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Entry tags:
demetrius kara/anders, fluff
am too sleepy for anything. you know the fucking drill anyway. pg.
Forty days in, and the Demetrius wasn't any closer to Earth, or even a sign-post. Kara spent most of her time locked in her cabin, or coming out to demand course corrections that make no sense. Places they've been before. But there are times when she was almost the Kara he remembered. Like some part or her remembered that, to be a successful commander, you needed more than fear on your side.
It was not an act, though, even if she laughed and grinned like Starbuck. In some ways, the moments of normality chilled him worse than when he walks in to find her painting, her hands shaking and the food he'd left hours ago cold on the tray. Or rocking on her heels, muttering over her maps.
Maybe the frustration was getting to her.
Sometimes, it was all he could do not to crowd her, not to take her hands and treat her like the child she resembled, hunched on the floor, paint in her hair.
It helped that he knew she'd slide a knife into his ribs if he even tried.
Of course, the times she seemed normal weren't all that often--just enough to keep the natives from panicking completely, Pike and Seelix leading the charge to oust her. Not that Sam thought they were really serious. After all, the two of them were Fleet through and through. They knew more protocol than he'd ever understand.
She came down for cards or a quick drink, and on one memorable occasion, for chow with the troops. Striding into the crowded room like she owned the place and sitting on Sam's lap when no seat opened for her.
"I need to worry about getting written up for fraternizing with an officer, sir?" he asked, hands on her waist to keep her from sliding off while she stole his algae. He didn't mind the latter, the stuff was awful, even with salt.
She elbowed him, laughing. There was an edge to the sound, but only to those who knew her well. Helo shot her a look, and then met Sam's eyes. The two of them were doing a lot of conversations like that, lately. Usually in regards to Kara.
Breaking the contact, Sam went back to teasing his wife, getting her to laugh again.
Most of the meal went pretty well. The others didn't air their grievances and there was only the matter of the salt shaker not being passed enough to cause strife. It wouldn't last, Sam knew. Peace never did.
After, Kara pulled him with her from the room, shouts of mockery and lascivious suggestions following them as they practically fall up the stairs.
Lying sweaty and spent next to her in the bed, Sam sleepily wondered how long it would last. How long before she cracked under the pressure again, spilling out hatred and anger, lashing him with her words.
Her fingers slid through his and she turned her face into his neck with a sigh. After a few minutes, she murmured, "Sam. I don't..." She stopped.
Sam didn't prompt her, knowing that it wouldn't help. He'd learned long ago that Kara didn't go in for apologies or endearments. Except when she was drunk and horny, or desperate. When she didn't say anything, he finished her thought. "If it wasn't me, you'd find someone else."
"No," Kara said, wriggling closer, "No, I wouldn't."
Sam wondered if she was deluding herself more, but didn't press. He stroked a hand down her side, "Go to sleep, Kara."
"Write you up, Ensign," she mumbled. Then a moment later, she made an odd noise and pulled away, cursing softly.
Strangely content, Sam stayed where he was, drowsily watching watching as she put his shirt on, the bottom edge hitting her at mid-thigh. It didn't take her long to dig out a chart and then a pen. Her head was bowed over the table, as she shifted charts, the paper crackling and the pen making scratching sounds as she took notes and sketched.
Eventually, she left the table, the paint can thunking when she set it down on the boxes in the corner.
Sam drifted off to the sound of disconnected mutters and the slap of paint on metal.
When Kara came back to bed and half-woke him, she smelled of paint and turpentine. Sam moved to give her room and registered her hand grabbing his as she dropped next to him. He shifted again, giving her more room. She'd probably shove him further away as the night went on. She usually did.
Sometimes, Sam missed the simplicity of a too-small bed, hangovers and mud under their feet.
"Hey." Kara poked him, waking him a little more. She wriggled and shifted, "Sam."
He groaned and opened one eye, "What?"
"I--" She patted his cheek, leaving her palm against his mouth.
Deciding breathing was more important than being sappy with his wife, Sam reached up and snagged her wrist, pulling her hand back. In the dim light, he registered the ink on her palm, though it took thirty seconds for the meaning of the three words to penetrate.
A little more awake, he blinked. "Kara?"
"Go back to sleep, Sam."
"I--"
Her fingers brushed over his lips. Sam kissed her alm and closed his eyes. "I'm going to sleep, Captain. Promise."
"Good idea, Ensign. I'm gonna ride your ass in the morning." She teased sleepily.
He wondered if this would last. If he'd wake in the morning, and Kara would be gone, lost again in the drive, the need to find Earth. Probably. But he could live with that, knowing somewhere underneath it all, she was still there.
Of course. He wasn't sure he was. It was the last thought he had before he fell back into dreams of green fields and blood red skies.
-f-
Forty days in, and the Demetrius wasn't any closer to Earth, or even a sign-post. Kara spent most of her time locked in her cabin, or coming out to demand course corrections that make no sense. Places they've been before. But there are times when she was almost the Kara he remembered. Like some part or her remembered that, to be a successful commander, you needed more than fear on your side.
It was not an act, though, even if she laughed and grinned like Starbuck. In some ways, the moments of normality chilled him worse than when he walks in to find her painting, her hands shaking and the food he'd left hours ago cold on the tray. Or rocking on her heels, muttering over her maps.
Maybe the frustration was getting to her.
Sometimes, it was all he could do not to crowd her, not to take her hands and treat her like the child she resembled, hunched on the floor, paint in her hair.
It helped that he knew she'd slide a knife into his ribs if he even tried.
Of course, the times she seemed normal weren't all that often--just enough to keep the natives from panicking completely, Pike and Seelix leading the charge to oust her. Not that Sam thought they were really serious. After all, the two of them were Fleet through and through. They knew more protocol than he'd ever understand.
She came down for cards or a quick drink, and on one memorable occasion, for chow with the troops. Striding into the crowded room like she owned the place and sitting on Sam's lap when no seat opened for her.
"I need to worry about getting written up for fraternizing with an officer, sir?" he asked, hands on her waist to keep her from sliding off while she stole his algae. He didn't mind the latter, the stuff was awful, even with salt.
She elbowed him, laughing. There was an edge to the sound, but only to those who knew her well. Helo shot her a look, and then met Sam's eyes. The two of them were doing a lot of conversations like that, lately. Usually in regards to Kara.
Breaking the contact, Sam went back to teasing his wife, getting her to laugh again.
Most of the meal went pretty well. The others didn't air their grievances and there was only the matter of the salt shaker not being passed enough to cause strife. It wouldn't last, Sam knew. Peace never did.
After, Kara pulled him with her from the room, shouts of mockery and lascivious suggestions following them as they practically fall up the stairs.
Lying sweaty and spent next to her in the bed, Sam sleepily wondered how long it would last. How long before she cracked under the pressure again, spilling out hatred and anger, lashing him with her words.
Her fingers slid through his and she turned her face into his neck with a sigh. After a few minutes, she murmured, "Sam. I don't..." She stopped.
Sam didn't prompt her, knowing that it wouldn't help. He'd learned long ago that Kara didn't go in for apologies or endearments. Except when she was drunk and horny, or desperate. When she didn't say anything, he finished her thought. "If it wasn't me, you'd find someone else."
"No," Kara said, wriggling closer, "No, I wouldn't."
Sam wondered if she was deluding herself more, but didn't press. He stroked a hand down her side, "Go to sleep, Kara."
"Write you up, Ensign," she mumbled. Then a moment later, she made an odd noise and pulled away, cursing softly.
Strangely content, Sam stayed where he was, drowsily watching watching as she put his shirt on, the bottom edge hitting her at mid-thigh. It didn't take her long to dig out a chart and then a pen. Her head was bowed over the table, as she shifted charts, the paper crackling and the pen making scratching sounds as she took notes and sketched.
Eventually, she left the table, the paint can thunking when she set it down on the boxes in the corner.
Sam drifted off to the sound of disconnected mutters and the slap of paint on metal.
When Kara came back to bed and half-woke him, she smelled of paint and turpentine. Sam moved to give her room and registered her hand grabbing his as she dropped next to him. He shifted again, giving her more room. She'd probably shove him further away as the night went on. She usually did.
Sometimes, Sam missed the simplicity of a too-small bed, hangovers and mud under their feet.
"Hey." Kara poked him, waking him a little more. She wriggled and shifted, "Sam."
He groaned and opened one eye, "What?"
"I--" She patted his cheek, leaving her palm against his mouth.
Deciding breathing was more important than being sappy with his wife, Sam reached up and snagged her wrist, pulling her hand back. In the dim light, he registered the ink on her palm, though it took thirty seconds for the meaning of the three words to penetrate.
A little more awake, he blinked. "Kara?"
"Go back to sleep, Sam."
"I--"
Her fingers brushed over his lips. Sam kissed her alm and closed his eyes. "I'm going to sleep, Captain. Promise."
"Good idea, Ensign. I'm gonna ride your ass in the morning." She teased sleepily.
He wondered if this would last. If he'd wake in the morning, and Kara would be gone, lost again in the drive, the need to find Earth. Probably. But he could live with that, knowing somewhere underneath it all, she was still there.
Of course. He wasn't sure he was. It was the last thought he had before he fell back into dreams of green fields and blood red skies.
-f-
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I may need hand-holding in three weeks, you knowno subject
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Dude, if I were, there'd be aliens.
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I wish you were a BSG writer too.
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