disclaimer: not mine.
Pairing: ... I... Hybrid/Sam Anders, a bit of Kara/Sam. Implied Six/Hybrid, as well
Rating: I'm... R, as, um, not exactly noncon, but not con, either. sex. language.
set: season four, at some point. spoilers for He That Believeth...
genre: WEIRD. Not fluff.
length: 1600+
Warning: sort of noncon? God, I don't know. I should not be awake.
notes: prolix_allie is also a very bad influence. I DO NOT KNOW WHERE THE FUCK THIS CAME FROM.

not like i break every time we touch
by ALC Punk!

The raider brings her visuals, and even through the haze of pure math and the logistics of billions upon trillions of stars spinning forever (never ending never begun never stop never--) she feels a spark (deep deep, fingers push and pull--no that's not right--). The spark multiplies in an instant, and she rolls, calling (back, back, not their own--)

A Six, watching, hears jumbles of numbers, no patterns, and a moment of silence as the basestar pulses.

The moment is like being caught in an orgasm she's never had, and Six shudders with it, body rolling just slightly, feeling for an instant what her memories have told her (more than memories, less than real) about the slick, wet feel of sex (messy).

Stars, again, and the hybrid feels dissonance. And ignores it.

"--they will not harm their own--"

She is her and they are we and no one is together--

The hybrid steals a moment, steps outside of the boundaries of time and rolls the picture of him (it, them, us) around in her mind. An adjective floats out of her mind, something she's heard the Sixes say. Handsome.

Power corrupts, power divides, power becomes its own ends to a means.

Hybrids don't resurrect, they're regrown, the consciouses of thousands of hybrids and the minds of every Cylon passing through them at one point in another (millions of atoms floating free). When a basestar is destroyed, there's no return for them, though a part will always remain in the greater conscious mind (I'm not jacked into any network. It doesn't work that way).

Pieces and images become thoughts and ideas, become conscious minds that open eyes and watch ceilings they'll never touch even as they dance among stars that brush them with cold light that is almost ecstasy.

No one asks the hybrids if they want to live, just as no one thinks of them as separate entities. They're melded into one whole within their ships, living their lives in service to a cause (the body needs a mind, but the will is gone) they can never touch fully.

Sam Anders.

The name echoes on more than one basestar, filtering through the pipes. It's attached to a litany of crimes against the Cylon: resistance leader, resistance member, Starbuck's husband, pilot--

None of these matter, as another moment is snatched, this time with fingers moving in time to a beat that isn't quiet right (two to the power of four to one against and falling). The thought, the feel is spread into the memory pool, the ripple spreading slowly outward.

"Like this," Six says, tilting back against the wall, her hand between her legs. Her eyes are closed as she thinks (remembers) someone else.

It could be anyone, or no one, or simply a fantasy. The hybrid watches in snatches and starts, focusing on the muscles that jump the way her finger shifts (slips). They catch their breath at the same time and the basestar shivers (just a little, no one will notice).

The war goes badly for some, good for others. The hybrids are neutral (no one asked them who was right or wrong), the basestars shifting in and out in formation, pressing for advantage and slithering away from each other when its lost (it's not quite two great computers going at it, but the results of mass murder are the same).

Her (she, they) basestar slips out into the free space midway from where they had been where they should be, following Baltar's starcharts (Earth).

Something brushes against their sensors, and when Six tells her to jump again, she doesn't (tired, so tired, mama can I go home now--)

The tiny ship slides closer, docking when nothing attacks it.


The voice pulls the hybrid from her reverie, just slightly. Deep and husky (marmalade, orange or green--doesn't matter, darling, there's no tea to go with your toast), it catches, rolls under her skin and tugs (fingers).

"I've been here before." (never)

Blonde hair, hazel eyes, flash of the swirling clouds, and the hybrid's breath catches at what's (who's) behind her. Part of the basestar shudders quietly to a halt, two dozen Cavils frozen as they open their eyes nevermore.


His eyes are still on her, still pulling parts of her soul free (no souls, ships don't have souls, machines don't have ships), "Hello?"

"--I know you--"


The gun in his hand slides back into the holster, and he reaches out, hesitant, confused (touch me), fingers skimming against her cheek (electric shock). His breath catches, eyes dilating. "What are--"

She can hear his heartbeat, unnaturally loud, pulling and tugging, twisting, as though she could reach out and squeeze (make it stop forevermore, NO--), and touch him. The basestar pulses, not quite jumping, but shivering on the edge, as though the engines run themselves (calculations numbering in the billions, ergo cogito sum).

He slips.

"--the ends become lost in the means. Ways divide by zero--"

Contact. Warm flesh against cold, and the thoughts and feelings lash out, and muscles twitch. Muscles she shouldn't have start a low throbbing (Six with her fingers, slip, slide, there) and her litany breaks for an instant as her breath catches.

"Sorry, I--are you all right?" He's soaked in the fluid she's buoyed in, leaning close (not close enough, too close, never there, never here), breath brushing against her face.

He smells like onions and mold, sweat and dirt (Leoben did, too, Baltar did worse, human stink, machine oil--). Sex. (was it good for you)


Another hand, touching her, touching him, and the hybrid twitches, flashes of prophecy and truth (fact, fiction, lie, ultimatum) spinning her vision, "--please--"

"I don't know--how can we help you?" He leans even closer.

Hand, arm, muscles, tendons, all combine to work as they're supposed to. Cold fingers close on warm wrist and he doesn't flinch. Her words don't help, still babbling about streams and rivers, calculations that can cut glass and flower arrangements on Picon.

"--need--" The basestar almost jumps as the hybrid pulls at his arm, dropping in and out of the datastream, trying to articulate a need she hadn't realized was there (Six knew).

"Uh, Sammy," Kara leans over, eyes dark with something (lost in the unknown, pulled through and brought back to life, all this--), "I think she wants you to frak her. Either get it the frak over with, or get the frak out of there."

His eyes widen with shock, and the hybrid tightens her grip, pulling (here, there, no, here), body arching upwards.

"Uh, look, I don't think--" he slips, falling fully against her, chin banging against her shoulder.

Electric shocks, heat, and the hybrid finds her legs moving (closer, more, please, now--). Impatient, she turns her head (--autonomous movement is impossible when they're suspended in fluid, One. You know that as well as I do--) and kisses his cheek. Stubble scrapes her lips, like the first sensation she's ever had and she wants to cry.

"I could shoot her."


"You can't get free, Sam."

"A little help here?"

"I gave you my opinion."

"--couple--" Please. The hybrid flinches, trying to draw him closer (knowing, not knowing), trying for what she needs.

"You have to let me go, I--I'm not--" he struggles, but her grip is strong, and the more he struggles, the more he submerges.

(I could drown you forever)

"Sam, let me just shoot--"

"No." There's something odd in his voice, muffled though it is by the strain of trying not to be pulled under further. "I think--" His free hand brushes against skin under the liquid and he swallows, following the curve of hip around and up, and--


The hybrid tilts, pressing up (more muscle groups, quads, delts, abdominals) with the body she's now discovering is there (always has been, chained in slavery forever. Shut up, Two.)

"All right." His mouth drops to her face, brushing cheeks and nose, gentle on her lips. His hand moves up, fingers searching until they find what she's only just discovered.

"I can't believe you're frakking a hybrid. Sam, this is a whole new kinky side I never knew you had."

She sounds scared.

The hybrid turns to look at her, eyes going wide and dark, bliss and shock setting in as his fingers press and turn, stroke until they find the right rhythm. "--come with me--"

Orgasm, she feels, in a kaleidescope of soundscapes and colors that roll her under and rip the math straight from her grasp. The basestar doesn't jump, but only because the calculations that pour through the computers fry half the circuits and leave the rest scrambling for some semblance of order as the hybrid comes down, back online and limp again.

Her hands can't grasp anything more, her limbs (if she ever had them) are drifting down, numbed by the fluid again.

"Gods," he mutters, pulling himself up and out of the tub. Kara doesn't move to help.

"What the frak did you do, Sam?"

He glances back at the dark eyes, watching nothing at all, and knows she's alive only because her lips are still moving in never-ending litany. "I don't know. Shit. I need to get out of this. Now."

Gone. They're gone, the Sixes are gone, the Ones forever frozen in the beginnings of life... All gone. For the moment.

But they'll return. She knows they will. And when they do... her mind caresses the alterations it's made to the raiders, to the basestar itself. When they do, Sam Anders will just have to accept responsibility for his actions. There's a soft pulse from where her womb should be (--if she were a real girl, and not built without the right parts--yes, yes, this is wrong, but it's what God has planned, Six--).