Her father taught her to shoot when she was ten. It was a bonding thing, or so he joked. Anastasia learned to clean the rifle, dismantling it and putting it back together with clumsy ten-year-old hands. Her father had been proud, though. She was learning, he'd said. Learning to be the woman she could be.
When she was fourteen, her mother introduced her to things like makeup and dressing correctly for every occasion.
Ana took to those lessons as well as she had to the earlier ones.
Being able to fire a pistol was just one more thing she put on her application when she enlisted at seventeen. She was bright-eyed, and certain that life was full of adventure and hope.
It was the hope that she slowly started losing, as time went on.
When the world ended, there was still Billy. He was older than her, but Anastasia felt as though she had more years on him. Dee wondered, sometimes, what would have happened between them if the world hadn't ended. She knows it wouldn't have been much.
But Billy was also fear. The fear of letting someone in too close, the fear of knowing he could die, the fear of waking alone in ten years because he'd gotten tired of her.
He thought she hung the moon, and that gave her too much control over him.
Two days after he died, she stood in the firing range, pistol in hand. It was familiar, even though she hadn't used one since the cylons boarded the Galactica months before.
Lee Adama, someone who could become more than a casual flirt, someone who might want to give her the universe, is lying in a bed, recovering from a bullet.
And Billy Keikeya is dead.
Dee checks the pistol is loaded, puts on her ear protection and raises the gun, aiming with a precision that earns her six shots through the center of the target.
When it comes back, she nods at it and moves to put the gun down.
A hand on her arm stops her. "Hey, Dee."
It's Racetrack. Anastasia doesn't bother smiling--it's not that she doesn't like the other woman. She just doesn't know her, and she's really in no mood to talk. "What?"
"You look like you could use a drink."
Dee shrugs, "We all could use a big one."
"Yeah." Racetrack seems to consider a moment, then releases her. "I'll let you go." She lifted her own pistol. "Unless you wanna stay and outshoot me."
The challenge hangs in the air for a moment, then Dee flashes a grin, "You're goin' down."
"Now that's what I like to hear," replies the other woman. She raises an eyebrow, "What's the stakes?"
"That drink you mentioned. I win, I get us a bottle of ambrosia. You win..."
"I get us a jar of Chief's 'shine." Racetrack pauses, then laughs, "You're stackin' the deck, Dee."
"Not at all, Lieutenant, not at all."
They retake their places at the range, lift their weapons, and fire.
Dee wins.
The ambrosia's been in her locker a long time, she's just been waiting for an excuse to drink it.
BSG, Dee, arms
When she was fourteen, her mother introduced her to things like makeup and dressing correctly for every occasion.
Ana took to those lessons as well as she had to the earlier ones.
Being able to fire a pistol was just one more thing she put on her application when she enlisted at seventeen. She was bright-eyed, and certain that life was full of adventure and hope.
It was the hope that she slowly started losing, as time went on.
When the world ended, there was still Billy. He was older than her, but Anastasia felt as though she had more years on him. Dee wondered, sometimes, what would have happened between them if the world hadn't ended. She knows it wouldn't have been much.
But Billy was also fear. The fear of letting someone in too close, the fear of knowing he could die, the fear of waking alone in ten years because he'd gotten tired of her.
He thought she hung the moon, and that gave her too much control over him.
Two days after he died, she stood in the firing range, pistol in hand. It was familiar, even though she hadn't used one since the cylons boarded the Galactica months before.
Lee Adama, someone who could become more than a casual flirt, someone who might want to give her the universe, is lying in a bed, recovering from a bullet.
And Billy Keikeya is dead.
Dee checks the pistol is loaded, puts on her ear protection and raises the gun, aiming with a precision that earns her six shots through the center of the target.
When it comes back, she nods at it and moves to put the gun down.
A hand on her arm stops her. "Hey, Dee."
It's Racetrack. Anastasia doesn't bother smiling--it's not that she doesn't like the other woman. She just doesn't know her, and she's really in no mood to talk. "What?"
"You look like you could use a drink."
Dee shrugs, "We all could use a big one."
"Yeah." Racetrack seems to consider a moment, then releases her. "I'll let you go." She lifted her own pistol. "Unless you wanna stay and outshoot me."
The challenge hangs in the air for a moment, then Dee flashes a grin, "You're goin' down."
"Now that's what I like to hear," replies the other woman. She raises an eyebrow, "What's the stakes?"
"That drink you mentioned. I win, I get us a bottle of ambrosia. You win..."
"I get us a jar of Chief's 'shine." Racetrack pauses, then laughs, "You're stackin' the deck, Dee."
"Not at all, Lieutenant, not at all."
They retake their places at the range, lift their weapons, and fire.
Dee wins.
The ambrosia's been in her locker a long time, she's just been waiting for an excuse to drink it.