her father, she thought in wry amusement, would be telling her to stay under cover and await a rescue. But Dee was the rescuer, and she had a duty, even if it chafed. Logically, she had been the closest to Starbuck's position, so logically, she and Fischer were the team to send. Just as logic had dictated that she, as the most experienced communications officer, anchor the relay. Logic didn't take into account who Starbuck was, and who her commanding officer was.
Logic, Dee decided as she slithered backwards and slowly stood to flatten herself against the ridge, was a cold companion.
If she were Starbuck, she would have some wacky plan to get up there and take out the sniper. Since she wasn't, Dee settled for quietly climbing, hands and feet finding the same footholds the sniper must have used.
Halfway up the ridge, she paused to listen. There was no indication the sniper had heard her. The thought came to her that it could simply be waiting for her, at the top. It would let her expend all her energy and then shoot her between the eyes. Morbidly, she wondered if she'd make a pretty corpse.
She shoved the thought away and concentrated on one hand and then the other, moving in a rhythm until her muscles ached and the sweat stung her eyes.
When her breathing became too labored, she stopped again, forehead pressed against the rock and sucked in shallow breaths.
Sound came to her, drifting from somewhere above.
The sniper was talking to himself.
Her breathing slowed, Dee continued, half-listening to the rambling of a madman. At least, the toaster sounded more than a little frakked in the head.
The muttering seemed to center around Starbuck--and Dee wished, for an instant, that she wasn't jealous. Starbuck, Starbuck, Starbuck. It was always about Starbuck. She gritted her teeth and tried to block out the inanity of prophecies and Starbuck and streams of consciousness.
Her hand finally met the edge of the ridge and she pulled herself up and onto the grass, trying to pant softly.
A footstep made her look up.
One of the male model cylons was standing there, looking down at her. His side-arm was in his hand, but he didn't seem inclined to point it at her, yet.
Dee recognized the Leoben Conoy model, and sighed. Of course he was obsessed with Starbuck.
It occurred to Dee that she'd never actually been in the front lines until now. Oh, she'd had her moments of danger in CIC--getting zapped by the cylon virus, abandoning Pegasus. But none of those had felt real. None had felt as though she might actually die. There'd always been Adama (or Lee) to back her up, to pull her out of the fire.
She doesn't have that luxury, here. She only had herself--and Starbuck, but Starbuck's probably unconscious or worse.
"Not even going to get up to greet me?" The Leoben tsked and smiled at her. It was creepy to see his lips stretch into a semblance of happiness. "You have a task, you know. Your destiny isn't as valued, as some. But your time will come, Anastasia."
"Does it have to do with killing you?" Dee asked him, tone thick with sarcasm. Her hand brushed over her sidearm, flipping the safety off. Just in case.
"You will have a purpose, in the small things," he mused, "And your children will become more than the sum of their parents."
Children. Yeah. Dee rolled her eyes and stood, hand closing on the butt of her sidearm. She wasn't as fast as any of the pilots, but she was still a good shot. He just had to give her an opening.
Leoben half-smiled at her, then gestured expansively, arms swinging wide. "God has a message for you, Lieutenant."
"Yeah?" Dee yanked her sidearm free and fired, the bullet taking the cylon in the chest. The impact knocked him backwards and over the edge of the cliff. "Tell your God I said hi."
Her training told her to check the cliff top for more of the enemy. Dee found none. She did, however, discover a perfect vantage point to look down on Starbuck's downed raptor. She studied the completely open terrain and sighed. If nothing else, she had hopefully taken out the only sniper. But she wasn't going to count on that.
Pulling her binoculars, she studied the ridges and valleys around her, trying to spot movement or shiny toasters.
There was nothing. Nothing but green, shale, rocks and more dirt. Absently, Dee swiped some of the sweat off her brow, leaving behind even more smudges. When this was over, she was so taking a long shower.
Checking one last time, Dee decided on her route down the ridge. It would be difficult, but the faster she went, the faster she'd be able to get under cover by the raptor. She didn't like leaving her ass exposed and hanging for anyone to shoot at. Putting the safety on, she holstered her weapon and then took a breath, let it out, and began the difficult climb down.
All in all, she may not have trained for this, but maybe she could do it.
She just had to keep a cool head and let logic work her through it, one step at a time.