This story was written by a good friend of mine, Emily Bridges. She's one of the few people I know who, like me, truly enjoyed every bit of the new Battlestar Galactica series, including the series finale, which still divides fans.

She and I have talked about it all before, and though we feel the show ended as it should have, there is something the world could have used more of:

Six/Starbuck.

If you've watched BSG, you'd have seen Six's desire for a child of her own, which she almost experienced with Saul Tigh. Whereas Hera grew up and lived in the brave new world they had discovered, it certainly would've interesting to see how it would have been had Six become a mother and raised her child there, too.

Emily has written such a fic, taking that idea into some interesting territory.

So now, at her request, I am posting it here to share and to archive.

Title: Barefoot Servants
Author: Emily Bridges
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Six, Starbuck, Gaius Baltar, Six/Starbuck
Rating: M
Summary: It is a new world, and with it, Six and Starbuck welcome a new life together.
Notes: AU based off of the BSG series finale. Could certainly be spoilery ahead if you've not seen it. However, I encourage you to read it anyway.



It was her eyes and her mouth. It was the lines and muscles of her shoulders in sunlight. It was watching her peel mangoes for supper, the flick of her knife against the peel, the juice running down her fingers. It was her mouth on her throat, it was her hands finding the small of her back. It was the sound of the sea and never wanting it to end.

She could no longer remember exactly when they arrived or how long they’d been here. She and Star had come to this island a week after the fleet’s arrival on the world. She remembered the goodbyes, the promises, and the man with the dark hair’s eyes. Eyes looking out of that ruined face, pleading, wanting to begin again, knowing it wouldn’t be. She had felt such pity for him then, and a pang of guilt for what she was to do. She hadn’t loved him for a while, not since Star, not since Star had looked, really looked at her. Not since Star had come into her room, to ask for something, what it was she could not remember. But she had remembered Star’s eyes, their color darkening to almost slate blue. That mouth, her mouth, on hers, on her breasts, her thighs. Those arms, her arms, holding her so tight, those arms that would not let her go.

It had been the night before Star and she had left. She had not told Star what she planned to do, she did not have to. Star knew in her glances at the man with the dark hair what she was planning. Star knew her ache for a child, their child. So she had left Star tending the fire by the camp, Star had said nothing, she turned to look back at the light of the fire flickering of Star’s hair, glints of honeyed gold against the darkness.

“I hope our child has your hair my love,” was her silent wish as she turned and walked toward the other camps.

The man with the dark hair was alone in his tent as she expected. He smiled that crooked, hopeful smile at her entrance. He started to speak and she pressed her fingers to his lips, he said no more. She slipped out of her clothes and let him look at her for the last time. She cradled him in her arms and gently rested him against the ground. She carefully climbed on top of him and drew him toward her. He began to softly call at her name, and she let herself go, losing herself in the dream of her breasts heavy with milk, her belly swollen with a child, her child, Star’s child, their child.

The heat began to travel up her spine and press behind her eyelids, the man pressed her hand to his mouth to smother his final cry, and she bit her lip to keep from calling out Star’s name. There was silence only as they caught their breaths, then a kiss the man did not know was goodbye. She quickly dressed and returned to Star. She was asleep in their tent, she did not want to wake her and crawled beside her to lay her head on Star’s chest. The last thing she felt was Star’s hands stroking her hair just before she fell asleep.

They had left just before dawn, packing their few things into the small ship. Star had shown her on a map where they were going, she told her it looked beautiful and it did, but she did not care where she went so long as Star was there. The journey seemed brief and it only became real when she felt the sand under her feet and heard the surf crashing over the rocks at the island’s point. That first night there had been an awkward silence between them, they realized they were truly alone, and what had happened with the dark haired man hung between them.

She felt tears sting her eyes as she wondered if she’d made a mistake and Star had taken her hand and held it to her heart. It told her all she needed to know and she smiled. Star’s eyes darkened at that smile and she raised her hand to her mouth and took her fingers in one by one. She could feel the heat pour over her legs and she leaned towards Star and began to undo the buttons on her jacket and trace her fingers under the shirt for one of Star’s smooth breasts. They tasted and explored each other for a long time and cried out each other’s names to the sky and the crescent moon. Afterwards watching the first rays of the sun spill out over the water, Star’s head resting against her hip, Star’s fingers tracing spirals in the sand, she sighed with happiness.

Star looked at her then, “I hope it’s a girl.”

She did not know for a little while more if her plan was to be, then she felt her breasts swell and become tender, and a thickening feeling in her belly. She remembered Star laughing out loud when she’d told her and hugging her tight for a long while. Their days were days of exploring the island, of telling stories to each other, of Star carving a flute for she could not keep away from music no matter how much she wanted to. They were days of clothes being cut up for the heat, of being torn into rags to hold the small shelter together, of clothes not being worn at all. There was the red dress, she had not packed it, and had wanted to burn it when she found it in her things.

The Other had obviously put it there, but why?

She had laid it on the beach and watched the tide take it away, and had found it hanging; dry, from a tree the next day. She had not tired to get rid of it since. And as her pregnancy went on she took to wearing it. She sketched pictures at night, of things seen on the island, of Star, of them walking down the shore her belly full in her red dress, Star holding her hand every inch the proud parent to be and dressed only in a scarf tied around her hips. She began to think of names for the baby.

She did not tell Star about the dreams at first, and then she realized Star was having them too. Star dreamed of the same stretch of beach, The Other standing at the end of it, a bundle in her arms. The bundle cried a child’s cry and she and Star ran towards The Other but a wave crashed over them and all was silence and darkness. She had been afraid to sleep but Star said she must for the baby’s sake. Star would play her flute and she would sleep, and the music would keep the dreams away, at least for a little while. Star said they should each think of a name but not tell the other as a surprise for the baby’s birth. That night she was gathering wood for the fire when a name came to her, a name whispered out of thin air, forming into letters in her mind’s eyes. A strange name, one she had not heard of or even knew what it meant. She wrote it down in her sketchbook to not forget.

She remembered the first pains, telling her it was time. She remembered Star’s frightened eyes, but her voice calm and strong telling her not to be afraid. She remembered Star laying out the red dress for her to lie on. She remembered Star talking her through what to do and rubbing a cool cloth over her body. She remembered when the real pains started grabbing Star’s hand and trying to be brave for her sake, so Star would not look so frightened. She remembered her cries increasing to screams, and a pain that was white light engulfing her, and then a new cry.

A startled, helpless cry, and she saw the baby in Star’s arms. Star, who never cried, with tears running down her face as she laid the baby’s bloodied body against her breast. She remembered holding her daughter, their daughter, for the first time. She remembered looking at the strands of hair, even in that state she could see their color, honeyed gold.

Star tended to her and the baby for the next few days, on the fourth she finally felt well enough to go for a short walk. She was in the red dress, the baby wrapped in one of Star’s old flight jackets. They walked to a favorite spot of theirs, where they had carved their names into the trunk of a large tree looking out over the ocean. She asked Star if she had thought of a name and she said yes, but it was a strange one, one that had come to her out of thin air and she had wrote it down so as to not forget. Star noticed how oddly quiet she was on the walk back but did not ask why. She got her sketchbook from the small trunk they used to protect their things from the element, and Star fished a scrap of wood she’d carved the name on from under her pillow. They both looked in wonder and fear at each other at the identical words written on the two pieces, “Sarah.”

And Sarah grew, and Sarah grew lovely and bright. They had not dreamt of The Other in a long time, and they began to forget her in the love of their daughter. Star taught Sarah to swim and hunt and play the flute, she taught Sarah how to draw and fish, and to make maps and keep records. And Sarah would look at them with her clear green eyes and smile and that smile would make everything right. They did not tell her of Gods or God, or of the other people in the world. They agreed they would simply just answer as honestly as they knew how if she asked.

And Sarah continued to grow, her hair spilling onto her shoulders and downy hair growing on her legs. And her parents watched her with wonder and awe as she walked down the beach, a spear in her hand, a fresh kill in the other, with only a scarf knotted around her hips. They had not known when but their child was now fully a young woman. And the dreams of The Other returned.

And with the dreams came the questions from Sarah. She asked if there where any others and they said yes. She asked if they knew who her father was and they said yes. She asked how they came to this island and they told her. They told her of destruction, of war, of forgiveness. They told her Gods and God grow cold in the light of people’s love for one another. They told her one of the first things they did after completing their shelter was park their ship on the rocks of the island and let the surf tear it to pieces. At this last piece of information Sarah grew quiet and still. She asked if this was to mean she’d always be here, they hesitated, they told her they did not know.

Sarah had kept to herself for a week after that conversation. They became afraid she’d flee to another part of the island and stay there. But she slowly began to talk to them again, and began to smile at their jokes and stories. But there was a change, a longing those green eyes. Star knew it well.

Star told her when Sarah was away fishing, “She is my daughter after all, she wants to taste the stars and feel the wind beneath her feet.”

She said nothing to that, and asked if Star had dreamt about The Other recently. A strange laugh chilled their blood in an instant. At the door to their shelter stood The Other.

She was the mirror image of Star’s mate but her eyes and mouth were dangerous, a playful game or destruction could issue from her with equal ease. She was wearing the red dress, new and crisp and tight on her body, she pursed her lips in amusement and the faded scrap it’d become wrapped around her double’s body. Star went for her knife. 


“Oh really?” The Other said, “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, I’m here to help after all.”

“I just bet you are,” Star hissed, her heart hammering in her ears.

“You don’t want your daughter to hate you do you my dears?”

And with that a dreadful silence fell over the small room. And a terrible understanding. She and Star looked at each other, and if she didn’t know better she thought a flicker of pity passed over The Other’s face. They began to weep and the gently held each other as The Other left the shelter to give them privacy. They understood their gift, they understood their time was allotted, not unlimited; they knew very well this was a goodbye.

Sarah came home with a good catch to find her parents waiting with a guest. She was only mildly shocked at The Other’s being an exact double of one of her mothers. The Other watched her help her parents prepare dinner, and The Other ate gladly from the fish she’d caught and drank water they’d carried back for the day from the spring. The Other finished her supper and looked across the blanket at Sarah, “How would you like to begin an incredible adventure?”

The Other had walked with Sarah down the shore for good while, and they both returned knowing Sarah’s decision by the look in her eyes, brilliant as emeralds now with possibilities. She asked for a moment with her parents. They went into their little shelter, all it was one common room, but it had been everything. Sarah took a deep breath, Star looked to her to tell their child the words, she smiled at Sarah,

“We want you to go beloved, be happy.”

She would always remember packing a few things for Sarah. Of Sarah dressed in an old pair of Star’s pants and a black suit jacket she cut the sleeves off of long ago. Of giving her a mango and her sketchbook, of Star giving her a compass, of hugging and kissing her and trying not to cry, and of not caring anymore and letting the tears come. Of watching The Other and Sarah walk down to the sea and a glint from the moonlight caught the waves and they were gone.

She no longer remembered how many years ago that night was and her heart had begun to mend in its way. She was very old now, her skin paper thin and her hair gray, Star laid under a pile of stones by the tree carved with their names. She was not unhappy, there had been many dreams since that night, and adventures too. But that was a story for another time. Right now she knew what she must do; she carefully unwrapped Star’s flute from a scrap of red dress. She began to play, and she knew, she did not know how but she knew, that her daughter could hear.