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Entry tags:
fic: BSG, Kara/Anders, Pink Girl With the Blues
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: er... 13+ish, but mentions of sex.
Pairing: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders (really, at this point, does anything think I write anything else?)
Set: LYDB2.
Spoilers: er... LYDB2?
Genre: ...angst?
Notes: er, 1,200 words. (further, at end). Title from the Curve song of the same name (THANK YOU, Gordon. I was stuck, and this was on my playlist because of you).
Pink Girl With the Blues
by ALC Punk!
"I paint."
Kara said it when they were both almost asleep. Sam had been teasing her earlier about how he knew next to nothing about her. It seemed the right thing to say, at the right time (if he was asleep, he'd never know).
"You do?" He sounded drowsy and as if he couldn't quite picture it.
And maybe he couldn't. Sometimes, Kara couldn't picture herself painting. She shrugged awkwardly. "Yeah."
She wasn't even sure why she'd said it. It wasn't like there were any paints to be had on New Caprica. The last person who'd found out was Helo, and she hadn't told him. Zak had been the only lover she'd ever told. The only lover who'd watched her paint--sometimes, in the middle of the night, he'd fall sideways on the couch, eyes half-slitted, watching.
"Cool. Can I see?"
"Idiot." There wasn't any heat in her tone, though. And she didn't mean it. "There aren't any supplies."
"Oh." For a moment, it seemed like he'd say something more, but he stayed silent.
Kara closed her eyes.
Fingers threaded through hers just before she fell asleep, and she wondered, as always, what anyone would see in her. Why they would think she needed comfort.
-=-
Two weeks later, Kara was sitting in their tent, wondering why the frak she'd done this to herself. She could have stayed on Galactica. Even with Helo and Sharon and the Old Man, she still could have stayed. Could have done something that was more than the pathetic existence New Caprica gave her. But she'd come for Sam, come down to the planet and left flying behind. All so the man she... liked? Loved? Whatever. The man she was frakking could be happy. And he seemed to be happy, with work during the day and the occasional pyramid game, and his friends. And hers.
"Hey."
She looked up from her introspection and tried to smile at him. "Hey."
There was something uncertain in his look as he came in the rest of the way, one hand behind his back. "Um, look, if these..." Apparently deciding whatever he was going to say would be stupid, he thrust his hand at her.
Kara stared at the wooden box, frowning. "Sam?"
"Here. Open it." He ran his free hand through his hair and released it into her hands as if it burned him.
It was the smell that caught her, first. Oil. Oil and varnish and that peculiar scent that certain colors carried. Kara sucked in a breath and was transported to her apartment on Caprica. To walls covered in anger and pain and other things. To paint under her fingernails and her dad's jacket around her too-thin shoulders.
"Sam..." She almost didn't want to open it, but she did. There weren't that many colors, and the pots all looked half-full.
"If you don't want them, I can always just trade them for food, or something else, or--"
Kara dropped the box next to her feet and jumped up to throw herself at him.
"Oof." His arms wrapped around her. "Hey."
"Hey." Kara closed her eyes and buried her face in his neck, arms snaking around him.
"So..." He said when she didn't move or speak, "You, um... you're ok with them?"
"Yeah. Idiot."
"Good. I think I can get canvas, too."
Kara couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry (and she wasn't going to cry over stupid paints, damnit), so she kissed his neck instead. "Think about that later."
"And you don't have to show me, or even paint or--"
"Sam?" Kara pulled back and met his eyes. "Shut up."
He clamped his lips closed and blinked at her.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," he replied automatically.
Kara smirked at him. "Now, can we have sex?"
-=-
There was no light out when Kara got up and carefully moved around so as not to wake Sam. He'd brought home a small white canvas, and refused to tell her where he'd gotten it. Just like he'd refused to tell her what the paints had cost.
She had the terrible feeling they'd cost more than they were worth, but she didn't care.
Opening one tent flap gave her just enough starlight to see by. She set the small square up against the stool and sat down to stare at it a moment before she opened the box. The paints had kept pretty well for having been shuttled around so much. She didn't bother with the brush.
The feel of the paint, slick and cool on her fingers made her inhale sharply.
She remembered this. Remembered waking up from Zak's arms and crawling out into the other room. Or coming home far too drunk and laughing as she half-fell down the stairs. Cheap paints, always ready to be plundered until she couldn't see straight from the fumes. Not that being drunk helped.
It seemed almost a sacrilege to place one finger on the canvas, but the feel and movement was hypnotic, and she lost herself in it.
Color sprang into life--greyed out by the light, but there. Darker and lighter, strokes and blotches, whirls and fingerprints. It didn't look like anything but that didn't matter. It was there and it was hers.
Abruptly, she stopped, fingers still soaked in paint, hand almost shaking from the freedom.
Rag. She grabbed it from the floor and began wiping her fingers clean. A few streaks remained and she hunted in the box until she found the turpentine, tucked into a corner. It smelled harsh, cutting through the paint and dirt and tent like a knife.
Once done, she sniffed her fingers and winced. The smell alone would wake Sam.
Leaving the canvas propped, she got up from the floor, intent on finding the small cake of soap and hitting the communal head to clean her hands properly.
"Here." Sam's voice startled her.
"Frak. Sam."
Something damp touched her arm, and she realized it was another rag. Grabbing it, she sniffed and smelled soap.
"Thought you might need it." He explained, moving away from her.
In the dim light, she could just see him sit on the edge of the bed and bend over to pull off his boots. Kara swiped her hands clean and discovered the other end of the rag wasn't soapy. It wasn't really enough to rinse all of the soap off, but it was enough that she could dry her fingers on her pants. "How long?"
He slid back into the bed, leaving her side empty. "You woke me when you got up."
"Oh." Kara stood there, suddenly uncertain. "I should..."
"I didn't watch." He shifted and the blankets rustled. "I wanted to, but... I didn't. It's your thing, Kara. I'm not going to try to take it away or..."
Kara shifted, and then dropped the rag onto the table. "When did you get the towel?"
"When I couldn't keep my eyes closed any longer."
He'd left and come back, and she hadn't noticed, so lost in the painting. Kara let out a breath and stepped towards the bed. "Sam, I..."
"It's late."
Yes. Moving with sudden decision, Kara peeled her tanks off and wriggled out of her cut-offs before climbing into bed and pulling the covers off Sam. "Hey."
"What?"
Kara moved to straddle him, the fabric of his shorts pressing into her legs. "Next time, you get to watch."
His hands slid up her legs to her waist, and she could have sworn he grinned in the dark. "I like watching you."
"Ass." She bent and kissed him.
"Yep."
She breathed in deep and the smell of paint and turpentine filled her lungs. And when she kissed Sam, and she could smell him, too.
And maybe it was enough.
-f-
Further: One of the Sam Anders pics I've seen shows him in their tent, cooking. And in the background are stacked all of these canvases. So, yeah. Kara was obviously painting on New Caprica.
Rating: er... 13+ish, but mentions of sex.
Pairing: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders (really, at this point, does anything think I write anything else?)
Set: LYDB2.
Spoilers: er... LYDB2?
Genre: ...angst?
Notes: er, 1,200 words. (further, at end). Title from the Curve song of the same name (THANK YOU, Gordon. I was stuck, and this was on my playlist because of you).
Pink Girl With the Blues
by ALC Punk!
"I paint."
Kara said it when they were both almost asleep. Sam had been teasing her earlier about how he knew next to nothing about her. It seemed the right thing to say, at the right time (if he was asleep, he'd never know).
"You do?" He sounded drowsy and as if he couldn't quite picture it.
And maybe he couldn't. Sometimes, Kara couldn't picture herself painting. She shrugged awkwardly. "Yeah."
She wasn't even sure why she'd said it. It wasn't like there were any paints to be had on New Caprica. The last person who'd found out was Helo, and she hadn't told him. Zak had been the only lover she'd ever told. The only lover who'd watched her paint--sometimes, in the middle of the night, he'd fall sideways on the couch, eyes half-slitted, watching.
"Cool. Can I see?"
"Idiot." There wasn't any heat in her tone, though. And she didn't mean it. "There aren't any supplies."
"Oh." For a moment, it seemed like he'd say something more, but he stayed silent.
Kara closed her eyes.
Fingers threaded through hers just before she fell asleep, and she wondered, as always, what anyone would see in her. Why they would think she needed comfort.
-=-
Two weeks later, Kara was sitting in their tent, wondering why the frak she'd done this to herself. She could have stayed on Galactica. Even with Helo and Sharon and the Old Man, she still could have stayed. Could have done something that was more than the pathetic existence New Caprica gave her. But she'd come for Sam, come down to the planet and left flying behind. All so the man she... liked? Loved? Whatever. The man she was frakking could be happy. And he seemed to be happy, with work during the day and the occasional pyramid game, and his friends. And hers.
"Hey."
She looked up from her introspection and tried to smile at him. "Hey."
There was something uncertain in his look as he came in the rest of the way, one hand behind his back. "Um, look, if these..." Apparently deciding whatever he was going to say would be stupid, he thrust his hand at her.
Kara stared at the wooden box, frowning. "Sam?"
"Here. Open it." He ran his free hand through his hair and released it into her hands as if it burned him.
It was the smell that caught her, first. Oil. Oil and varnish and that peculiar scent that certain colors carried. Kara sucked in a breath and was transported to her apartment on Caprica. To walls covered in anger and pain and other things. To paint under her fingernails and her dad's jacket around her too-thin shoulders.
"Sam..." She almost didn't want to open it, but she did. There weren't that many colors, and the pots all looked half-full.
"If you don't want them, I can always just trade them for food, or something else, or--"
Kara dropped the box next to her feet and jumped up to throw herself at him.
"Oof." His arms wrapped around her. "Hey."
"Hey." Kara closed her eyes and buried her face in his neck, arms snaking around him.
"So..." He said when she didn't move or speak, "You, um... you're ok with them?"
"Yeah. Idiot."
"Good. I think I can get canvas, too."
Kara couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry (and she wasn't going to cry over stupid paints, damnit), so she kissed his neck instead. "Think about that later."
"And you don't have to show me, or even paint or--"
"Sam?" Kara pulled back and met his eyes. "Shut up."
He clamped his lips closed and blinked at her.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," he replied automatically.
Kara smirked at him. "Now, can we have sex?"
-=-
There was no light out when Kara got up and carefully moved around so as not to wake Sam. He'd brought home a small white canvas, and refused to tell her where he'd gotten it. Just like he'd refused to tell her what the paints had cost.
She had the terrible feeling they'd cost more than they were worth, but she didn't care.
Opening one tent flap gave her just enough starlight to see by. She set the small square up against the stool and sat down to stare at it a moment before she opened the box. The paints had kept pretty well for having been shuttled around so much. She didn't bother with the brush.
The feel of the paint, slick and cool on her fingers made her inhale sharply.
She remembered this. Remembered waking up from Zak's arms and crawling out into the other room. Or coming home far too drunk and laughing as she half-fell down the stairs. Cheap paints, always ready to be plundered until she couldn't see straight from the fumes. Not that being drunk helped.
It seemed almost a sacrilege to place one finger on the canvas, but the feel and movement was hypnotic, and she lost herself in it.
Color sprang into life--greyed out by the light, but there. Darker and lighter, strokes and blotches, whirls and fingerprints. It didn't look like anything but that didn't matter. It was there and it was hers.
Abruptly, she stopped, fingers still soaked in paint, hand almost shaking from the freedom.
Rag. She grabbed it from the floor and began wiping her fingers clean. A few streaks remained and she hunted in the box until she found the turpentine, tucked into a corner. It smelled harsh, cutting through the paint and dirt and tent like a knife.
Once done, she sniffed her fingers and winced. The smell alone would wake Sam.
Leaving the canvas propped, she got up from the floor, intent on finding the small cake of soap and hitting the communal head to clean her hands properly.
"Here." Sam's voice startled her.
"Frak. Sam."
Something damp touched her arm, and she realized it was another rag. Grabbing it, she sniffed and smelled soap.
"Thought you might need it." He explained, moving away from her.
In the dim light, she could just see him sit on the edge of the bed and bend over to pull off his boots. Kara swiped her hands clean and discovered the other end of the rag wasn't soapy. It wasn't really enough to rinse all of the soap off, but it was enough that she could dry her fingers on her pants. "How long?"
He slid back into the bed, leaving her side empty. "You woke me when you got up."
"Oh." Kara stood there, suddenly uncertain. "I should..."
"I didn't watch." He shifted and the blankets rustled. "I wanted to, but... I didn't. It's your thing, Kara. I'm not going to try to take it away or..."
Kara shifted, and then dropped the rag onto the table. "When did you get the towel?"
"When I couldn't keep my eyes closed any longer."
He'd left and come back, and she hadn't noticed, so lost in the painting. Kara let out a breath and stepped towards the bed. "Sam, I..."
"It's late."
Yes. Moving with sudden decision, Kara peeled her tanks off and wriggled out of her cut-offs before climbing into bed and pulling the covers off Sam. "Hey."
"What?"
Kara moved to straddle him, the fabric of his shorts pressing into her legs. "Next time, you get to watch."
His hands slid up her legs to her waist, and she could have sworn he grinned in the dark. "I like watching you."
"Ass." She bent and kissed him.
"Yep."
She breathed in deep and the smell of paint and turpentine filled her lungs. And when she kissed Sam, and she could smell him, too.
And maybe it was enough.
-f-
Further: One of the Sam Anders pics I've seen shows him in their tent, cooking. And in the background are stacked all of these canvases. So, yeah. Kara was obviously painting on New Caprica.