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saysthemagpie) wrote2017-12-17 02:24 am
saysthemagpie) wrote2017-12-17 02:24 am
nouis battlestar galactica AU
OK HERES SOME BSG. this is after Niall's been identified as one of the Cylon models. He's been arrested and brutally interrogated for weeks, in an effort to determine if there are other Cylon models in the fleet. During the interrogation, the interrogator (Lieutenant Thorne) repeatedly uses Louis as leverage, threatening to implicate him as a possible Cylon if Niall continues to insist on his own innocence. (Louis doesn't know this is happening; Niall's interrogation is top secret, and Louis won't learn the full circumstances for a while yet).
After the meeting with Admiral Cain, Louis lies awake for hours, staring at the bunk above him till his eyes are bloodshot and sting fiercely every time he blinks. Finally, around 0300 hours, he rolls out of his bunk, dresses quietly, and heads for the officers' gym, hoping to burn off some of the restless energy thrumming through him.
He's got the place to himself, thankfully, everyone else asleep or on night patrols. Louis flexes stiff fingers, shaking some of the feeling back into them before he puts on his sparring gloves. He sees it again in his mind: the blinking red of the recording device Cain placed between them on her desk. Hears it, too, the crackling of static first, and then that familiar voice.
I am a Cylon living under the name Niall James Horan. I have known my nature from the start.
Louis pummels the punching bag as hard and fast as he can, bouncing on the balls of his feet, making quick, vicious jabs as he darts forward, feints, retreats.
My mission was to infiltrate the Battlestar Pegasus as a flight deck mechanic, to secure information that would aid the Cylon cause.
Niall's voice had been flat. Mechanical. It was the voice of a machine--a fracking machine, reading out its confession like a script punched into its programming.
I approached Captain Louis Tomlinson four years prior to the attack on the Colonies. I believed that if I gained his trust I could persuade him to grant me access to classified information about security maneuvers.
He had known the truth since he saw the Cylon with Niall's face lying dead at his feet, a hole through his forehead, blood and brain matter spattered all over Louis's helmet, his uniform, his hands. But it wasn't until he'd heard the confession that Louis had fully understood. That was the real Niall: that toneless voice, devoid of feeling, of remorse. His Niall had never existed.
During this period I attempted to engage Captain Tomlinson in a romantic relationship. I told him that I loved him. I made other promises I believed would help me carry out my mission. At no point did I reveal to him my true nature.
In the silence of the gym Louis screams aloud, the sound torn from his throat. He falls on the punching bag in a frenzy of violence, hitting and punching it, kicking at it, blinded by his tears. Swinging wildly on its chain, the bag collides with his shoulder hard, knocking him off balance.
Louis stumbles forward, collapsing to his knees. He throws his arms round the bag to stop its swinging. In a detached sort of way he realizes he's shaking, his whole body wracked by tremors of some strange feeling, terrifying in its intensity. It isn't until he's already sobbing, clinging to the punching bag, that he recognizes it as grief.
After the meeting with Admiral Cain, Louis lies awake for hours, staring at the bunk above him till his eyes are bloodshot and sting fiercely every time he blinks. Finally, around 0300 hours, he rolls out of his bunk, dresses quietly, and heads for the officers' gym, hoping to burn off some of the restless energy thrumming through him.
He's got the place to himself, thankfully, everyone else asleep or on night patrols. Louis flexes stiff fingers, shaking some of the feeling back into them before he puts on his sparring gloves. He sees it again in his mind: the blinking red of the recording device Cain placed between them on her desk. Hears it, too, the crackling of static first, and then that familiar voice.
I am a Cylon living under the name Niall James Horan. I have known my nature from the start.
Louis pummels the punching bag as hard and fast as he can, bouncing on the balls of his feet, making quick, vicious jabs as he darts forward, feints, retreats.
My mission was to infiltrate the Battlestar Pegasus as a flight deck mechanic, to secure information that would aid the Cylon cause.
Niall's voice had been flat. Mechanical. It was the voice of a machine--a fracking machine, reading out its confession like a script punched into its programming.
I approached Captain Louis Tomlinson four years prior to the attack on the Colonies. I believed that if I gained his trust I could persuade him to grant me access to classified information about security maneuvers.
He had known the truth since he saw the Cylon with Niall's face lying dead at his feet, a hole through his forehead, blood and brain matter spattered all over Louis's helmet, his uniform, his hands. But it wasn't until he'd heard the confession that Louis had fully understood. That was the real Niall: that toneless voice, devoid of feeling, of remorse. His Niall had never existed.
During this period I attempted to engage Captain Tomlinson in a romantic relationship. I told him that I loved him. I made other promises I believed would help me carry out my mission. At no point did I reveal to him my true nature.
In the silence of the gym Louis screams aloud, the sound torn from his throat. He falls on the punching bag in a frenzy of violence, hitting and punching it, kicking at it, blinded by his tears. Swinging wildly on its chain, the bag collides with his shoulder hard, knocking him off balance.
Louis stumbles forward, collapsing to his knees. He throws his arms round the bag to stop its swinging. In a detached sort of way he realizes he's shaking, his whole body wracked by tremors of some strange feeling, terrifying in its intensity. It isn't until he's already sobbing, clinging to the punching bag, that he recognizes it as grief.
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