Last one for now
Feb. 15th, 2012 07:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
in_the_blueTitle: A Day is Long
For:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rose_griffes
From:in_the_blue
Canon: Battlestar Galactica
Word Count: approx. 1200
Summary: Sam and Kara have a somewhat serious discussion. Written for the prompt "that time they actually talked about kids" on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
pyramidofdreams. Spoilers through 2x05, "The Farm."
Notes: The title is from the poem Don't Go Far Off (Sonnet XLV) by Pablo Neruda.
He didn't know Kara Thrace, but he knew she was worth risking his life. He'd done it already and they'd only known each other a couple days. He'd do it again, and in his months on Caprica after the war started he'd risked his own sorry ass for precious few people. That didn't mean he hadn't wanted to, but they'd held him back. Barolay, mostly, her we need you, T a constant shadow following him everywhere. Just because he'd been team captain didn't mean he knew how to run a godsdamn resistance, but someone had to take charge. Someone had to take on that role, and a frak of a lot of someones were used to looking to him for direction.
The job fell on his shoulders uneasily but the truth of it was that until that moment when Kara appeared like some kind of angel of death with her guns and her stubborn insistence they were all Cylons, survival hadn't been anything more than just another game. There was no hope, no reason for it: as far as they knew, the 53 of them were humanity's sole survivors. That didn't exactly infuse any of them with a whole lot of faith. How does a professional pyramid team survive a nuclear holocaust, Kara wanted to know. The answer he didn't give but wanted to was badly.
But they'd done it, and now that they had her back — now that that ray of hope had been sparked again — like hell was he gonna let go of it again. Now they had something to live for. Now there was something to look forward to. And really, she'd made him a promise and said she kept her promises, and he'd always felt the same way about them. If she said they'd send a rescue team, they'd do it. He didn't know Kara Thrace, but he sure as frak trusted her.
"Here." The sweats, the workout jacket, the fresh underwear were folded in his arms almost reverently. That she'd wanted to wash away the whole experience at that frakking farm didn't surprise him at all, and she didn't need to know he ceded her his daily water ration and the next day's too when she lingered in the old gymnasium locker-room shower. As much time as she needed, he figured, that's what she ought to have, and he kept her company in the most platonic of ways. Sat on the other side of that shower curtain, kept up a little bit of running commentary for her so she'd know he was still there and that she wasn't alone and that she wasn't going to be left alone, not any more and not on his watch.
"You know what that frakking toaster told me?" Kara's voice cut through the pounding of the water and the distraction of the vinyl curtain, riveted him to attention.
"No." He'd thought she was dead, or feared that anyway, and he hadn't known about those frakking farms. If he had, he would've made it his team's priority to take those motherfrakkers out, as best they could, as many as they could. As things stood now that would be the new order of business, as soon as they got their shit together again but for now, Kara was the only concern he had. "What'd that frakking toaster tell you?"
"He said healthy women my age were a commodity. That we ought to be making babies. You know what I say to that?"
She didn't give him a chance to answer.
"Frak that. I'm a godsdamn Viper pilot, not some baby-making machine. The last frakking thing I want is a kid. The last frakking thing."
On the other side of the shower curtain, safe and dry on a box filled with bars of industrial-strength soap, he nodded. "Like it's any of their godsdamn business what people do." Except they had those farms, those breeding farms. Well, those weren't gonna last, they'd see to it.
"You have any kids, Sam?"
He couldn't tell through the veil of curtain and water if there was a new tightness in her voice at the question, and even though she couldn't see it, he shook his head and smiled a contained little smile. "No, no. No kids. I was way too busy for that and anyway, I never wanted them. Never wanted that kind of responsibility."
Kara's laugh was low and bitter. "No room for kids in pyramid, huh?"
"I don't know. Some of my teammates had kids. Wives. Husbands. Dogs, cats. Brothers, sisters, and all of them, every single one, lost them at the same time. It's kind of a blessing I didn't lose any family. Always said my team was my family, and those motherfrakkers are stuck with me." He let out a little laugh, one he didn't really feel. "Maybe it's more no room for kids then, and now... well, I'm not gonna take direction from some frakking Cylon, but even if I didn't feel that way, I never wanted any and now's sure as hell not the time."
The water stopped abruptly. "Frak," he heard.
"It does that sometimes. It's been unreliable." Without pulling the curtain back, he handed her a towel. All the privacy she wanted, all of it: he was so grateful to have her alive, he couldn't think of a single godsdamn request she could make that he wouldn't be glad to carry out.
"That's exactly how I'd be with kids. Unreliable. Frak it, I'm done thinking about it. Done talking about it. If I ever change my mind about becoming some baby breeder and want some good-looking genes to pass on I'll let you know. Ow, frak."
"You okay in there?" In an instant he was on his feet, the smile from her compliment fading fast.
"Yeah. Just caught a stitch with the corner of this towel. Who does your frakking laundry, some troll under a bridge who dries things off with rocks?" She peered around the lip of the shower curtain, a wry half-smile on her face. "Those clothes for me?"
He nodded, handed them over. Kai wasn't gonna need them any more and like everything else, they stockpiled whatever they could. They had no choice, especially now that they were gonna survive until they were rescued, which was looking like a viable option for the first time. "You need help with anything there, let me know."
"I'm good," she insisted. "I'll have Helo take a look at the stitches. He knows all about that shit, has a med kit."
"You got it." Frak, she was back and alive, that's all he could have asked for. Like he'd never seen such a beautiful sight before, his eyes didn't leave her as she pushed the curtain aside and stepped out, a brave and determined smile on her face. "Hey." She ran a finger up his midsection, tapped his sternum twice. "Let's get the frak out of here. Sooner I get back to the ship, the sooner we can get you off this frakking planet."
"Yeah, let's get you home." He didn't want to see her go, but at least they had this. He didn't know much about Kara Thrace, but he knew enough. He was never gonna be able to stop thinking about her, and he found he didn't mind that at all.
For:
rose_griffesFrom:
in_the_blueCanon: Battlestar Galactica
Word Count: approx. 1200
Summary: Sam and Kara have a somewhat serious discussion. Written for the prompt "that time they actually talked about kids" on
pyramidofdreams. Spoilers through 2x05, "The Farm."Notes: The title is from the poem Don't Go Far Off (Sonnet XLV) by Pablo Neruda.
He didn't know Kara Thrace, but he knew she was worth risking his life. He'd done it already and they'd only known each other a couple days. He'd do it again, and in his months on Caprica after the war started he'd risked his own sorry ass for precious few people. That didn't mean he hadn't wanted to, but they'd held him back. Barolay, mostly, her we need you, T a constant shadow following him everywhere. Just because he'd been team captain didn't mean he knew how to run a godsdamn resistance, but someone had to take charge. Someone had to take on that role, and a frak of a lot of someones were used to looking to him for direction.
The job fell on his shoulders uneasily but the truth of it was that until that moment when Kara appeared like some kind of angel of death with her guns and her stubborn insistence they were all Cylons, survival hadn't been anything more than just another game. There was no hope, no reason for it: as far as they knew, the 53 of them were humanity's sole survivors. That didn't exactly infuse any of them with a whole lot of faith. How does a professional pyramid team survive a nuclear holocaust, Kara wanted to know. The answer he didn't give but wanted to was badly.
But they'd done it, and now that they had her back — now that that ray of hope had been sparked again — like hell was he gonna let go of it again. Now they had something to live for. Now there was something to look forward to. And really, she'd made him a promise and said she kept her promises, and he'd always felt the same way about them. If she said they'd send a rescue team, they'd do it. He didn't know Kara Thrace, but he sure as frak trusted her.
"Here." The sweats, the workout jacket, the fresh underwear were folded in his arms almost reverently. That she'd wanted to wash away the whole experience at that frakking farm didn't surprise him at all, and she didn't need to know he ceded her his daily water ration and the next day's too when she lingered in the old gymnasium locker-room shower. As much time as she needed, he figured, that's what she ought to have, and he kept her company in the most platonic of ways. Sat on the other side of that shower curtain, kept up a little bit of running commentary for her so she'd know he was still there and that she wasn't alone and that she wasn't going to be left alone, not any more and not on his watch.
"You know what that frakking toaster told me?" Kara's voice cut through the pounding of the water and the distraction of the vinyl curtain, riveted him to attention.
"No." He'd thought she was dead, or feared that anyway, and he hadn't known about those frakking farms. If he had, he would've made it his team's priority to take those motherfrakkers out, as best they could, as many as they could. As things stood now that would be the new order of business, as soon as they got their shit together again but for now, Kara was the only concern he had. "What'd that frakking toaster tell you?"
"He said healthy women my age were a commodity. That we ought to be making babies. You know what I say to that?"
She didn't give him a chance to answer.
"Frak that. I'm a godsdamn Viper pilot, not some baby-making machine. The last frakking thing I want is a kid. The last frakking thing."
On the other side of the shower curtain, safe and dry on a box filled with bars of industrial-strength soap, he nodded. "Like it's any of their godsdamn business what people do." Except they had those farms, those breeding farms. Well, those weren't gonna last, they'd see to it.
"You have any kids, Sam?"
He couldn't tell through the veil of curtain and water if there was a new tightness in her voice at the question, and even though she couldn't see it, he shook his head and smiled a contained little smile. "No, no. No kids. I was way too busy for that and anyway, I never wanted them. Never wanted that kind of responsibility."
Kara's laugh was low and bitter. "No room for kids in pyramid, huh?"
"I don't know. Some of my teammates had kids. Wives. Husbands. Dogs, cats. Brothers, sisters, and all of them, every single one, lost them at the same time. It's kind of a blessing I didn't lose any family. Always said my team was my family, and those motherfrakkers are stuck with me." He let out a little laugh, one he didn't really feel. "Maybe it's more no room for kids then, and now... well, I'm not gonna take direction from some frakking Cylon, but even if I didn't feel that way, I never wanted any and now's sure as hell not the time."
The water stopped abruptly. "Frak," he heard.
"It does that sometimes. It's been unreliable." Without pulling the curtain back, he handed her a towel. All the privacy she wanted, all of it: he was so grateful to have her alive, he couldn't think of a single godsdamn request she could make that he wouldn't be glad to carry out.
"That's exactly how I'd be with kids. Unreliable. Frak it, I'm done thinking about it. Done talking about it. If I ever change my mind about becoming some baby breeder and want some good-looking genes to pass on I'll let you know. Ow, frak."
"You okay in there?" In an instant he was on his feet, the smile from her compliment fading fast.
"Yeah. Just caught a stitch with the corner of this towel. Who does your frakking laundry, some troll under a bridge who dries things off with rocks?" She peered around the lip of the shower curtain, a wry half-smile on her face. "Those clothes for me?"
He nodded, handed them over. Kai wasn't gonna need them any more and like everything else, they stockpiled whatever they could. They had no choice, especially now that they were gonna survive until they were rescued, which was looking like a viable option for the first time. "You need help with anything there, let me know."
"I'm good," she insisted. "I'll have Helo take a look at the stitches. He knows all about that shit, has a med kit."
"You got it." Frak, she was back and alive, that's all he could have asked for. Like he'd never seen such a beautiful sight before, his eyes didn't leave her as she pushed the curtain aside and stepped out, a brave and determined smile on her face. "Hey." She ran a finger up his midsection, tapped his sternum twice. "Let's get the frak out of here. Sooner I get back to the ship, the sooner we can get you off this frakking planet."
"Yeah, let's get you home." He didn't want to see her go, but at least they had this. He didn't know much about Kara Thrace, but he knew enough. He was never gonna be able to stop thinking about her, and he found he didn't mind that at all.
